The Masculinity Thief (Patreon)

The Masculinity Thief

It started when she took his necklace.  They'd just made love, their bodies sweat slick and flush, and as soon as he'd rolled off her and onto his back, she's climbed onto him, kissed him and reached her arms around his head, pressing her soft breasts into his chest. 

"Babe," he said, pulling out of the kiss.  "I need a minute." 

She smiled as she sat back, slipping his chain link necklace from around his neck and fixing it around her own.  "I'm borrowing this." 

"Bullshit," Pete said, reaching up, but she giggled and hopped from the bed, sauntering away as she adjusted the necklace around her slender shoulders, giving him a good look at her perfect little ass and slender waist as she walked away, her pale white skin glistening. 

 She had shoulder length auburn hair that bounced when she walked. 
Pete felt drowsy, as he always did after sex, but he propped himself up and said,  "I don't even fucking know you."

"I always take a trophy from the guys I bang,"  the girl said, turning, a smart-alecky little smile on her face.

"Oh, is that what happened?  Because I'm pretty sure I banged you."

"Whatever you have to tell yourself, honey" she said, stepping into her underwear-- boyshorts, they were called.  

"Come on.  I love that necklace." 

"Then you'll just have to earn it back," she said, slipping into her sports bra.  Then she made a V shape with her fingers and licked the space between them with her little pink tongue. 

"Yeah, right."

 The girl smirked. Slipped into her t-shirt, jeans.  Sandals.  Checked her phone and then shoved it into her pocket. 

"Come on,"  Pete said.  "Give it back.  That thing cost me, like, 50 bucks."  He was starting to get pissed, and wondering if this crazy bitch was going to force him to get up and take the chain back.  She was just a girl, and looking at her little arms and slender little body, he knew it wouldn't be hard to make him give him back his necklace, but he was really tired, and who needed the drama?  "Don't even think about walking out of here with..." 

"You can have mine,"  the girl answered, tossing him a delicate gold chain. She paused at the door to look back over her shoulder and say, "Be good, babe." 

Pete laid in bed, stupefied.  He picked up the thin little chain she'd tossed to him, saw the figure of an angel with sparkling wings dangling from the chain, sighed and lay his head back on the pillow.  Angel?  He thought.  More like the devil.  Without even thinking, he slipped the necklace around his neck and fastened it, then closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Days passed.  A week.  He forgot all about the strange encounter until he took a girl home one night, and as soon as he took his shirt off she said, "Fuck.  You have a girlfriend."

"No.  What makes you say that?" 

"Dude, you're wearing her necklace." 

Pete looked down, touched the angel.  He'd forgotten he was wearing it, had been wearing it, every day since he'd slept with that... what was her name?  "No.  This is from someone I saw-- we actually only slept together once." 

"So why are you wearing her shit?"  The girl said, though she was still slipping out of her skirt. 

"You want to fuck or what?"  Pete said, deciding to take command.  He grabbed her around the waist and started walking her toward the bed.

The girl giggled and wiggled, and then they made love.  Pete fell asleep.  In the morning, she was gone.  He got up and went to the bathroom, scratched his balls.  Looking in the mirror, he saw the angel glittering on his chest, right in the center of his hard, flat pecs.  He thought about taking it off.  It did seem kind of girly, and obviously could create trouble for him with the females, but then he just shrugged and went back to bed.  He kinda liked it or something.

Chapter Two

Pete was at Buffalo's, watching the Giants take on Dallas, when he felt someone squeeze his ass cheek, and a familiar voice said, "Hey, Pete."

Pete turned and looked down into the smirking face of... that girl.   She was wearing his bike chain necklace on the outside of her shirt.  "Nice necklace," he said.  "I used to have one just like it."

 "That's funny because I took this from some dude I banged."  She stepped in close, rubbing her body up against his, putting her palm on his chest.  "You want it back, babe?"

Babe.   Pete didn't like the way she said it, something about the tone, but she looked and smelled great, and he felt himself getting horny.  He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.  "Keep it," he said.  "It looks better on you anyway." 

"You know what else would look good on me?" 

"What?" 

"You." 

Pete chuckled, gulped down his beer and sarcastically said, "Aren't you going to at least buy me a drink first?" 

"Two shots of Jagermeister,"  the girl called to the bartender. 

"I was just kidding," Pete said. 

The girl cupped his ass and gave it a squeeze.  "I'm not." 

She was standing so close, her body pressed up against his, that Pete started to get hard, and he shifted uncomfortably.  "Don't worry," the girl said, quietly.  "I'll hide it for you."  And then she turned and pushed her ass up against his growing hard on. 

"You're not helping,"  Pete said. 

She glanced back over her shoulder and winked.  "I know." 

Pete threw back the shots.   The girl threw some money on the bar, grabbed Pete's hand and dragged him from the bar.   She led him to her car, a 67 Thunderbird, which was parked in an alleyway that ran alongside the bar, opened the door and pushed him in, climbing on top.  The old leather seats smelled like cigarettes and Armor All. "Let's fuck," she said, brushing her hair from her face.

Pete's head was swimming, and he felt uncomfortable, off his game.  He was used to being in charge.  "People might see," he said, wanting to take command of the situation, but as soon as the words left his mouth he thought they sounded weak, whiney.

The girl kissed him and then pulled off her tank top, letting her firm breasts sway free.   At  the sight of them, and the hard little nipples, Pete started to undo his belt buckle.  He had to have her.  The girl giggled, tossing her hair back and looking down at Pete, laying on his back in the backseat of her Thunderbird, that same dimpled smirk on her face.  "That's my boy," she said, pushing her jeans down over her hips. 

Pete pushed his own pants down, his underwear, then he grabbed her hips and she moved into position, lowering herself onto him, enveloping his penis in her soft, wet vagina.  Pete threw his head back, kept his hands on her hips, matched her rhythm, thrusting up as she bobbed to penetrate even further.   He watched her, fascinated.  She had her hands in her hair, and she was staring down at him with a hungry, satisfied look in her big, brown eyes, and her breasts were bouncing on her chest, and she was smirking, her thick, metallic chain link necklace catching the light, flashing, flashing... she didn't make a sound.   Pete had never been with a woman so quiet, so the only sound was the rattling of the Thunderbird's suspension, and Pete's grunting as they fucked, and he was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, and he closed his eyes finally and gasped as he felt the girl clamp down on him and pull the load right out of him. 

"Good fuck, babe," the girl said, leaning down to kiss him, her breasts against his chest.  He could feel them through his sweat sopped t-shirt. 

She grabbed his arm and pulled him up, and then Pete found himself being pulled out of the car, into the alley.  "Slow down," he said.  "What the fuck?" 

"I gotta go," the girl said, giving him a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the ass.  She grabbed Pete's jeans from where they'd been crumpled on the floor, yanking his belt free, and then tossed him his jeans.   She held the belt with a smile.  "I'm borrowing this.  Have mine." 

She tossed Pete a slender little woman's belt. 

"Come on,"  Pete said.  "What the hell?"

"That's the way I roll, babe."  She got into her car, the engine roared as she pumped the gas. 
Pete, pulling on his jeans, hopped to the window.  "What's your name?" 
"Does it matter?"  The girl said, slipping on a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses. 
"I'd like to..."  

"No," the girl said, slamming down the gas and peeling away down the alley, leaving Pete, hopping on one leg in a cloud of blue smoke.  He watched her fishtail out onto traffic, and his mouth fell open, and he thought, god, she is so fucking cool!              

Once he had his pants on, he looked at the belt she's tossed him.   It was a thin, braided leather belt, not totally girly, but certainly feminine.  I can't wear this, he thought, turning it over in his hands.  A guy would never wear something like this, probably.  Not a straight one. It would be kind of funny to see how it looks, though, right?        

He started to slip the belt through the loops in his jeans, then buckled it on the very first hole.  It was a little tight.  But it actually looked okay. He chuckled.  I'm pretty sure I saw Lenny Kravitz wear something like this, he thought. His wife is hot.  It actually looks pretty good, and I'll probably score points with that infuriating girl next time I see her, if there is a next time. The thought there might not be a next time scared him.  He absentmindedly reached for the angel on his necklace and sent out a prayer to the universe.

He was starting to really like her. 

Chapter Three        

 Melissa had amazing tits.  They were nig, firm, gravity defying breasts, and she was on her back staring up at him eagerly.  They were just the kind of breasts Pete liked, and he eagerly began to suck on one of her nipples while pinching the other.  Melissa dug her fingernails into his back, and moaned, softly.   Pete slipped a hand down to her vagina, letting his fingers slide inside her, and then while still squeezing her other breast, he said, "what's it like?" 

"What?"  Melissa said, distantly, lost in her own thoughts and erotic needs. 

"What's it like having such big breasts?"

"What?"  Melissa said, giving Pete an odd look. 

"Are guys always talking to your boobs?"               

Fuck, Melissa thought.  I knew that belt was a red flag.  "Dude," she said.  "I'm just here for the fucking." Pete felt hurt, and a little embarrassed.  Of course, a woman wouldn't want to chit chat in the middle of sex.  

He dropped his voice and said, "me, too," and then he pinched her slit while also digging his fingers into her nipple. Melissa sang out "yes!", arching her back, and Pete kept working her with his hands, and she started to pant and moan.  "Oh god... oh god... oh god..."           

And in his mind, Pete was chanting, "oh god... oh god... oh god...." right along with her, and imagining what it would be like if he were the woman, and she were the man, and when he climbed up on her and finally thrust into her, he clutched the angel around his neck and thought, I wish I was the one getting fucked right now, and then he exploded into her.

After, Melissa had tears in her eyes, and she kissed Pete, holding his face, and said, "you were fucking amazing!" Pete kissed her back, though he felt cold, empty, unsatisfied.  He had come, but he didn't feel like he'd come.  But he needed to be considerate of her feelings, so he said, "You, too.  You're so amazing." 

"Jesus,"  Melissa said, laying back, her thick curly hair all around her pretty face.  "I've never had three orgasms before." 

"I aim to please," Pete said with a sigh.            
 

Soon, he heard Melissa snoring.  That's a first, Pete thought, staring at the ceiling, feeling frustrated.  He thought about that weird girl, the  one who'd taken his necklace, and wished he was with her instead of Melissa.  He touched his angel again.   It had been weeks.   He missed her so much.  Needed her.  He felt a tear pour down his cheek and realized that he was crying, silently.         

Get it together, he thought, ashamed, wiping the tears away.  Jesus, dude.   What the fuck? She's just some random girl.   Get over it. 

Pete finally fell asleep, and when he woke up Melissa was gone.  It made him sad.  He'd been hoping to cuddle, but then he thought about the girl, the one who got him, who was so cool and so in control.  He had to find her, to see her, but he didn't know her name or anything about her other than she had such a badass car and.. 

Wait.  A 67 Thunderbird.  That was an unusual car.  Excitedly, Pete got up and slipped on a pair of sweat pants, hurrying over to his computer.  He touched the angel on his necklace for luck, and did a search for 67 Thunderbird and Austin, and up popped a bunch of what seemed like irrelevant hits, but scrolling down he came to Austin Classic Car Club, and clicking on it he saw the group was having a car show that weekend in downtown Austin. 

Pete's heart fluttered.  She might be there.  She had to be there!  All week long he was giggly and nervous, and when Saturday morning rolled around he nervously got dressed, trying on six different t-shirts and three different pairs of jeans until he found the ones he thought she would like, then he slipped the belt she'd given him around his waist and smiled as he buckled it; his diet had paid off and the belt now fit perfectly!  He wore his necklace on the outside of his shirt, the angel sparkling as he walked. 

Pete wandered among the cars, trying to look cool as he glanced around, nodding and pretending to look at the various classic cars.   He didn't see her, and his heart sank, but he heard her then-- or rather the thundering of her car's engines, and he spun around and saw her Thunderbird screaming up the street before she slammed on the brakes and jacked her way into a parking spot, jumping out of the car and flashing devil horns while all the car dudes laughed. 

Pete was going to try and casually wend his way through the cars and pretend he's just accidently come upon her, but she looked right at him, staring into his eyes until he looked away.  Then she gave him a wolfish smile and shouted, "Babe!  Get your pretty ass over here!" 

Pete tried, and failed, to keep from smiling, a big, bright smile blossoming on his face as he hurried over to the girl, his mind racing with what he should say, and whether he should go for a hug, but she grabbed him as soon as he got close and bent him over backwards until his back was against the hood of the car and she was kissing him till he saw stars. 
"Found a new one, eh?"  A grizzled old dude with a ZZ Top Beard and a leather vest said. 

"Like I always do,"  the girl said. 

"A new what?"  Pete said. 

"Babe," the girl said, putting her hand on his cheek, "you just look pretty and keep quiet." 

"Okay," Pete said, and when she gave him a glare he nodded twice. 

Pete knew it was all wrong, and yet it was also right.  He was acting wrong, letting her treat him like some kind of bimbo, which he would never do, except now he was, for her, and he couldn't seem to stop himself.  The fact was, he would do anything she told him to do as long as he thought she might make love to him.  He needed her that bad. 

She kept him waiting all day.  He stood next to her car, smiling like a model, while the girl talked to the other car owners.  They all pretty much ignored Pete except to make comments about him to the girl- comments like he wasn't even there or couldn't hear them. 

"He's a pretty one," they'd say, or else, "Nice little toy you brought."  One punk even called Pete a cute little kitten.  It made him angry, and he was disappointed that the girl didn't stand up for him, but she was so... everything... he just watched her and thought about the sex.

Finally, after hours waiting, she took him back to his place, threw him on his back and just sent him to a heaven clawing the mattress as she rode him.  In the morning he was all fuzzy headed and confused.  She pulled his underwear off him, and he thought she was going to make love to him again, and he smiled and sighed, but instead she put on his underwear and then got dressed.  He knew better than to argue.  She took what she wanted.  It was part of why he... needed her.  But then she tossed her underwear onto his chest and said, "put them on."

Pete felt himself getting hard, and he clutched the underwear and sat up.  "What?"

"Put them on," the girl repeated. 

They were boy shorts like he'd seen her wear before, blue.  They could almost have been men's underwear but for the elastic waistband which read Victoria's Secret.  Pete felt nervous, excited.  "I'm surprised you wear Victoria's Secret." 

"I don't," the girl said.  "You do."  Her necklace, Pete's old necklace, was cold and dark and metallic. 

Somewhere deep in the back of Pete's mind a voice was telling him not to put on the girl's underwear, to demand she give him back his necklace, his belt, but instead he rolled out of bed and stepped into the Victoria's Secret boy shorts, pulling them up over his stiffening erection. 

The girl smiled.  "Turn around." 

Pete turned, looked back over his shoulder. 

The girl whistled and said, "your ass looks so hot in those shorts, babe."  She gave him a slap on the ass and then grabbed his wrist.  "Let's trade."

Pete had a leather wrist cuff on, and he let her slip it off him.  Then he sat down, holding his wrist out as she slipped a series of thin, bangly bracelets over his hand, so that he eventually had seven or eight bracelets on his wrist.

"Okay.  From now on you wear Victoria's Secret underwear and nothing else, babe.  Got me?"  The girl pulled on her shirt, ran a hand through her hair, scratched the five o'clock shadow on her neck.  "Shit.   I have to go." 

"Wait!" 

Pete said.  "What's your name?" 

But the door slammed, and Pete found himself sitting there on his bed with his knees tight together as he twisted the bracelets on his wrist.  He wanted to run after her.  It hurt so much when she left him!  But he knew she would get mad at him, so her sat there, frustrated, thinking, what should I do?  What should I do? 

Take off that girl's underwear, the fading voice yelled, but it was far away and fading like whoever was speaking was falling down a very deep cave.  Take off those bracelets! 
What should I do? Pete kept thinking, twisting his bracelets, twisting. 
And then a new voice spoke a soft, gentle loving voice, and it said, "You heard her.  Time to go shopping." 

And Pete nodded.  Twice.  Touched the angel on his necklace and stood up, resolutely marching over to his computer.  "Yes," he said out loud, relieved that he finally had some direction.  "Yes."  He opened Chrome, and then he Googled Boy Shorts for Women, and smiled with relief as he began to shop.  It was all so exciting, and he put his hand to his smooth, soft cheek, and squirmed in his seat as he looked at all the images of pretty, sexy underwear, and he didn't even notice how hard it made him. 

Pete was doing back squats, the barbell across his shoulders.  He watched himself in the mirror, smiling as he squatted down then tightened his glutes and drove the weight back up, coming to a standing position, his angel sparkling against his bare, flat, hairless chest. 

He wore a pair of pink compression shorts from Victoria's Secret Sport Collection, and when he stood and looked in the mirror he admired his taught, tone tummy and the full, round thighs his training had given him, but racking the weight and turning to the side he saw the real payoff as he admired the firm, round curve of his now plump ass in the skin tight pink shorts.           

He had a woman's ass, and a hot one at that.  He knew it, and he felt embarrassed about it, but it also knew it was she wanted, what would make her happy. And he had to make her happy.  He wanted- needed-- more than just casual sex from her, wanted to spend time with her, get to know her, become part of her life.  And he was sure if he just became what she wanted him to become she would find some way to love him. 

When he finished his workout, he toweled off, slipped out of his workout shorts and into a pair of his boy shorts, then some of his old outer shorts.  They were tight across his ass and the top of his now full, fleshy thighs, but his t-shirts hung over his slender upper body like tents.  Brushing his long hair, he felt his bracelets sliding back and forth on his forearm, and he admired how they sparkled so prettily every time he moved, just like his angel, his precious angel.

Then, he went around and checked the locks on his front and back doors as well as all his windows.  Opened his closet and peaked inside.  He never really felt safe anymore, and his tiny little apartment had come to feel so big empty and full of places for someone to hide, but he could only do so much!  Finally, he curled up on the couch with a cup of tea and turned on Jessica Jones on Netflix.  She's so cool, he thought watching as she walked along the streets of Hell's Kitchen, scowling in her black leather jacket. I wish I could be more like her! 

The next car show wasn't for another month, and so he searched and searched for her on the Internet, finding nothing.  He couldn't find a Facebook page, Twitter account.... he didn't see any pictures of her on the pages of the members of the Austin Car Club Facebook page.  It was like she didn't exist on social media at all, so he just kept dieting, working on his glutes, sitting alone watching TV.  He didn't feel safe going to Buffalo's alone anymore--  the last time he'd gone some guys had hassled him about his belt and bracelets, and he'd been so afraid they were going to beat him up he'd just thrown forty dollars on the bar and practically run out the door while they all laughed. 

Now, whenever he left the house he could feel himself kind of cringe, bracing himself for trouble.  It felt like he was always in danger, always under threat, and that feeling of insecurity just made him hunger for her all the more because he always felt safe with her, and he needed to feel safe, to feel...  complete?  Yes, that was the word.  Complete.

She completed him.

The night before the next car show, Pete couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned, and tossed and turned. Finally, at the crack of dawn he got up and walked blearily to the kitchen, sat down to his usual breakfast of a half grapefruit and some cottage cheese.  After he showered, he slipped into the clothes he'd laid out the night before-- red shorts  that came to half thigh and stripped sailor shirt he tucked in to show off his slender waist.  He put on his belt, and then stood in the mirror with one hand on a hip, turning this way and that, smiling.  Yes. Yes, he thought.  He did look good-- even without sleep!

At the car show, Pete once again moved gingerly among the cars, smiling and feigning interest.  Some of the guys recognized him from before and said hi, and when he asked him about... her... they smirked and nodded.  "She'll be around soon enough, I suppose." 
Then, as Pete stood in front of a classic Model T, someone pinched his ass, and Pete  jumped and shrieked, turning around, furious only to see her smirking at him, and then he smiled and laughed. 

"Gotcha!"  She said. "

Oh!" Pete said.  "I ... well..  I didn't....so anyway?" 

"You are a lot more likeable when you don't talk," she said. 

Pete smiled prettily and did a little knee bend and shrug.  "I know, I guess?" 

"Let me see that ass," she said. 

Pete turned, feeling self-conscious, nervous, hoping she would find him sexy.  She made grunting noise, and then he felt her hand cup the  soft but firm curve of his plump behind, and she squeezed it said, "yes.  You are coming along nicely." 

"I've been working really hard to...." 

"Yeah, yeah," she said, grabbing his hand and dragging him along behind her.  "Let's go!" 
Pete allowed himself to be pulled along.  He loved it when she took charge.  She led him down a couple side streets and then to an old hotel-- The Imperial-- kind of a shabby chic hotel with ironic plastic plants and pictures of old time B-List movie stars on the walls in the lobby-- Peter Lorre, Stella Stevens.  "Room 23," she said, and the clerk grabbed her key from a cubby behind the desk, tossing it to her- of course, she caught it.  She put her hand on the small of Pete's back and started to steer him to the stairs, but the clerk cleared his throat dramatically. 

"Oh, yeah," she said.  "Pay him, babe." 

Pete put his hands on his hips.  "Me? You're pushing it." 

"Yeah.  I left my wallet in my other pants."

Pete shook his head and made a tsking noise, but pulled out his wallet and handed the clerk his credit card.  "She's really something," he said to the clerk. 

"Yeah, I know," the clerk said. "Believe me." 

Upstairs, she opened the door to her apartment, put her hand on the small of Pete's back and steered him into the room. "I love it,"  Pete said, his eyes sparkling as he glanced over the vintage lamps, the ancient console television squatting in the corner like a Buddha, the huge print of Humphrey Bogart on the wall, his face wreathed in smoke, and another of Marilyn Monroe by the window. 

"Yeah," she said, absentmindedly walking over to the cheap dresser with peeling veneers, pulling open the draw and pulling out something slinky and silky-- pink and white lace.  She tossed it to Pete.  "Put this one."

"Me?" 

"Who else?" She snickered. 

Pete swallowed, set his jaw, found some courage. "I... we need to talk."

She sighed with exasperation. "Christ." 

"I have needs..."  Pete said. 

"Listen, babe.  Fine.  We'll have a talk, but first get dressed."  She cupped Pete's cheek.  "It'll make it easier for me to pay attention to you."

Pete started to protest, but then he looked away, turned and went into the bathroom, where he slipped out of his jeans and t-shirt.  He looked at the tender garment in his hands-- a teddy, silk, pink and lace.  No, he thought.  No, but he lifted it up over his head and felt it drop over his hairless body, all sleek and cool, the slender straps settling onto his shoulders. He plucked at the material to make sure it hung just so, primped his hair, his bracelets jostling on his arm, then plastered a smile on his face and went out to meet her. 

She was on the bed, her back against the head board, her legs spread, a cigarette dangling from her lips.  Her eyes got hard and glassy as she looked Pete up and down, and he felt his skin tingle, his cheek blush and he looked down and away, letting her drink in the sight of him in the teddy.

She kept looking and looking.  An old-fashioned alarm clock on the desk ticked... ticked... ticked... Pete stood and let her look, afraid to move or speak, but he could feel a pressure building up in him, like a ball of flame, and he wanted to scream.... tick... tick... tick... but instead he just forced a smile, looked up and said, "do you like it?"

"No," she said.  

Pete felt like he'd been punched in the gut, his face collapsed.

"Get over here," she said, as if oblivious to the pain she inflicted. 

Pete obeyed, sullenly, and she grabbed his arm, pulled him down and pushed him down on his belly.  He felt her run her hands over his ass, squeeze.  "You have such a big, fat butt now," she said, and then she slapped it-- hard-- and Pete flinched, and she slapped it again, laughing. 

"Ow!  That hurts!" Pete finally said, his voice muffled by the pillow that half-buried his face.
 She chuckled, then stroked the curve of his ass again.  "Talk," she said. 

"What?"

"You said you wanted to talk.  Talk." 

Pete started to turn, roll over on his side. He wanted to look at her, connect, but she pushed him down.  "No," she said.  "Stay like that.  I like your backside better." 

"I don't even know your name,"  Pete started. 

"Brenda.  That it?" 

"Brenda?  Oh.  No.  I need more.  I'm looking for a relationship, and..." 

"A relationship?"  Brenda laughed, pulling the hem of Pete's teddy up over his rump, exposing his bare butt to the air.  "You're coming along so fast." 

What? Pete thought, but he ignored the comment, distracted by how vulnerable he felt with his ass bare, and she was now running her fingertips over the smooth, soft skin.  "I need more than just sex." 

"Sure," Brenda said.  "Let's start right now." 

"Wait?  Really?" 

"Oh, yeah," she said, grabbing Pete's hips and getting him to lift his ass in the air.  "Let me show you another side of myself." 

"What are you..." 

He heard a clicking sound, like a buckle being snapped shut, and then he felt it as she pushed something into him, and he arched his back, groaning in pain, and Brenda put one hand on the small of his back, slapped him hard on the side of the ass with the other and said, "Welcome to me, babe." 

After, Pete curled up and cried.  Brenda opened the single window, sat on the sill and smoked, watching him.  "This is the next step if you want a relationship with me.  This is how it's going to be."

"Okay," Pete said.  He didn't feel like he had a choice.  He needed her, no matter how badly she hurt him. 

"Let's make it a day, then.  I'll take you out."

"I don't feel well,"  Pete said. 

"I don't give a shit.  Now get that fat ass of your out of bed and get dressed."

Pete wiped his tears, sat up and started toward the bathroom, but Brenda said, "hold it. Wear these."  She handed him a pair of Daisy Dukes and a flouncy tank top like women tended to wear, with a plunging, ripped neckline and splashes of bright colors, plus a pair of pink boy shorts.  Pete took the clothes, hugged them to his chest and went into the bathroom to change.

The day became a blur.  Brenda led Pete around by the hand.  He found himself sitting, hands in his lap, while a beautician pierced his ears, leaving him with three flashing earrings in each ear, and she put a little diamond stud in his nose as well.  When she finished, Pete turned his head side to side, watching how all his new jewelry sparkled.  "Do you like it?"  He asked, meeting Brenda's eyes in the mirror. .

"Come on, Pepper," she said, putting her hand on the small of Pete's back and guiding him toward the door.  "We're just getting started."

She took him to a salon next, where she had the girls die his hair bleach blonde and give him extension, so that he found himself with a thick head of wavy blonde hair that poured down over his shoulders.   Then, they did his nails, making them longer, painting them glossy hot pink and then adding white, polka dot appliqués.  Then they did his face, busily working with eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, blush, eye shadow, and when he finally looked at himself he saw a stunned young woman looking back at him, her frosty pink lips open in a circle of surprise, her slender eyebrows raised, her nose ring sparkling prettily as she shook her head, her blonde hair bouncing. Pete felt his heart racing with panic as he reached up and touched his smooth cheek, seeing his bracelets on his slender wrist, his long pink fingernails glittering. 

 "Oh no," Pete said.  "I'm sorry.  This is wrong."

Brenda kissed him on the shoulder, the top of the head.  "Shut up slut," she said.  "You're just finally starting to look right."

She led him by the hand through the mall, and he felt himself terrified and thrilled to be seen like this in front of all these people.  When she led him into Victoria's Secret he thought he might faint as he was overcome with fear and thrilled at the same time, his heart racing with desire and dread as he looked at all the pretty clothes.  "This is Pepper,"  Brenda said, pushing him toward a salesgirl.  "She needs a bra.  Something sexy." 

"Okay," the girl said, looking past Pete to speak to Brenda.  "What's her size?" 

"Give her a D cup.  She'll be using inserts." 

"Um, I don't...." Pete started meekly, but the girl grabbed his hand and dragged him into the store. 

"Don't you worry, sweetie.  I'll take care of you," the salesgirl said. 

Pete was confused, pleased, ashamed that no one seemed to question that he was a female.  He'd been dreading snickers, comments, but the only thing he'd noticed was some guys checking out his legs and ass.  Soon, he found himself in the dressing room, looking at himself in a pink, lacy bra, the cups hanging empty on his chest.

"How is it?"  The girl called. 

"Perfect!"  Pete chirped.

Back at Brenda's, Pete found himself standing in front of her in a floral print summer dress, his fake breasts swelling out the front of the gown as his plump behind filled out the back.  Brenda nodded.  She turned to make him face the mirror, and he saw himself there now-- herself-- Pepper, smiling, everything about her sparkling and radiant from her blonde hair to her sparkling eyes, her glossy lipstick and her jewelry.

"From now on," Brenda said.  "You.  Always."  She slapped his ass for emphasis.

Pepper just giggled and bit her lip.  She just wanted to please Brenda.  She was expecting a kiss, a passionate roll in the hay, but instead Brenda just said, "grab your purse."

"Where are we going?"  Pepper asked, hoping the question wouldn't upset Brenda.           

"You are going home,"  Brenda said.  "I have some things to take care of." 

"What?  Oh.  Okay." 

"Yeah.  Okay,"  Brenda said.  "Shut up and get in the car."

As they drove, Pepper tried to slide over and cuddle against Brenda, but she pushed Pepper away with an angry grunt, and fighting back tears Pepper curled up against the passenger side door.  Brenda, her eyes distant and cold, eventually started to speak in a flat, disengaged monotone.

"I do this.  You.  It's something I have to do.  I steal masculinity from men like you.  Like the one you used to be.  I used to be kind of a girly girl.  Pathetic.  But something happened.  A guy.  He treated me so bad.  So bad.  And I prayed to be free of him, and the devil answered my prayers, and I started to drain him of his masculinity, turning him into a giggling, silly girl of a man, making him wear dresses and high heels."  

She paused to rub the stubble on her chin, a little smile on her face as the memories played through in her mind.

"But once he was drained, once he'd become the most pathetic girly girl in the world, I found my masculinity draining.  Weakening.  And I had to go and find another man to steal from, and another.  I'd become a kind of vampire.  It was my curse.  In order to be free, to live, I have to steal from men like you.   You understand, right?"

Pepper was looking at Brenda, falling more in love with her with each and every word of her story, and so she nodded and whispered, "yes." 

"So, you forgive me, right?  For what I've done to you?" 

"I would do anything to make you happy," Pepper said.  "I would give anything."

Brenda chuckled.  "I know."  And then she pulled her car over to the curb outside Pepper's apartment, cupped her smooth cheek and gave her a kiss.  "Bye, now." 

Pepper slipped her purse over her shoulder and got out of the car.  "When will I see you again?"

Brenda looked away, then back, forcing a smile onto her rugged, handsome face.  "I'll be back in a week or two." 

"I love you," Pepper said as the tears pooled in her eyes.

"Yeah," Brenda said.  "Whatever."  And then she pulled away from the curb and drove off, leaving Pepper standing by the curb in her heels and little dress.  Pepper watched Brenda's car as it moved away, getting smaller and smaller before finally vanishing, and then she stood there, still, staring at the empty space where she'd last seen it, the last memory she would have of her beloved Brenda.