Performance Art

by Chris Holden

Chapter Three

 

"I did hear you, but I'm not sure I understand, Chris--, that is your name, right? Okay, okay, don't have a bird. I don't understand because you're the one who's backed out, you're the one leaving--, speaking of which, what are you still doing here?"

Chris studied Keisha. She gazed back, shrugged and edged around him and opened the door. He turned and faced her. Keisha pointed out the door.

"Good by, sorry you couldn't walk the walk. The man I need is secure in his masculinity. Which I thought you were, but, like most guys, you were only talking the talk."

"What's your game, damn't!"

"No game. I'm putting on a performance piece tonight. When I said I needed a guy, you said you'd like to take part. That's all there is."

Chris shook his head, disappointed. He moved around her and stepped out the door. She held out her hand and he took it. As they shook hands, she leaned up and kissed him on the lips. As he started to respond, she dropped his hand and backed into the apartment.

"And when you feel the urge to call in a few hours and tell me you've reconsidered, don't bother. You'd never cut it, Chris. No cojones. Your loss."

Keisha shut the door in his face. Grinning, she checked her watch. Give him, say, five hours of sleep, an hour to muster his courage … I'll hear from him before noon. Chris Holden – the man of tomorrow, today.

In fact, he called shortly after nine, waking up Keisha. When she heard his voice, she hung up and went back to sleep. His second call came shortly after ten. After hanging up once more, Keisha got up and showered. She heard the phone ring as she dried herself. He left no message.

The downstairs buzzer rang at noon.

"Yes?"

"Keisha, it's Chris Holden—"

"Sorry, we don't want any."

"Keisha, damn't, listen—"

"Excuse me, you're demanding something … of me? You!"

Silence, several beats. Keisha grinned and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Men, they are so predictable … how can they go through life so oblivious?!?

"No, no, sorry, I--, er, Keisha …"

She said nothing, making him work for it. Which she enjoyed immensely. Ruling the male, changing its life, making it see its true position in the world … making it understand its place next to the female, the Ebony female … talk about an adrenaline zap!

"Please, Keisha, I want to take part tonight. I want to be the guy … it's important. I've been a jerk, and I am very sorry."

"Well, you have been a jerk! You're correct on that, at least."

"Please, I'd like a second chance. I'll do whatever you say."

"You know what you just said?"

After a silent beat, Keisha buzzed him in. Chris Holden, her man of tomorrow, today.

 

Even as she explained about performance art, that there was no script, no pre-determined role-play, Keisha had Chris strip and slip into a pair of black panties. The afternoon was spent with Chris trying on wigs, panties, bras … even a chastity belt. Which he got a charge out of. Keisha got a charge out of his charge.

And filed it away.

When she ordered him – and it was an order, there was no doubt about that – to don black bra, panties and corset and start cleaning her apartment, Chris remonstrated. Keisha said nothing, staring at him. Something in her eyes gave him pause. She eyed him, never wavering. He looked away at last. Keisha smiled inside, the man was hers. Tonight would be spectacular.

  

 

            

Chris fiddled with the black bra and managed to attach the stays. After slipping into the panties, he settled on a chair and struggled with the nylons. He stood and straightened the nylons, pulling them tight. When Keisha handed Chris the broom and vacuum cleaner, he once again hesitated.

"Anything I said … remember?"

So Chris Holden went to work cleaning Keisha's apartment.

 

Keisha watched him moving about, a rather awkward TV sissy. A sissified man cleaning her apartment, in front of her, was one of Keisha's most sublime pleasures. Especially when the man didn't yet realize that he was a Transvestite, didn't yet realize that his life had changed, forever. Chris Holden didn't yet realize that, having now adorned feminine clothing, having accepted, however awkwardly, this feminine side, having now opened himself to the utter pleasure of going female, there was no turning back.

And after tonight …

 

 

 

 

 

 

When he'd finished cleaning the apartment, doing the dishes, even ironing their outfits for the evening, Chris surprised himself when he asked: "What else can I do, Keisha?"

She loved men who took to their natural submissive roles with so little prodding, so little direction. Keisha gently kissed Chris on the lips and pointed to the closet. He went over and opened the closet. A cage was against the wall. He looked at Keisha, confused. Her expression was unyielding. Chris finally pulled out the cage. Again he glanced at Keisha, whose gaze hardened.

Chris seemed uncertain. He caught sight of himself in the mirror, bra, corset, panties and nylons. He studied his reflection, as if seeing himself for the first time. As he started to crawl in, Keisha snapped her fingers. He almost jumped.

"Strip! Down to your panties! You'll ruin the nylons and damage the bra and corset on the bars. Think, man!"

Chris quickly stripped down to his panties and crawled into the cage. Keisha locked the gate and squatted. Their faces were inches apart. He stared back at Keisha, at her deliciously dark, very muscular body.

In awe.

But uncertainty nagged at Chris. He'd never before ceded control to a woman; hell, he hadn't just ceded control, he'd ceded his masculinity, for God's sakes! For a brief moment, he considered telling this gorgeous Nubian Goddess that he couldn't continue. He wanted out. It was over. But Keisha abruptly stood up and walked away. The moment was lost and Chris stared after her, locked in his cage.

He knew he'd lost his last chance to walk away. Perhaps, though, when she unlocked the cage, he'd overpower Keisha. But did he really want to? Just what was going on?

 

Damn, but this Black woman had messed with his mind!

(Cont'd.)

  

 

 

 

  

  

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