A Regular Girl : Chloe’s First Orgasm

by: Monika Ikon

 

It's not exactly like I thought it would be--being a girl that is.

For instance, the outfit I'm wearing today: a black skirt, a pink silk blouse, and black open-toed pumps. Its not exactly the sexiest thing in the world, but I work as a bank-teller, after all. I put my lipstick on in the entranceway mirror, a light shade of coral that compliments my blouse, and Diane calls to me from the bedroom.

"Don't forget to pick up the laundry on your way home."

"Okay honey. Will you be home for dinner?"

"No hon," Diane comes down the hall, dressed in a blue blazer and slacks. Her "power suit," as she likes to call it. "I've a late meeting and a dinner engagement. I'll be overnight."

She sees my disappointment, even though I try my best to hide it. "Now, now," she says, walking up to me, her smart leather attache in hand. It used to be mine; we have the same initials. Well, once we did. She presses my cheeks gently together, kissing me. "Don't pout. I'll take you to Serrano's this weekend. You can wear your little red dress and those red heels I bought you. We'll go dancing."

Thinking of the red strap sandals and the strapless, flouncy red dress, I smile in spite of myself. That's more like what I thought being a girl would be--it's just too bad that its only like that once in a while.

"Now fix your lipstick, sweetie. I'm afraid I've smudged it."

"Ohh.." I look at my face in the mirror. My lips are a misshapen mess. Diane laughs, reaches under my skirt, and cups my pantied ass affectionately. I like when she does that—a lot. I'm still preoccupied with re-doing my lips as she closes the door behind her.

Its only after the door closes that I realize how well she's manipulated me. She's offered to take me out to get over my disappointment that she won't be home again tonight. And how easily I gave in! I guess that's a small part of being a girl, too. Least the kind of girl I am.

A few minutes later I'm out the door, myself. Diane's new Lexus is already gone, leaving my Ford Focus alone in the big driveway. Since the bank where I work is right in town and I don't drive anywhere except to the grocery and on errands, I don't need anything fancier than the Focus. I would have preferred black, like Diane's Lexus, and red, if I couldn't have black, but Diane said yellow was perfect for a girl like me. I have to agree; it’s a fun, bright, happy color. I love it now, my little yellow car, especially when I’m wearing a yellow sundress and sandals. Silly, huh?

I said that being a girl isn't exactly how I figured it would be--at least on a day to day basis. There are the sensible skirts and dresses and blouses and shoes and all the rest. But, still, the clothing itself, even if modest, is a constant reminder. For instance, there is my blouse: it's silk, such a cool, soft, and sensual material, so pleasurable to the touch. It's sleeveless, of course, to expose my soft upper arms. There's the color, too. I would never have thought before of wearing something in such a bright shade of pink. The brightness itself is an invitation to look at me; it’s the color of the petals of a flower, something pretty, to enjoy.

In fact, everything I wear is an invitation to look at me. The tight skirt, not too tight or too short to be inappropriate at the bank, is certainly unlike anything a man would wear. It accents my the curves of my waist and the firm plumpness of my ass. The hem is right above my knees, showing off the shapeliness of my tanned calves, exposing my thin ankles, and the delicate gold anklet.

There's the undergarments, too, of course. The silky panties that no one, ordinarily, will ever see. But it's important for me to be pretty, even in the most intimate of items, especially there, actually. My lacy black bra shows a little, sometimes, if I unbutton my blouse, my small but pretty cleavage. Diane sees my underwear in the morning, naturally, as I'm dressing, and sometimes even helps me into the bra. The doctor sees my pretty underthings, too, when I go in for my monthly examinations and hormone prescriptions. Mostly, though, I wear these soft and sexy things for, well, I don’t really know! I guess to make me feel girly all over…

For instance, the pumps I'm wearing arch my feet and expose my bare toes, making me feel extremely vulnerable. There is just no way to feel totally in control when you're feet are on display like this. The way I have to walk in them…the loud click-clack they make…it's just an advertisement to look at me: my feet, my legs, my tush. On top of that, there are the controlled steps I have to take reminding me constantly that I'm "helpless." I cannot move very fast in the event I'm chased by any potential "predators." The only option I have is to take my shoes off entirely…and then I'm barefoot!

There's my makeup, of course. I don't wear too much, but enough to highlight my eyes, my lips, my cheekbones. Diane taught me that the purpose of good makeup isn't really to conceal, but to reveal, by the slightest exaggeration, my sexual availability by darkening my most erogenous facial features. My naturally dark hair, shoulder-length, and cut appealingly to frame my face, has been given a slight body wave and lightened. My eyebrows have been waxed and shaped to give my long-lashed eyes a wider, more open look.

The dark purple polish on my fingers is a constant reminder of my femininity. This way whenever I do anything with my pale, slender hands, they look as pretty as they can be. But what's amazing is the matching polish on my toenails. It seems so embarrassingly obvious to have painted toes. It's quite clear: everything, even something as small and insignificant as my little toenails, are to be decorated.

I wasn't tricked into being like I am. I wasn't blackmailed or brainwashed. I genuinely wanted this to happen to me. I always wanted to be a girl. I took the hormone pills happily and hopefully. It was exciting to see my breasts begin to form, my skin grow smoother, my hair to lengthen. No trick was involved in getting me to accept that my erections were becoming weaker and more infrequent. I knew my testicles weren’t working any longer. I accepted that. I wanted to be a girl and I knew that wouldn’t come without sacrifices.

I don't have any regrets. Oh, yes, it's true that I thought sex with Diane would go on the same as it was before. Well, not exactly the same, but with some variation. I explained to Diane right before all these changes started that I thought of myself as a male lesbian. I told her that I knew I hadn't been the best of lovers before. But as a girl, I was sure I could please her and satisfy all of her needs.

She listened patiently and waited until I was done. She told me it was okay, what I was feeling, and really quite flattering. She said, however, that I was just being silly. There was no such thing as a male lesbian. Furthermore, she wondered why I had ever thought she'd be interested in lesbian sex. She had experimented a few times, sure, but she wasn't a lesbian and wasn't interested in women for sex.

"Sweetheart," Diane said, "a man who wants to be a girl is not a lesbian. He is something else, surely, something different and precious, but not a lesbian."

It's true, I was hurt at first by what she said, but I guess I was being unrealistic. I was still holding onto a lot of silly "guy" ideas about sex. It got a little better as my hormones were regulated. I started accepting the fact that sex didn't mean exactly the same thing to a girl as it did to a guy. I suppose losing my erections went a long way toward realizing that. And just starting to feel softer, not just my body, but my mind, too. Things just weren’t so black and white anymore.

It doesn't take me long to get to the bank. I park the car, lock it, and click my way across the wet parking lot. There are some young guys doing the landscaping. They stop and call out to me.

"Hey sweetie, how about you loan me those lips?"

"Babydoll, I got a deposit to make."

It's silly stuff. I'm kind of used to it by now. I guess, when you're dressed like I am, you have to expect some guys to act like jerks. I mean, like I said, my body is on display, right down to my little toes. Being pretty doesn’t have to mean being an object, but, let’s face it, I’m an object, too. At least until you get to know me. They're kind of cute, though, these young guys, in a clueless way. And, deep down, I have to admit I feel a little thrill knowing they find me sexy. I’d be disappointed big time if they didn’t!

It's an okay job, being a bank teller. It’s a lot better than the job I had being a financial analyst. There isn’t as much pressure, the hours are regular, and I usually get to go home by 3pm. That gives me a lot more time to fix up the house and get dinner ready for Diane. Oh, I was really good at my job and all that. I made lots of money, but money isn’t everything as they say, and Diane easily makes enough for us to live very well. After you make a certain amount, it all kind of becomes superfluous.

Anyway, I’m the newest girl here so I make the coffee and go out to pick up lunch for everyone. Stuff like that. Actually I’m not the newest anymore, Becky is, but I still like doing things like that around the bank. I bring Mr. Hartwell his coffee every morning in the special #1 boss mugs I bought for him last Boss’s Day. He swears that I’m the only one that makes it the way he likes. And, it’s funny to say, that makes me feel proud.

I slide my little nameplate into the holder by my window. It says "Chloe." That’s my name now. Everyone says it’s a pretty name and that it suits me. I love when people compliment my name. Oh, that’s just another silly thing, too, I guess. I suppose its because I chose it so long ago, before all these changes, and it just seemed to express the inner me, the real me. And now, well, now I am Chloe!

My first customer of the day is Mr. Robert Chase. He’s really nice. I guess he’s about 40 or so and he comes in every Wednesday morning to make a deposit. He always has something nice to say and that makes me feel good.

"Good morning Chloe. I like your hair like that."

My hand goes to my hair unconsciously. "Oh really," I’m smiling, feeling suddenly very happy and very self-conscious. It’s amazing how easily I get flustered. "Thank you Mr. Chase, sir."

I take his deposit ticket and check and work it through about three times. I always feel a little nervous with Mr. Chase. He looks at me in this way, well, lots of guys look at me, but I can’t quite explain it. There’s something different about the way he looks at me. He is dressed in tennis whites today, his lean, tan body looking so wonderfully, hmmm, perfect. Even as a guy, I never had a body even close to that. I was always more suited to be the way I am now. Usually, he comes to the bank dressed in an immaculately tailored suit. I’m not really supposed to notice these things, but from the deposit slips and account balances…its not hard to tell Mr. Chase is very wealthy.

"Ah the outfit," he says, smiling, noticing that I noticed. "I play tennis at the club on Wednesday morning. Usually I change before coming to the bank, but I came straight here today. You don’t mind, do you?"

I know that last question is a joke by the way he’s smiling. But I can’t help feeling terribly embarrassed. Did he catch me looking at his legs…could he tell that I was…what? What was I doing, anyway? I’m blushing terribly now and my painted fingers are tapping away on the calculator for a 5^th time!

"Do you play tennis, Chloe?"

"Huh…me…oh…" I hardly know what to say! "I mean I used to, not in a long time, since…oh just not in a long time!"

Oh god, I sound like such an idiot! I’m not always like this. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a guy flirt with me, but this is different somehow and I have an inkling of why. Does he know I’m married, or care. Actually, I sort of wonder if I really am married. I mean, I’m not divorced, but…hey, what difference does that make?

"Maybe we can play sometime. I can help you work out the rough parts."

He smiles and its such a handsome, strong, self-assured smile. There is just no way I can say "no." He is so big and confident and he just seems to know so much more about everything. That’s not exactly it—it’s just the best way I can say it. He’s someone that’s just used to getting what he wants and I’m not, well, not in the same way. Oh forget it. I can’t explain.

"Umm, sure," I say, thinking why did I say that! "Maybe, that sounds like fun."

"Good, it’s a date."

He winks and takes the transaction receipt from my trembling hand. A date? He didn’t say when or anything. Was it just an expression? Did he really mean a date date?

Ugggh!!

I stand there, speechless, until old Mr. Kirkpatrick wakes me out of my daze with his social security check.

"Hey there pretty little lady," he says, eyes twinkling. "Do you have to be a stud to make a deposit? I’m not getting any younger here."

"Ohh, sorry," I say, smiling, embarrassed.

Was I that obvious? All the girls at the bank say Mr. Chase likes me. I just say they are being silly and pretend not to know what they’re talking about. They point out how he always comes to my window. I say that’s just by chance—and besides I always handle his account. He feels comfortable with me, that’s all. They laugh and I blush and try to change the subject. Mr. Hartwell, the manager, he gets in on it, too. Everyone teases me some at the bank. They’re really nice about it though; it’s kind of like being the little sister in a big family.

At the end of the day, I pick up Diane's laundry from the dry cleaner. Mr. Kim is always very friendly to me. He hands me Diane’s suits and some of my skirts and blouses. I drive to the supermarket to pick up a few things. The cashier flirts with me a little, but its perfectly harmless; he can’t be more than 17, after all. I nix the idea of the gym tonight. I just want to get home and relax.

It’s so quiet in the house without Diane around and I really miss her. I think maybe I should have gone to the gym after all—a little step aerobics or spinning with the other girls might have done me good. Oh well…instead I’ll do some yoga postures. I kick off my heels and pad barefoot to the answering machine. I hear Diane’s voice first-off. She always calls when she’s to be out overnight. She knows how much I miss her and how I still get upset.

"How’s my little cutie," she says. "Hard day at the bank? You looked so sweet this morning. I could have just eaten you up. I don’t think I’ll have time to call tonight darling, but please remember how much I love you. I’m going to be out, of course, but I’ll have my cell on if you need to call. I’m going to be busy though, sweetie, so please only if its an emergency, okay? See you tomorrow evening. Love you."

The message stops. I play it again, sigh. I wish she were here. I go upstairs to the bedroom and change into my one-piece. I do my yoga exercises and then I take a long, relaxing bath. I slip on a pretty burgundy-colored nightie and a pair of open-toed mules. The nightie doesn’t exactly go with my toenail polish, but, you know, no one’s here! Downstairs I pour myself some wine and pick out a Jenny Craig frozen entrée: spaghetti bolognese. I cheat on my diet a little by having a small bowl of frozen yogurt for desert. But, hey, I’m actually under my target weight by 3 pounds, so I can afford to, you know?

I curl up on the bed with my bowl of frozen yogurt and watch an old romantic movie on Bravo. I think about Diane a little. Okay, a lot. I know she’s out tonight with someone. I guess its probably Stephen. He’s very nice; I’ve met him before at an office party where Diane works in the city. He was sweet to me; he even complimented me on my dress: a formal, off-the-shoulder affair with a fitted bodice and a full chiffon skirt. It was yummy. He danced with me once, in between dances with Diane. He didn’t have to do that. Still, I can’t help feeling how I feel.

I know Diane needs a man—I guess that’s the one thing I didn’t really figure on when all this started. Or, maybe I did, but I just pushed it out of my mind. It’s hard to imagine that I didn’t see this coming, but, truly, I didn’t! For some reason, my thoughts drift to Mr. Chase, his confident smile, his strong bronzed legs in the tennis whites, the touch of his fingers against my hand when he took the transaction slip. And then, of course, his offer to play tennis sometime…it’s a "date," he’d said.

I feel a delightful little shiver. Hmm…my hand drifts over my breasts and the nipples harden immediately. I put the bowl on my nightstand and mute the tv. I’m not exactly sure what is happening. I touch my breasts again and stretch out my legs. I scoot my fanny under me. With my other hand, I touch between my legs and sigh…nothing…there is nothing there but a sweet softness. I feel a warm itchy tingling. I haven’t felt anything there in I don’t remember how long. I think of Mr. Chase again…in fact, I haven’t stopped thinking about him.

It comes to me that Diane said this would happen, she said…oh I don’t even want to think about what she said, but I am, sort of. My hand is still moving over my nipples and the other hand, between my legs…I can feel its wet down there. There is a vibrator in my bedstand. Diane bought it especially for me. She told me to use it, that it would be good for me, but I didn’t, usually. Sometimes, she’d use it on me herself, and I liked that, even if I didn’t feel much, I liked the intimacy between us. But now, I reach over to the nightstand and take it out.

Between my legs, it feels so good; it never felt like this before. I reach into my nightie and pinch my nipples. I feel embarrassed, but that’s okay. I’m thinking of Mr. Chase, of his lean, hard body, of his handsome smiling face, of the way I can’t say "no" to him. Even though I’m by myself, I hesitate to lift up my nightie, but I do it, I do it because I imagine Mr. Chase telling me to do it, and I press the vibrator to the soft wet mess I’m making between my smooth thighs.

I’m breathing so hard now, my heart is pounding, and I’m making little whimpering noises. I don’t care. I picture Mr. Chase standing by the bed, watching me, smiling, he’s got his fingers hooked into the waistband of his white tennis shorts…and oh! God, I glance down at the length of me…my breasts popped out of my nightie, my fingers squeezing the hard brown nipples…first one, then the other. I see my slender white legs so different than Mr. Chase’s…my painted toes, rigid, curling…the nightie hiked up over my hips, the long black vibrator humming away, undoing me…

Ohhh…

And then it happens, it happens, and I melt inside…I come, I come, and it feels so totally okay I don’t even question it. I’m crying a little and I don’t know exactly why. I feel so…I don’t even have a word for it. I don’t even think, I just pick up the phone by the bed and call Diane. She picks up on the second ring. I’m breathless and excited and I’m still crying, it seems. I tell her, I tell her everything. I don’t even apologize for interrupting her date. She said to call only in an emergency. It doesn’t even occur to me to apologize.

On the other end, Diane is laughing softly, gently, supportively. "This is so wonderful Chloe," she says. "So wonderful. Everything is going for the better now. You’ll see. This is a big moment. Thank you for calling. We’ll do something special when I get home. Go to sleep now, sweetie. Go to sleep."

She hangs up softly, and I lie there, softly crying, but happy, in a strange way happy. Ok, maybe I’m not exactly happy, because I know that things will change and with change came loss. But I am content…content that a new life is about to begin for me. It is the life I was meant to live…and I am ready. I fall asleep that night thinking of Diane, her boyfriend, Mr. Chase, myself…and with a mix of excitement and fear I know that when I wake up the next morning everything…everything…will be different.

 

 

 

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© 2001 by Monika Ikon. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.