Performance Art

by Chris Holden

 

Chapter Four

 

Chris lost track of time as he lay curled in the cage. He wanted to stretch, relieve the cramped pressure on his legs, but there was no room. He'd decided to challenge Keisha when she let him out. He'd simply shove her aside, grab his clothes and split. This was getting too weird. Especially the way she was ordering him about, making him dress like a girl, act like her maid.

What the hell did she think he was?

More to the point, Chris realized, why'd he go along with it? Why'd he put on the bra and stockings, corset and panties? Why'd he clean her apartment? Why'd he crawl meekly into this damned cage?

Why indeed!

He was mulling this over when Keisha came for him. At sight of the gorgeous Ebony woman, Chris's resolve wavered. She was so beautiful, so naturally commanding. She unlocked the cage and Chris crawled out, wincing at his cramped muscles.

"Not so comfortable in there, is it?"

"Phew, you said it."

"Then don't forget. Don't screw up and you'll stay out of there."

"Screw up? What—"

"Problem!"

Her hard tone caught Chris off guard. He looked at Keisha, who stared back. Chris was first to look away.

"Alright, one last thing and we'll grab a cab over to my gallery space."

Still unnerved by Keisha's no-nonsense attitude, Chris couldn't bring himself to tell her he was through. She grabbed a pink bra and tossed it to him. He caught it and looked from the bra to Keisha. She pointed to the wall mirror. Chris stood before it, gathering his nerve to refuse. He caught her eyes through the mirror and knew he hadn't the courage to defy her. Something in her eyes told him he'd best keep quiet.

What the hell was happening?

Chris stood before the mirror. As he connected the clasps and slid the bra around, Chris felt an odd flush of contentment. As if the feel of the bra touched some inner chord. He studied his reflection, taking strange pleasure in the pink bra flush against his chest. He met Keisha's eyes through the mirror. She was smiling and Chris found himself oddly pleased at having pleased her.

"Time to get dressed, Chris."

"What do I have to do, Keisha? I'm a little nervous—"

"Do? Whatever enters your mind. There's no script, no rules, no nothing. That's why it's called performance art. Play it as it lays. Chris."

Chris still looked uneasy. Keisha leaned up and caressed his lips with hers.

"Be yourself. That's all there is to it. Just be yourself."

Play himself? Which self?!?

In the cab heading across town, Chris fidgeted, twisting in the back seat. Keisha gripped his elbow and squeezed. "Relax, Chris. It's going to be a hoot. You'll love it."

He gave her a wan look. She laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

They entered the gallery space through a rear alley. Keisha led Chris into a room. They might have been the only two in the place. Silence reigned. Chris looked around the room, even more anxious. Keisha told Chris to sit, keep his cool, she'd be right back.

The door shut behind Keisha. Chris had never felt so alone. He paced for a moment, his resolve dwindling. In a flash, he knew he couldn't go through with this. He looked at himself in the mirror, a tall, thin middle-aged white man wearing a tee shirt. What was he doing here, anyway?

Chris strode across the room and opened the door. The hall was dark. He looked left and right, trying to remember which way they'd come from. Down the hall, light was visible under a door. He felt his way along the hall and opened the door. He was in an entrance foyer. Keisha's voice could be heard through the walls. He stood in the darkness, listening.

"Henry Higgins asked why a woman can't be more like a man? Fair enough. But that was then, this is now. The better question, the question for our own times is, why can't a man be more like a woman? And my answer is that he can! But he can't do so on his own. As usual, the man needs the assistance of the woman. But when we're through, he'll be perfect! Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to THE MAN OF TOMORROW – TODAY."

Chris knew he'd made a major mistake in agreeing to this. He turned to retrace his steps when the wall slid away, revealing a huge open space, jammed with people, cameras, lights. Chris stared out as everyone applauded. Keisha trotted out of the crowd and grabbed Chris's hand and raised it over his head.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Chris Holden!"

More clapping. Camera crews moved in. Chris was aware of logos on the cameras, CNN, CBS, NBC, ABC, NY ONE. My God, he thought, what the hell. And then he noticed the cavernous room was laid out like a house, with a kitchen, living room, bedrooms …

Keisha led Chris into the crowd, all the time talking to him. He was lost at first as to what she was talking about.

"I have asked you nicely, dear, to clean the house. But you insist on taking off, playing golf, watching football.'

Chris was confused, what was she talking about?

"So, I'm going to have to teach you a lesson."

"Keisha, what is going on? What the hell!"

Keisha ignored Chris and suddenly spun him around. She grabbed his wrists and before he could react, she'd tied them together.

"Goddamn't, Keisha!"

"I've told you, dear, that I don't like to be swore at. You've refused to listen, so …"

Keisha spun Chris around again. She was behind him now. He started to turn, but she strapped a ball gag around his face and yanked the strap. The ball settled into his open mouth and Keisha tied the strap tight.

The audience was laughing and clapping, enjoying itself immensely. And it was only then that Chris understood, too late, what performance art meant …

Keisha dragged him across the room, all the time talking. "The best way for a man to be more like a woman is to dress like her. To wear makeup like her."

Chris tried to speak, but the ball gag stifled his words. He caught the looks of the men and women in the audience, saw his reflection in the camera lens … my God, what the hell am I going to do! This will be on TV! Keisha sat him down in a chair, makeup and wigs all around. She casually unstrapped his ball gag and freed his wrists.

Immediately, Chris was out of the chair. He shoved Keisha aside and started running through the crowd. How do I get out of here? He paused, lost, gaping around. And then Keisha was standing before him, hands on her hips, an angry woman.

"Listen, dear, you can make this easy on yourself or not. You know very well that I've been spending three hours a day at the club and you're in no shape to resist me."

"I'm out of here, Goddamn't!"

Keisha grabbed Chris before he could move. She clamped him in vicious headlock and tossed him over her hip. Chris crashed to the floor, the wind knocked out of him. Keisha stood over him, tall and imposing.

"When I say the man of tomorrow, I'm talking about a man who's physically inferior to his wife. So now's a good time to teach you this fact … before I turn you into a woman."

Keisha lit into Chris, the audience enthralled. The women yelled and stomped, encouraging Keisha as she put the hapless Chris through hold after hold. The men looked on in awe, stunned at the smaller woman's ability to render Chris helpless.

As she crushed Chris's head between her rock-hard thighs, Keisha kept up a running commentary. "Remember this beating, Chris, dear; remember it each time I issue you instructions. Remember your place as the man of tomorrow – today. Remember it as you become more like a woman … when you become a woman."

(Continued)

  

  

  

*********************************************
© 2004 by Chris Holden. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.