Spring Fever

Connor, dressed as a woman, stood before me in a light pink sweater with pearly plastic buttons down the front. It was the type of sweater a mommy picks out for her little girl. That’s the spirit in which Connor dressed himself. Sure, he had plenty of life experience as a man, but he was a novice female. His skirt was a more mature tweedy grey shot with pink, slit in the back and just covering his knees. Did he shave his legs? I couldn’t tell, what with the pantyhose. His shoes matched his sweater. His nails matched his sweater. Connor pulled off the look beautifully. He looked almost elegant in his black Kiss of the Spider Woman wig. His boobs were generous, but he had a natural paunch to match. Despite his height, he didn’t look curiously tall. He looked perfect, actually. His glasses were the same pair he wore as a man. They suited him both ways.

Soft. That was Connor dressed as a woman. He was soft. Soft pinks, soft body, soft curves. I ran my hand across his cheek. That was soft, too. No trace of stubble. Before I arrived at his house, I’d wondered if I would be as attracted to Connor dressed as a woman as I was to Connor dressed as a man. “You look beautiful.” I kissed his smooth cheek, lingering close. Those sparkling blue eyes were Connor. The clothes were different, but the person was the same. I would easily have made out with him and not just to see if passers-by would throw stuff at us.

“You look fabulous, dear,” he said. His voice lilted, neither high nor low.

“Fabulous?” I chuckled. “Honey, you’re a woman, you’re not gay! Try ‘lovely’ or ‘gorgeous.’”