Crossing Texas – Chapter Twenty-Three
I awoke Saturday morning feeling somehow unclean, physically and spiritually. But what’s done is done, I reasoned. My existence, no matter how humiliating, is better than being slowly ground into madness by the so-called Texas justice system. I’ll just be careful to avoid situations such as last night’s. And Sara? She remains a tantalizing conundrum in angel’s form. One would expect she’d have been totally disgusted by what she witnessed. But after I had satisfied Roger, it was Sara who, seeing me crying as I left the car, hugged me so very tenderly, and even helped to straighten my hair and dress. So what were Sara’s feelings towards me? I had no idea; too many mixed signals. I showered, shaved my body, applied makeup, donned my maid’s uniform and went to work.
It was much later, nearly seven p.m., when Roger entered the office of the Paradise View. Kimberly was working at the front desk. Actually, because the motel had few guests, Kimberly was just sitting in the lobby, watching television as she applied purple nail polish onto her fingernails.
“Hey,” Roger said, “you work here?” He wore jeans (torn at one knee) and a Dallas Mavericks t-shirt.
“Yes,” Kimberly replied, not even looking up from her nails, “how can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Pamela. She said she works here.”
“Huh? Pamela?”
“Yea. Pamela. Skinny girl, light brown hair.”
“Oh,” Kimberly said, grinning, “Pamela. I know who you mean., Pamela. Why? Are you related to her?”
“No, she’s just a friend.”
“A friend? You mean, like a girlfriend?”
“Yea,” Roger said, somewhat taken aback by Kimberly’s insolence, “I suppose so. Like a girlfriend.”
“Oh,” Kimberly replied, getting up while blowing upon her nails, “I didn’t know Pamela had a boyfriend. What’s your name, hunk?”
“Roger.”
“OK, Roger, follow me and we’ll find your girlfriend,” Kimberly said with a giggle.
“Oh, Pamela,” Kimberly called out in a sing-song mocking tone of voice as she entered the restaurant. I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor, as Mary was putting away dishes.
“Your BOYFRIEND is here to see you! I didn’t know you had such a handsome BOYFRIEND!”
I blushed and quickly rose to my feet, carefully straitening my skirt.
“Hey, girl,” Roger said, “sorry to interrupt you. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by and say hi. And see if you wanted to go out again tonight.”
“Ahhh.,” I stammered, caught off guard, “I don’t think so, Roger, I have to work..” Mary and Kimberly watched me, grinning at my predicament.
“Go ahead, Pamela,” Mary said, “you can finish here tomorrow.”
“Well,., OK, I guess,” I said, not knowing how to get out of this jam.
“Great! I’ll pick you up at 8:30,” Roger said, then came over and kissed me on the mouth, turned and left. I stood there, embarrassed and dumbfounded.
“My, Pamela, aren’t you the social butterfly,” exclaimed Kimberly, giggling again.
“Attracting guys like flies,” Mary added.
With ease I undid the buttons at the back of my dress and let it glide to the floor. Followed by my white slip. Carefully I removed my pantyhose, first off my left leg, then my right. I stood and gazed at my reflection in the large, full-length mirror which Amanda had placed in my room. I saw what appeared to be a girl wearing only a bra and panties.
I took a deep breath to settle my nerves. It was past 7:30; time to start preparing for my “date” with Roger. Clearly things were spinning out of control. I realized as I gazed at my image that my sexual identity had flip-flopped. But how? All this seemed to happen far too easily, without any real resistance on my part. How could a man, a real man, change so radically during the course of just a couple of months? I wondered, was I ever a “real man”? Or had I always carried seeds of femininity just beneath my macho surface? The question haunted me.
Yesterday evening, as I dolled myself up, at least I was able to believe it was to attract Sara. Sure, I was making myself look like a sexy girl, but I did it for a very male purpose: to attract and bed Sara.
Tonight I had no such illusion. Tonight, any attempt I made to be pretty was undeniably for the purpose of attracting a man (Roger), rather than a beautiful woman (Sara). Reluctantly I set about my task: I showered, shaved my body, and sat down to apply my makeup. My eyes scanned the small table cluttered with items only a female would own: many containers of fingernail polish in various hues of red and pink, blusher, tow bottles of Covergirl foundation, several Covergirl compacts, several tubes of Maybelline mascara, eyebrow pencils, small bottles of perfume, hairspray, lip gloss, lipliner, earrings, bracelets, and even two unopened tampons. Each day I came to feel more and more normal, almost natural, as I sat down in front of my mirror to make my face pretty.
After skillfully using a pencil to outline my eyes, I deftly used a small brush to paint on lipstick and liner. I wondered where this was all leading. What if, a year from now, I was still a female maid? Eventually, turning back into my male self could become even more difficult than remaining in dresses! I was disgusted by the thought of me being on a date with a male. Yet I was also anxious, trembling, strangely excited. Why?
The impromptu party had temporarily split along gender lines, with the guys in the basement playing pool, drinking beer, and watching an auto race on television, while upstairs the girls chatted in the living room while sipping sweet wine, with a romance flick on the television. I was upstairs with the girls.
My date with Roger had actually transpired much better than I had expected.
I had dressed conservatively in a knee-length pale blue skirt and loose short-sleeve sweater. He picked me up on time, was polite, even opened the car door for me, and took me to see a nice movie. He made no unwanted advances like last night’s. And being with Roger had its advantages: for one thing, we looked like a normal couple. When next to Roger, who was considerably larger than me, I appeared to be a typical, fairly plain young lady. In fact, I noticed many of the unattached young women in the lobby eyeing me with a bit of jealousy. I felt fairly comfortable as a girl; for the first time in a long time, I was in a place where everyone accepted my sex without a second thought. Yet I wasn’t what they thought I was.
After the movie I asked Roger to take me home, but he insisted, in his chauvinistic manner, that we stop by Amanda’s house first. He laughed off my protests, thinking Sara and I were typical friends, and that she would be happy if we stopped by.
The End of Crossing Texas – Chapter Twenty-Three.
The story originally came from: https://www.dailydiapers.com/content/stories.html
If you want to read more stories about ABDL boys you can find a list here: Diaper Boys – Index