Ben. Or Brad.
I've always thought that, if I was ever lucky enough to get a girlfriend, the last thing I'd ever do is cheat on her. Part of that stemmed from the fact that, to most women, I just wasn't very attractive. I mean, I'm not a pinnacle of manliness, you know? I guess I just never considered that it might not be a woman.
Toward my junior year in college, a funny thing started happening -- I started getting hit on by guys. I guess most of them were gay, but a few, I think, thought I was a girl. It didn't really happen that much, at first. Just here and there. Maybe at a bar or something. But I liked it. I would never have admitted it to Amy -- I brushed it off as an annoyance -- but it felt so good to have men vie for my attention.
I'm no psychiatrist, but even I can see why. I mean, for years I was invisible, and those few people who did see me, either made fun of me or dismissed me out of hand. Then, all of a sudden, people actually wanted to talk to me...it was so gratifying.
Was it the new, more confident me? Was it the way I moved? The way I walked? The way I presented myself? I know I gave off signals. At first, it wasn't intentional. Really, it just sort of happened. But once I knew what was happening, well...I couldn't help it. We all want to be wanted. It's basic human vanity. So what if it was guys? That I liked the attention didn't make me gay, right? I did have a girlfriend, after all.
But then I met...oh...wow, what was his name? I can't even remember his name now. Is that bad? It started with a "B". Like Ben. Or Brad. Oh, I don't remember. Let's just call him Brad. So then, I met Brad.
It turns out that we all have to get a job at some point, and my time came in my junior year of college. There were things I wanted, and money from home just wasn't cutting it anymore. Yeah, I know I got a late start, but that's not the point. Anyway, I got a job as a waiter at a local sports bar. It seemed logical. It's not like I could go out and do manual labor. And of my options, waiting tables easily afforded me the opportunity to make the most money.
I know why I got the job. I had not experience. I'm sure there were more qualified people. But I saw the way Brad looked at me; I knew that he wanted me. And I used it. Is that wrong? Women do it all the time. Why not me?
So I flirted a bit with him, and I got the job. But of course, all actions have consequences, and the flirting didn't end there. Everytime we worked together, it was there. I'm sure everyone saw it, the way he looked at me, how I preened for him.
I knew what he liked. I knew what they all liked.
It didn't happen all at once. It's not like one day I said, "I'm going to start wearing girls' clothes." No, it was far more gradual than that. You see, as I realized what men wanted to see in me, my perceptions of what looked good on me started to change. I knew they liked looking at my butt, so I chose clothes that displayed it in the best way. Usually, this meant wearing tighter pants. But more than that, it meant that loose shirt tails were all but gone. I couldn't tuck them in, either. So I started buying shirts that were a bit...tight. You know, so they wouldn't come down too far. And you can't wear tight jeans with boxer shorts, so I started wearing skimpier and skimpier underwear. First it was briefs. Then it was bikini briefs. And so on.
It's not like I shopped in the women's section...not for quite a while, at least. I was just really picky about the cut of my clothes. I rationalized it, of course. I just liked looking nice. So I have a nice butt -- was it a crime to show it off?
Anyway, back to Ben. Or was it Brad? I don't remember.
It was late one night, and we were the last two left after closing the restaurant. As he locked the door, I waited. It was dark, and I didn't want to walk to my car alone. It happend so quickly, I didn't see it coming. One minute, we were standing there. The next, he had me in his arms, and our lips were locked together.
He felt so big, so strong, as his arms enveloped me. And as he squeezed my butt, it just felt so...I get chills just thinking about it.
And it was over just as quickly as it started. Or it seemed that way. He apologized, of course, but I could see the smile in his eyes. He wasn't sorry. Nor was I.
At least I wasn't right then. Sorry would come later.