Double Occupancy

Double Occupancy by Stephanie Silver

Ah, the Caribbean!

Derek Hammond, my best friend, has invited me to go with him on a ten-day cruise in the Caribbean. My name is Chris Thomas. "I had an incredible third quarter at work," he says. "They're rewarding me with a cruise as a bonus. Frankly, I would have preferred money, but I'll take anything I can get."

That's great!" I say. "Congratulations! I know you worked pretty hard for it."

"There's just one thing," he says. "It's based on double occupancy. I have to take someone with me. I could go alone, but that sounds about as much fun as staying home and working the whole time. If I can't talk someone into going with me, I don't think I'll go."

I pause for a second. "Are you asking me if I'd like to go?" I ask, not sure if I understand him correctly.

"Yeah. I know. I know. Two guys on a cruise ship sounds kinda... "

"Gay?" I suggest and then laugh.

Derek laughs with me. "Well, that's not the word I was gonna use, but yeah, something like that. I'd ask someone else, but I'm kind of between girlfriends at the moment. Besides, I know you've always wanted to go on a Caribbean cruise, so I think you'd enjoy it more than some gal I just met."

I hesitate. Derek doesn't know how attracted to him I am. He's six-feet, two inches tall, about 200 pounds, athletic, with dark, curly hair, a strong jaw, gorgeous blue eyes, and an easy-going manner. I tell him he looks a lot like Steve Young, the former NFL quarterback, when he was younger.

He also doesn't know that I'm a closet transvestite, and that I have fantasies of being a woman. I'm quite a bit shorter than Derek, standing just five-feet-six inches tall, with a thin build. I have blond hair, which I purposely wear long so that I can more easily impersonate a female, and blue eyes. I also have a naturally feminine sounding voice, and am often mistaken for a woman when I speak.

I have to hesitate because I don't want Derek to know how attracted I am to him. It could destroy our friendship. But the way he just said, "I think you'd enjoy it more than some gal I just met," has got me thinking. The words are echoing through my head. It's as if I can hear tiny alarms going off all over the place each time I think about the words, but they're not loud enough to keep me from thinking what I'm thinking. What I'm thinking is that I'd really enjoy it if I was "some gal" he just met.

I'm also thinking about ten days with Derek. Ten glorious days. Ten days seeing him in nothing but a swimsuit. Ten days eating dinner with him every night. Ten days in the Caribbean. I'm not sure if I can control myself around him for ten whole days.

On the other hand, there's no way I'm going to turn down this opportunity. "I'd love to go," I reply. "When is it?"

"The company is shutting down for two weeks around Christmas and New Year's," he says. "They'd like me to go then."

"Great! So what's the weather like in Acapulco that time of year?"

Derek gives me an amused look. "Acapulco's on the other side of Mexico from the Caribbean, Chris. We're going to Cancun. It should be pretty warm, though.

I grin. Geography has never been my strong point.

We leave on a Saturday, the second day of January. It's cold and miserable as we make our way to the airport. It's snowing and the roads are turning to slush. I take out my camera and snap some pictures of the snow-covered roads to remind us just how bad the weather was that we're leaving behind. Derek is driving. It's six o'clock in the morning. Our plans are to check in and then eat breakfast in the terminal. That's my idea.

Our plane leaves late, because of the weather, but fortunately it isn't canceled. We begin boarding a few minutes after nine and by early afternoon find ourselves in Miami.

We had planned to leave before Christmas, but the cruise ship was completely booked for the holidays. Derek's travel agent has booked us on the first cruise of the new year instead. I was looking forward to spending Christmas and New Year's Eve on a cruise ship, but can't complain. The trip is still costing me nothing.

We wander out of the terminal with our bags and Derek finds the place where a shuttle bus will take us to the cruise ship. It's warm, compared to what we left behind. I turn and face the sun, letting it warm me. "This is nice," I tell Derek.

He grins. "Yeah. Kind of makes you feel sorry for those people we left behind, doesn't it?"

I nod somberly for a minute and then look at him with a grin. We both break out laughing. "Not!"

What strikes me most about the Yucatan, the ship we will be traveling on, is its size. It's huge. "It looks like a skyscraper tipped on its side," I say to Derek under my breath as I try to get a picture of it. "It's hard to believe it doesn't sink straight to the bottom."

Derek laughs. "No. It floats just fine. Just wait till we got out on the waves and people start getting seasick. Then we'll all be wishing it would sink straight to the bottom."

His comment makes me laugh. I look at him as we make our way to the boarding area. Along with his natural good looks, he has a great personality. Warm and kind, he has an odd sense of humor that has always attracted me. I know I'm in love with him. Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do about it. He's totally uninterested in other guys. I stifle a sigh and pretend to check out the girl at the bottom of the boarding ramp checking tickets.

Her name, it turns out when I see it printed on her badge, is Sabrina Thomas. Despite having the same last name, we're not related. I can tell because I'm Caucasian and she appears to be at least partly black. Or is it African-American these days? It's hard to keep up with what is and isn't politically correct all the time.

She's cute, though. She has long, curly dark brown hair. I can't help being envious. In my transvestite dreams, I would love to have hair like that. Her eyes are brown and continually darting back and forth as she surveys the area around her. She has an infectious smile that she uses to greet each passenger as they board. Her voice is soft and melodious. Her skin is a beautiful shade of brown. She's wearing a white polo shirt with the Yucatan's logo on it, and white shorts. Her legs are shapely and smooth. The shirt is unbuttoned so that I can just catch a glimpse of the smooth skin leading to her perfect breasts.

I do what most guys would do in that situation. I look. But not for the same reasons. Most guys, I suppose, look at attractive girls, like Sabrina, and think about how they might want to have sex with them. I look at them and think how much I want to be an attractive girl.

I glance at Derek, to see if he's noticing Sabrina. He is. I grin. As we walk up the ramp, I decide to tease him about her. "She was kind of cute," I say, giving him a nudge. "Too bad you didn't ask her to go on this cruise with you."

Derek grins and chances a glance back at Sabrina. "Nice ass, too," he says.

I glance back, too, and stifle another sigh. Sabrina has narrow, boyish hips. In a more candid moment, Derek had once confided in me that he was an "assman" and that the sight of a small, firm, athletic ass never failed to arouse him. Knowing my backside possesses those same qualities, I wish it was my ass Derek was leering at and not hers.

The bell-boy delivers our bags to our cabin, and we start to settle in. There's just enough time to unpack our bags before dinner. My stomach is still two time zones away from being hungry, but Derek has been looking forward to his first shipboard meal all day. I tell him to go without me, and that I will just stroll around the ship for awhile taking pictures.

Passengers are still boarding and settling in to their cabins. The ship sets sail at midnight. On our way out the door we happen to run into our new neighbors, Reed and Joanne Olsen. They are Mormons from Provo, Utah. Derek and I are from Salt Lake City, Utah. We joke about what a small world it is. The Olsens are celebrating their thirty-fourth wedding anniversary on Wednesday.

Reed Olsen is quiet and lets his wife do most of the talking. Derek does most of the talking for us. I watch Mr. Olsen as his wife and Derek talk. He seems slightly bored and disinterested; as if he'd rather be doing something else than standing in the hall talking with strangers. He probably just wants to go eat dinner, I think.

Mrs. Olsen makes me uneasy. She reminds me of Ray Romano's mother from the TV sitcom "Everyone Loves Raymond." Her words are sweet and kind, but behind them is an edge that I can't quite identify. She focuses her attention on Derek, but I notice that she occasionally glances at me with a disapproving, almost hateful, look. I wonder what I've done to earn her displeasure so quickly.

I barely feel the Yucatan moving away from the dock when we leave at midnight. A bump here. A shudder there. And then a barely perceptible vibration from the engines as we make our way out to sea. I really enjoyed my first evening on board a ship. I feel at home. I love the wooden decks and the wooden railings, I'm fascinated by the lifeboats, and all the other signs of shipboard activities. My walk took me from the bow to the stern; from the highest decks to the lowest decks. I can hardly wait until morning when we'll be fully at sea and I can go out on deck and smell the sea air.

As Derek and I are making our way to breakfast, the ship's purser, Balram, comes up to us and tells us that we need to see the ship's cruise director at once. He won't tell us what it's about. He probably doesn't even know. We ask if we can eat breakfast first, and he shakes his head, "I'm afraid he needs to see you right away."

Balram escorts us personally to Mr. Dunn's office. He knocks on the door, which is immediately answered by the cruise director, Tony Dunn. Although he's taller than me, Mr. Dunn is short, probably about 5'9", with narrow shoulders and a typical middle-aged physique: rounding in the middle. He has short brown hair and a nervous look about him as he talks.

"Chris Thomas?" he asks as he shakes my hand.

I nod. "Uh, yes, that's me."

"And you must be Derek Hammond," he says, turning to Derek. He invites us to sit down as Balram leaves, closing the door behind him.

"I'm afraid there's been some confusion with your travel arrangements," he says, getting straight to the point. "I'm sorry I interrupted your breakfast. Hopefully this will take just a few minutes to clear up and we'll have you right back in the dining room."

"What kind of confusion?" asks Derek.

Tony Dunn looks at me for a moment, and then back at Derek. "It's just a complaint from one of the other passengers. Now that I've met you in person, I can see that the complaint is unjustified, and can be disregarded. I'll just let this other passenger know I personally looked into the situation, and there's nothing to her complaint."

Tony's brief explanation raises more questions than it answers. Derek and I stare at him in total bewilderment. "A complaint?" Derek asks. "What kind of complaint?"

Somehow I know Joanne Olsen is the one who made the complaint. That's why she was giving me those disapproving looks the night before. Tony Dunn sits back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head as he prepares to launch into a more detailed explanation.

"You have to consider the current political climate in our country," he says. "The Republicans have been in the white house for ten years now, and conservative values are stronger than ever. The house and Senate approved the marriage bill last year, and that's trickled down into various local laws, which get turned into corporate policies."

Derek and I were still confused. "But what does that have to do with us?" he asks.

Tony Dunn continues, "Well, as of the first of the year, CruisIn Style has been forced to adopt a policy against allowing same-sex couples to share a cabin on any of our cruise ships. Someone apparently saw Ms. Thomas here, and got confused. I apologize for that, Ms. Thomas," he says, turning to me.

None of this is making sense to me. If the cruise line has a policy against same-sex couples, then why is Mr. Dunn telling us there's no problem? We're as same-sex as it gets. And why is he calling me Ms. Thomas?

"Uh, I'm still confused," I say.

"I'm sorry," says Mr. Dunn. "What can I do to help you understand?"

I look at him and then at Derek, who is just as confused as I am. "Um, so what was the complaint? And why are you 'disregarding' it, now that you've met us?"

Mr. Dunn opens the folder on his desk and looks at it for a moment. "The complaint was mostly against you, Ms. Thomas."

I shake my head. "Why do you keep calling me Ms. Thomas?"

"I'm sorry. Would you prefer Miss? I'm assuming the two of you aren't married." He looks at Derek as if expecting him to confirm the assumption.

"Uh, no, we're not," says Derek shaking his head in bewilderment.

Tony Dunn continues his explanation. "The complaint was that we had allowed a same-sex couple to book passage on this cruise. That would be a violation of company policy, so I checked your travel records, and I see that Derek Hammond is a male, and his companion, Chris Thomas, is a female. I asked the purser to bring you to my office just so I could verify personally that Miss Thomas is, in fact, a female, which she obviously is. So, I can dismiss the complaint. Fortunately, we don't yet have laws requiring that couples be married in order to share a cabin; just that they be opposite sexes."

He gives us a smile that suggests the problem is now solved. I'm still confused, but Derek has a grip on my arm that tells me to keep quiet. "Do we need to do anything else then?" Derek asks.

Mr. Dunn shakes his head. "Um, no. That should take care of it." He gives me an appraising look. "I might make one suggestion, however."

"What's that? Asks Derek.

"Well, there might be other passengers who may misinterpret Miss Thomas' appearance in the same way. It's not normally in my interest as a cruise director to question the way one of our passengers wishes to dress or behave, as long as it's within the bounds of propriety. However, in this case, given Miss Thomas' somewhat androgynous looks, it might be helpful to perhaps over-emphasize the point by dressing that way.

"What do you mean?" asks Derek, looking at me.

"I mean she should consider dressing less like a man, and more like a woman. Wear dresses; wear feminine colors; add some jewelry; just to avoid any confusion."

Derek nods as if he understands. I'm still totally confused. Is he suggesting that I wear a dress?

Tony adds, "The ship's stores have a large collection of clothing: swimwear, evening wear, lingerie. In case you need to purchase anything."

Derek is standing, lifting me to my feet. He's also holding my hand, which I know he's doing for effect at the moment, but still it's something I would want to enjoy if I wasn't so busy trying to figure out what was going on. "Yeah, we might want to do that. I know Chris' swimsuit got left behind accidentally anyway. We were already planning to replace that."

There's a few more comments as Derek ushers me out the door. When we're safely in the elevator on our way back to the dining room, I ask, "What the heck was that all about?"

Derek explains what he knows. "When Ingrid, my travel agent, was booking this trip for us, she kept telling me that she was saying that you were a female, and that she had to do that or the computer wouldn't accept the reservation. I didn't understand what she was saying. I thought it was just some computer glitch thing that wouldn't really matter. Now I figured out that she was asking me if you were female. I guess she knew about the cruise ship's policy. Anyway, that's why that guy back there thinks you're a woman. That's what it says on your travel record. And for some reason, when he saw you, he..."

"He had no reason to think otherwise," I say quietly. I don't know whether to be offended or pleased.

"Exactly," says Derek. "So now we have to make people think you really are a woman, or they'll kick us off the ship."

I avoid looking at Derek. I can't let him know how secretly delighted I am with that. I know I have to act like it bothers me. "How're we gonna do that?" I ask glumly.

"I've got my credit card," he says, "I guess the first thing we need to do is go shopping."

We decide to separate for breakfast and meet back at the shopping center later. Our idea is that we avoid being seen together as much as possible to keep people from getting any wrong ideas. Even though those wrong ideas would be correct. That way, if someone sees me and thinks I'm male, they won't think much of it since I'm not with Derek.

I can hardly taste my French toast as I eat. The appetite I had earlier is completely gone now. I'm no longer confused about what's going on. I just don't know how to react to it. Being a transvestite, I'm excited that I'm about to be "forced" to dress like a girl. That's literally a dream come true. But I'm a closet-transvestite, and Derek doesn't know my secret. In order to keep my secret, I have to act like I don't want to dress like a girl. Even though I do. It's both confusing and exciting.

And, to complicate matters, I need to make people think I'm Derek's girlfriend. I'm secretly excited by that, but it brings up the same dilemma. How do I act like I don't want to do something that, in truth, really excites me? And, with nine days of dressing like a girl and acting like Derek's girlfriend, how am I ever going to control myself with him?

Derek and I are in women's swimwear, trying to find me an appropriate swimsuit. He wants me to buy a bikini. "I think you should get a bikini," he whispers. "Then for sure no one would think you're a guy."

A bikini!? I'd absolutely love to wear a bikini. But I have to protest. "You don't think they'll notice something when I don't have boobs?"

He steps back and gives me an appraising look. "Lots of girls don't have boobs," he says. He holds up a coral-colored string bikini with a picture of an orange sunset splashed across it. "What's wrong with this one?"

I glare at him. Nothing's wrong with it. I've actually been considering it ever since I first saw it. "Would you want to wear it?" I growl.

He smiles, hiding the fact that he's chuckling as he puts it back on the rack. "No. But I'm not the one who has to look like a girl."

I do my best to look hurt by his comment. He immediately apologizes. "Sorry. I know this is hard for you."

He has no idea.

I'm looking through one-piece swimsuits. I still can't believe I'm actually going to buy one of these wonderful garments, and then wear it in public.

Derek comes over and looks with me for a moment or two. "You know," he says, turning a suit partly inside out to emphasize the way the cup is designed, "if you wear one of these, it's going to emphasize what's NOT there." He pauses and moves closer, his voice getting even lower. "Diane was as flat as a board in high school. She hid it by wearing string bikinis and then stuffing the cups."

I stare at him, my jaw open. Diane was his girlfriend through most of high school. I had no idea she did that. "What'd she stuff them with?" I ask. The question comes out without thinking.

Fortunately, Derek doesn't seem to notice anything odd about my question. He looks around. "She used balloons. Put a little bit of water in them, and turn them around so the knot's in the front, and it looks just like a nipple. And then they move just like natural, and from the outside, they even feel like one. The only way you'd ever know is..." He stops and gives me a mischievous grin.

I look around. "Do you have any balloons?"

"No, but I think I know where we can get some." There's a mischievous twinkle in his eye that makes me wonder what he's thinking.

I haven't admitted that he's right, but I slowly go back to the string bikinis. "What about my stomach?" I ask.

"What about it?"

"You don't think someone 'll notice that?"

"What's to notice? They all look alike. Besides, they'll all be looking at your top." He gives me a grin.

"You're just loving this, aren't you?" I ask.

He immediately replaces the grin with a somber face. "I'm just here to help," he insists.

I pick up a black bikini that has a skull and cross-bones on one breast and smaller ones on the panty. "What if someone notices I don't have a waist?"

Derek steps back and looks at me from behind. I'm not sure what he's looking for. He steps back so we can whisper the way we've been doing. "You look fine. Lots of girls don't have waists. Trust me, no one will notice.

I finally decide on the black bikini with the skull and cross-bones. Outside the swimwear shop, Derek suggests I buy a bra, too. "We need something to hold the balloons in place," he says.

"I have no idea what size I need," I lie. I know exactly what size I need.

Derek glances around helplessly. "Do you want to go try one on?"

I look around. If I'm going to try passing as a girl for nine days, I figure I may as well start right now. We go into another shop where I quickly grab three or four bras in a few different sizes, making sure I grab a white lace one in my size, 34A. With my heart pounding in my chest, I walk over to the dressing rooms and go inside. The store clerk barely notices me as I walk past her.

I look around. I'm in the ladies' dressing room. How crazy has this trip become? I find an empty stall and go inside. I don't bother with the bras that I know are the wrong size, and go immediately to the white lace one. I put it on, closing the snaps in the front before turning it around backward. Then I stare at myself in the mirror. I can't believe I get to wear this for the next nine days.

I finish the shopping trip by choosing a second bra in my size, which I can now admit to knowing. "In case one gets dirty," I tell Derek, who nods as if that makes perfect sense.

I also add three panties from the sale rack where they are three for twelve dollars. Derek gives me a questioning look and asks, "Why do you need those?"

For a moment I have that deer in the headlights look. I wasn't thinking. I just assumed that since I was buying a bra, it would be okay to get panties, too. "I, uh, I don't know. I just thought since I was getting a bra..."

Suddenly Derek nods in agreement. "You're right. Better do the whole thing. Just in case."

I'm not sure what he's thinking, but I'm relieved.

We stop at one more shop on our way back to our cabin to buy depilatory cream, shaving razors, lip gloss, nail polish, makeup, and some perfume. He also throws in a box of condoms and some hair gel. When I give him a puzzled look over the condoms – He can't be thinking what I'm thinking, can he? – He says, "They work better than balloons."

Once we are back in our cabin, Derek takes over my transformation. He insists that I strip naked so he can cover me with the hair remover. I try to tell him that I can do it myself, but he refuses to let me. "You can't do the back," he says.

I walk into our private bathroom and begin taking off my clothes. I try to keep my mind on something other than Derek's good looks. I try to imagine I'm being tortured by pirates, who are dousing me with gasoline. It's a good analogy, because the depilatory cream quickly begins to burn. "How long do I have to leave this on?" I ask.

Derek reads the instructions on the bottle. "It says four to six minutes. I forgot to notice what time we started."

"Let's give it three more minutes," I say, and he agrees.

After three minutes, we work together wiping the foam away, removing most of my body hair with it. Then I jump in the shower to rinse away everything that's left. When I'm done, Derek makes me stand while he inspects me to see if we need to do it again. I didn't have a great deal of hair to begin with, but now I feel even more naked. I try to think about the pirates torturing me, but feel my cock slowly growing bigger as Derek looks at me.

Finally he stops, in front of me and to my left, and stares at me slowly hardening cock. "Hmmm, that's not good," he says.

I feel the panic inside me. "What?"

"Um, I think we left too much pubic hair. It's probably not going to fit in your bikini."

He quickly walks out and returns with my bikini panty. "Here, try it on and let's see."

I blush as I put the bikini panty on in front of him. As I pull it up to my crotch, I instinctively tuck my cock and balls back between my legs. I don't know if Derek will notice that I already know what to do there, but decide I can just claim it seemed like the obvious thing to do.

As Derek suspects, some of my pubic hair is still visible. He takes his electric razor and gently shaves around the edge of the panty. "Now, take that off and we'll trim it back another half-inch or so," he says.

I take off the panty and stand motionless as Derek uses the electric razor to trim away my pubic hair. I'm totally unable to hide my erection as he nudges the vibrating machine against me, occasionally using his fingers to pull the flesh tight. As a last step, he puts another application of depilatory cream over the recently trimmed parts. We wait five minutes, wipe it off, and then put me in the shower once more.

By the time he's finished, I'm left with a small triangle of hair above my penis that easily fits into my bikini. We spend some more time using the razor to trim away any remaining hairs.

While I was showering, Derek has used the condoms to create two very realistic breast forms for me. "I had to guess at the size using one of your new bras," he says.

I lift one. It feels remarkably lifelike. "What's inside it?" I ask. "It doesn't feel like water."

He grins. "Hair gel. I got thinking we should use something a little thicker than water to get a more lifelike feel. What do you think?"

I'm totally impressed, that's what I am. I want to tell him that I think he's nothing but a total sweetheart and then smother him with kisses of gratitude. I settle for telling him how impressed I am.

He helps me put on my bra with the homemade breast forms so that we can decide if they're the right size. We make one small adjustment, pouring a little bit out of each one to make them smaller – about the size of kumquats. "We just want you to have boobs," he reminds me. "We don't want you attracting attention with them."

When I look at myself in the mirror, I'm surprised at how natural the two new additions look, gently pushing the cups of my bra out. I really look like a girl with small breasts.

Derek makes me keep the bra on as we finish my transformation by painting my fingernails and toenails. I pretend to be unhappy about that, but, secretly, I'm delighted with my new breasts. The real trick might be getting me to take them off.

The nail polish is a shade of pink, bordering on red that looks extremely feminine. Wearing only bra and panties now, I have to hide my erection from Derek as we wait for the polish to dry. As we wait, Derek suggests going on a second shopping trip. "You only brought things that a guy would wear," he says, "We need to get you things that a girl would wear."

"Derek, what if we do all this, and someone still figures out I'm not really a girl?"

"Who's gonna know?" he asks, his voice calm and soothing.

"Someone might notice," I argue.

"Who?"

"Someone."

"Yeah, well, the cruise director thinks you're a girl, and his records show you're a girl. Who else matters?"

"Mrs. Olsen."

It takes Derek a moment to figure out who I mean. When he does, he breaks out laughing. "Her? Who cares what she thinks?" He laughs again. "You wanna know what I think? I'm not sure she's really a woman."

I laugh. Derek's confidence makes me feel better.

I wear my flip-flop sandals to lunch so that everyone can see my painted toenails. It's been a busy morning, and after lunch we plan to give Derek's credit card another workout.

Our first stop is the hair salon, where Derek talks me into getting my hair cut in a more feminine style. Next we stop at a jewelry boutique. Derek helps me pick out a small assortment of necklaces and bracelets and then suggests that I get an anklet, too. Before paying for everything, we decide to look at earrings. Since my ears are not pierced, the selection is limited. Eventually Derek shakes his head with a sigh. "Know what I think, Chris?" he says quietly.

I shake my head. I am trying to decide between the pewter ones with the blue gemstone and the plain gold ones.

He reaches over and picks up a pair of gold studs with a simple white gemstone in them. "I like these ones." He holds them up near my ears.

"So do I," I say, forgetting for the moment that I'm not supposed to like any of this. "But they're for pierced ears. I can't wear them."

Derek is quiet for a moment as he looks over at a sign that says "Free Ear Piercing with Purchase" and then back at me. "It would just be for this trip," he says. "And then you could let them grow back. No one would ever need to know. Nothing says you're a girl like pierced ears."

My breath catches in my throat. Can I really get my ears pierced? I don't know how to respond. I want to do it, but need to act like I don't. Derek is watching me. He must see the excitement in my eyes. I can't hide that. "Are you sure they'll grow back?" I finally ask.

Derek's voice is calm and soothing. "If you want them to."

And suddenly I'm sure he knows. Slowly I nod my head. "Okay, I want to."

Derek gets the attention of the salesgirl and asks about the free ear piercing. Alyssa looks at me, as if to make sure I'm ready for it. "It only takes a few minutes," she says. "And it only hurts for a second. Just pick out a stud earring from these ones over here, and then we'll put them in for you. You have to wear them for three weeks, and take care of them. We give you the stuff to do that. After that, you take them out and wear anything you want."

I'm weak-kneed as Derek leads me over to the counter with starter earrings. I'm about to get my ears pierced. I pick out some gold rings with a sapphire stone that matches my eyes. I don't tell Derek that it matches the color of his eyes, too. Ten minutes later, I'm walking out the store with pierced ears, earrings, necklaces, bracelets, and an anklet. We still have to buy me some clothes, but for the moment I tell Derek that I need to sit down.

He leads me over to a nearby bench. For a few moments we sit there without talking. At last he looks at me, his face showing his concern, and asks, "Are you okay?"

I don't know what to say. I'm getting what I've always wanted. I'm in public, wearing panties and a bra; a bra that has balloons stuffed into the cups giving me the illusion of breasts. I'm wearing nail polish, perfume, lip gloss and makeup. My legs are shaved. My hair has been recently styled. I have earrings in my ears, a necklace around my neck, bracelets on my wrist, and an anklet around my ankle. To anyone walking by, I look more like a girl than a guy. I'm about to go buy some more girl clothes that I'll be wearing for the next nine days. All because of some crazy mix-up with my travel documents. It's almost too much for me to comprehend.

I give Derek a slow, assuring smile. I'm sure he knows how much I like this. I should have known he'd figure it out eventually. I realize that at some point I'll have to ask him how he figured it out. For now I'm just basking in my good fortune. "I'm fine," I say at length. "Just a little overwhelmed."

He smiles and pats my leg. My smooth, hairless leg. I wish he was touching me all over. "Do you like doing this?"

I hesitate. Maybe he doesn't know? "A little bit," I admit.

"Good, I'd really feel bad if I thought..."

How often did I end up finishing his sentences for him? More times than I could remember. "If you thought you were forcing me?"

He shrugs. "Am I?"

I shrug this time. "I could always say no."

He looks at me, his hand still resting on my knee. I'm very aware of where his hand is and what it's doing. "You could. But then we'd have to go home, and your Caribbean trip would be over. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to be price you'd have to pay for a trip. I thought it would be free."

I look at him for a moment. He seems to be less confident that this is something I want to do. I realize that I really do want him to know. It's too hard to go through life without having someone with whom you can share your most intimate secret. I try to bring him back by giving him a feminine smile and then say, "I'm not complaining."

He nods. "No, you're not."

I go crazy in the next store. I no longer feel compelled to act as if I don't want this. I do. I pick out three pairs of shorts, four tops, a pair of sandals, two skirts, two dresses, and a purse. Derek doesn't even try to slow me down. We discussed what I needed for nine days, but each time I see something else that is just too cute to pass up, Derek shrugs and adds it to the pile.

As we make our way to the sales counter, I see the cutest nightgown I've ever seen. It's a white baby doll made of micro-fiber material. The hem is powder-blue lace, and the neck and sleeves are lined with the same blue lace. I pause to admire it. It makes no sense for me to get it. I'd only wear it in our room with Derek, and there we'd be alone, so there'd be no point in wearing it.

Except I want it. I want to wear it. Everything else, in a sense, is for someone else. I'm getting the rest of this stuff to maintain the charade of being a girl so I can stay on the cruise ship. The nightgown is purely for me. And Derek knows it. He grins and adds it to the pile. I can't help giving his hand an affectionate squeeze as I say, "Thank you."

Dinner is a dress-up affair, with everyone wearing their finest clothing. Derek wears a gray pin-stripe suit with a gray shirt and a red tie. He looks very distinguished and sophisticated in it. I wear one of the dresses I bought at the ship's store: the dark blue one with yellow flowers embroidered down the left side and yellow trim at all the edges. I chose it for its tropical feel.

I look at myself in the mirror, wearing the dress as I try to detect a flaw in my appearance that might give me away. I'm nervous. It will be my first time cross-dressing in public. Unless you count the shopping trip earlier. "Are you sure I look like a girl?" I ask Derek for the umpteenth time.

Derek smiles patiently. "You look fine, Chris. Just stop worrying about it."

I take a step closer to the mirror and look closely at my face, checking for any signs of facial hair. "What about my Adam's apple?" I ask. "Do you think anyone will notice that?"

Derek pauses to give my Adam's apple a close look. "What Adam's apple?" he asks after waiting long enough to demonstrate his inability to see one.

"My legs don't look like guy legs?"

He steps back and stares at my legs for a moment or two. I stand still, facing forward. I get a little aroused as I think that he's checking me out in a way. I turn slightly, and pull the knee-length skirt up a few inches, displaying my legs to him.

"Joanne wishes she had legs like yours," he declares after finishing his assessment.

I frown. It wasn't the encouragement I was hoping for. "Yeah, we've already decided she's not a real woman. How do they compare to someone like Diane or Sabrina?"

Derek pauses and takes another look, mentally comparing me to his former girlfriend and the Yucatan's attractive ticket taker. "The heels do something to your leg," he tells me. "Stretch it out or something. Trust me, it looks just like a girl's leg. Sabrina and Diane would be envious."

I smile. "Really? You can't see the hair on them?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "Chris, we used Nair on your legs, okay. The hair's all gone. You're perfect. No one's ever gonna know you're not really a girl."

"What about my boobs? Do they look real enough?"

"I'd be thinking about giving `em a good squeeze," he teases.

I glare at him briefly before turning back to look at myself some more in the mirror. His encouragement helps, but there's no way I can not be nervous. I turn my head, and see a flash of light from my new earrings as the light hits them at just the right angle. I'm wearing earrings! My hair is styled. I have the illusion of breasts. I'm wearing a dress and high-heel sandals. Underneath I have on a bra and panties. I feel like a girl. Whatever imperfections there might be in my appearance, nothing can take that away from me.

I turn to Derek as I reach for my purse. "Okay, I think I'm ready to go."

Derek offers me his arm to hold onto as he escorts me to the dining room. I slip my hand into the space near his elbow. As we walk, I can feel his muscular bicep flex, reminding me that he's a man. I try not to let my excitement show on my face. Derek has no idea how much I've wanted to be his woman like this.

At the dining room entrance we run into the Olsen's. Reed Olsen is wearing a solid brown suit with an American flag pin on the lapel. Joanne Olsen is wearing a floor-length gown made of shimmering polyester. It has a large, leafy-flower pattern on an orange background, and really looks quite hideous. The sleeves are long, with the old-fashioned puffy shoulder look that was popular back in the 70s and a squared neckline. I lie and tell her how wonderful she looks.

Joanne seems extremely surprised to see me wearing a dress and looking very girlish. In fact, she is almost at a loss for words. Her husband looks pleased with the unusual quiet. I smile at him, feeling sympathy for him for putting up with his wife so well. Joanne is so surprised by my appearance that she can only think to return my compliment. "You look lovely, too, dear. Blue is definitely your color."

I smile and thank her, demurely, glancing down to emphasize my modestly.

We manage, fortunately, to get a table away from the Olsens, and are seated with a family of five, the Lanes, and a man traveling alone, Larry Wood. The Lanes, Scott and Julie, have three teenage children, Troy, Kathy and Amy. I've been warned about teenage girls being able to spot cross-dressers more easily than adults do. It has something to do with them being at the stage where they are very mindful of their own sexuality, and the differences between men and women, and so they spot those differences in others.

Scott and Julie take seats next to each other on one side of the table, with Amy, the younger of the two girls, sitting next to her mother. Troy, who is seventeen, takes the seat at the head of the table, and Kathy sits across from her sister. Larry takes the seat at the other end of the table, opposite Troy, leaving the last two spots for Derek and me. I want to avoid being near the two girls, so I ask Derek if I can have the end spot. Being a male, and my escort, date, and boyfriend during the cruise, he feels like he should be the one seated at the end. I can tell he's about to point this out in protest but I cut him off before he can say anything. "I'm left-handed," I say. "I need to sit on the end so I won't poke anyone with my elbow when I eat."

Derek gives me a quizzical look. He knows I'm not really left-handed. I know he's thinking that as he slowly agrees. I know I will have to explain it to him later.

Dinner is otherwise uneventful. The two teenage girls are too busy looking around at the other people in the dining room to give me much notice. Scott and Julie are delightfully entertaining. Scott, an engineer, has a fascinating sense of humor and seems able to converse on any subject. Derek, in his seat at the center of the table, owns the table. He is talking with the adults to his left and the three teenagers to his right, and flawlessly keeping up with both conversations.

Larry is like me: very quiet. At one point I even suggest that we could have a contest to see who says the least during the cruise. If we did, Larry would win. We do manage to find out that he is unmarried and works as a bank manager.

I also notice that my chest is attracting the attention of the men seated around me. Scott does his best not to stare, but I still notice that he rarely looks at my eyes when he talks. It's hard to see what Larry is doing to my left. He seems awkward and shy, and I have to wonder if I'm the closest he's ever been to a girl before. That makes me laugh, since I'm not actually a girl. But I know he doesn't know that.

A few times I even catch Troy staring at me. I can almost imagine the hormone-crazed teen's thoughts. Ultimately, all the attention makes me feel better about my appearance, and gives me confidence that I might actually be able to pass as a girl for the next seven days.

Monday's weather is warm and sunny. I wear shorts and a t-shirt to breakfast. My shirt fits tightly enough to show the outline of my lace bra. The condom breast forms push the front of my shirt outward, giving me a definite feminine appearance. I like being perceived as a girl by other passengers. I have to wonder why I've never tried this before.

After breakfast I take a walk around the ship with my camera, telling Derek I want to take some more pictures while I get a little exercise. He says he prefers to use the ship's gym. We agree to meet back at our cabin before lunch.

I walk around, enjoying the sea air and the ship's decor. I would be happier if the ship had tall sails and we were on the look-out for pirates, but I am content to enjoy what I have. It's an amateur photographer's dream, with vibrant colors, changing light conditions, and interesting subjects. I quickly shoot a dozen or more pictures of the ship. I'm tempted to take some pictures of the ocean surrounding us, but I realize they will only come out flat and lifeless. As far as I can see there is no sign of land.

Occasionally I glance down at my pink toenails and shiver with delight. If there were pirates, I realize, I'd be in danger of being carried away with the other women. I let myself imagine some pirate learning too late that I wasn't the woman he thought I was. In my fantasy, he's secretly aroused by that, and forces me to become his wife.

I stop at the rail overlooking the ship's swimming pool, which is just opening. Right now it is nearly empty, but by this afternoon, it will be filled with people in swimsuits. I think about the bikini I bought for wearing on deck. Do I really dare wear it in public? Am I really that passable?

I pass through the clothing shops on my way back to the cabin, and stop to look. I take my time looking at women's clothing: dresses, skirts, tops, lingerie and jewelry. There's no hurry. Derek isn't expecting me for over an hour. It's a luxury I've never been able to enjoy before. When I've shopped before for women's things, I've been dressed as a man, and have always felt the need to hurry before creating suspicion about my intentions.

But now, dressed as a woman, I can take my time. I touch the fabrics, gently rubbing them between my fingers, as I think about where I might wear such an article of clothing and how it would look and feel on me. It's what makes shopping such a different experience for women than it is for men. For men, shopping is utilitarian; a chore that needs to be completed as quickly as possible so they can get back to doing other things. Men know what they need, and once they find it, they can quit looking.

For women, shopping is a journey of the imagination. Every item of clothing brings with it myriad possibilities that need to be considered. For men to truly understand it, they need to imagine it the same way they would a hardware store or a sporting goods store. It's not really shopping. It's structured daydreaming.

After an hour of shopping, I buy a wrap-around skirt that I can wear with my bikini. I want it for the confidence it will give me, as well as for the price. It's on sale, and I have a small amount of cash. I know I could ask Derek to buy it for me, but then I'd have to bring him back and I would rather not do that. Maybe later, with some of the other things I saw.

We eat lunch. It's difficult because there is so much food available and I'm tempted to eat it all. But, I know I have to watch my figure now. I order a chicken salad with bottled water. I know I could eat more if I wanted. I've never had a problem with putting on too much weight. I have a bigger problem with not being able to put on enough weight. Even if I ate like Derek does for the entire voyage, I doubt I would gain more than a few pounds. However, I can't help thinking about the bikini I'm going to be wearing later this afternoon, and how my stomach will be exposed to anyone who might want to look at it. Physically, I might be able to eat all I want, but psychologically, I need all the help I can get.

We find a place to sit and Derek reminds me to eat left-handed after I forget and start eating with my right hand. "Oh, right. Thanks for reminding me," I say with a grin.

Derek finishes chewing his first bite of food and then asks, "So, what's that all about? Since when have you been left-handed?"

Eating left-handed forces me to eat more slowly as I work at doing it with enough coordination to make it appear as if I'm naturally left-handed. Fortunately, I am naturally somewhat ambidextrous, a characteristic I attribute to being a transvestite - the right side of the brain, which controls the left side of the body, is generally associated with creativity and feminine characteristics. I skewer a piece of meat and some lettuce with my fork and then hold it up as I explain. "It had to do with those two girls."

"Amy and Kathy?"

"Yeah. Teenage girls are good at spotting cross-dressers," I say, "So I made up a story so I could sit as far away from them as possible."

"Why are they so good at spotting cross-dressers?" he asks.

I shrug. I'm probably revealing more about my past than I intended by letting Derek know that I have an answer. He might want to know how I've come to learn about such things. At this point, I have pretty much quit trying to hide my cross-dressing past from him, though. I'm not ready to tell him all about it yet, but I'm no longer trying to keep it a secret. "I don't know," I say and then give him my theory anyway.

He nods and chews his food thoughtfully. "Hmm, you might be right. I'll see what I can do to keep them distracted."

I smile and touch his hand lightly. It's one of the bonuses I've gotten from dressing as a woman around him. I can touch him like that without arousing suspicions, including his own. "Thanks," I say, and give him a smile.

He has no idea that I'm flirting with him.

I add, "But I think those girls might be the least of my problems. I'm more worried about wearing a bikini in public. Do you really think I can pull that off?"

He keeps chewing his food as he gazes at me. "Why are you going to pull your bikini off in public?" he asks.

It takes me a moment to comprehend. When I do, I just glower at him and shake my head. "You know what I mean."

He grins. "Hey, you're the one who said it. Not me. I was just trying to imagine you doing it."

"I'm not doing that," I say pointedly. I glance around to make sure no one's listening closely to our conversation, then lean in and lower my voice, "I can't hide anything in a bikini," I tell him. "Maybe we should just keep me in shorts and dresses."

Derek is shaking his head as he quickly swallows. "You'll be fine," he says. "I've seen you in your bikini. Trust me, No one's gonna know the difference."

I stare at him. I have no breasts on top, and I'm packing extra equipment on the bottom; and he's telling me no one's going to notice? Either he's crazy or I am. The thing is I want to believe him; just so I can wear the bikini. "Okay," I say with an exaggerated sigh, "But if anyone catches us, I'm telling 'em it was your idea."

He grins mischievously. "Like anyone's going to believe that. I'll just say that I thought you were a girl, too."

I glower at him again. Just when he had me believing I could get away with it, he has to say that.

Derek quickly realizes his mistake, and reassures me. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. And no matter what happens, I'll be right there."

I feel my heart melting. If only I could tell him how attracted I am to him. I do the only thing I can. I reach out and touch his hand lightly again. I wish it was more.

A half-hour later Derek is moving two deck chairs together for us to sit on; placing them in the sun near the rail. It's a compromise between the pool, where Derek wants to go, and allowing me some time to get used to wearing a bikini in a place where there aren't as many people around to see me. I've told Derek that under no circumstances will I go swimming. "I hate swimming anyway," I tell him. "If I go swimming, all that can happen is someone's gonna find out."

He agreed to that, and so we found a place on one of the upper decks where there aren't as many people. I'm wearing my new wrap-around skirt, which I take off after sitting down.

Derek watches me take my skirt off. "Wow! That's kind of sexy, Chris."

I stare at him, not sure I'm hearing him correctly. Did he just say I was sexy? For sure he looks sexy. He's wearing blue trunks with gray panels down each side and white trim all around. His chest is bare, and I'm going crazy staring at the thick, black curls covering his massive pecs. He sits with his muscular legs on either side of the chair he's on and covers his upper body with suntan lotion. I watch through my dark sunglasses, hoping they hide my desire. I wish it was me who was putting lotion on him.

"Do you want me to do your back?" I ask, my voice cracking slightly.

"Sure," he says, handing me the bottle of lotion and turning his back to me. I sit up and begin rubbing lotion across his broad shoulders. It takes all my willpower to stop myself from wrapping my arms around him, pressing my body against his, and kissing his neck.

When I finish, he offers to do me. It's my turn to turn around. Derek's big hands caress me softly as he works the lotion into my smooth skin. He does my back, and then says, "I'll let you do the rest."

I make sure my disappointment doesn't show as I take the bottle of lotion from him. If I had my way, he would do my front and my legs, too. So he's not "letting" me do the rest. He's making me.

After an hour of sun, Derek moves his chair into the shade. I decide to stay in the sun. "Don't burn, babe," he says with a wink.

It's hot in the sun. I'm sweating, even though all I'm doing is lying there. I have a book that I read now and then, and my iPod which I listen to between chapters of the book. I know I have to be careful that I don't burn, so I put on another layer of suntan lotion before beginning my second hour of sun.

I have an ulterior motive for spending so much time in the hot Caribbean sun: bikini tan lines. I want my skin to show the evidence of my time in the sun wearing a bikini. Pierced ears and bikini tan lines. As I lie there, I begin to realize that my choices are making it harder and harder to go back to a normal life at the end of this cruise.

At dinner, I eat without worrying about what it might do to my waistline. I know I should watch my figure better. I still have six days in a bikini to go. But I just spent three hours on deck in a bikini without anyone saying a word. It occurs to me that I still may not pass as a girl, but if I'm not, nobody seems to be making an issue of it.

Except for Kathy and Amy. They aren't saying anything, but I see them looking at me with the kind of curiosity that can only mean one thing. They're noticing. I don't know what they notice, but whenever I glance their direction they look away and then giggle. I wonder how they figured it out. Scott and Julie seem oblivious.

Larry, too. I look at Larry who eventually notices I'm watching him and looks back. I give him a smile and go back to eating my soup left-handed. I know I'm flirting with him. I can't help it. I'm sure he doesn't know what to make of it, either. As far as he knows, I'm Derek's girlfriend.

But I know Derek's not interested in a transvestite. If I'm serious about living as a full-time girl after the cruise - a thought that only today has begun going through my head - then I'm going to have to quit thinking about girls as possible paramours and start thinking about guys instead. Larry seems like a good place to start. I doubt he's ever gone on a date with a real girl, so he might not care if I'm not a real girl. I feel confident with Larry. So I've started flirting with him at the table.

As we get ready for bed, Derek is telling me that something was up with Amy and Kathy.

I'm in the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. I'm naked, and there's no denying the faint tan lines I'm seeing. I shiver as my eyes trace back and forth, verifying that there is, indeed, a small, pale triangle over each of my breasts. The line isn't as noticeable around round my waist, but I can still see it. The sun block has protected me from burning, but three hours in the sun has given me the beginnings of a bikini tan. By the end of the trip, I'm sure my tan lines will be easily visible.

I suddenly become aware of what Derek is saying. I quickly put the nightgown on - I don't feel comfortable letting him see my tan lines, and step out of the bathroom. "They were looking at me," I tell him.

"You?" Derek is incredulous. "No, I don't know what they were laughing at, but it didn't have anything to do with you."

"Whenever I looked that way, they'd start giggling," I say. "I don't know what they were laughing at, either. But I told you they were the ones to watch. The question is will they tell their parents?"

"I don't think so." Derek is shaking his head. "I tried to get them to tell me, but they'd just laugh and tell me it was a private joke. They never said anything about you."

It was my turn to roll my eyes at him. "Well, duh! They're not going to tell you. You're part of the joke. It probably made it all the funnier to them that you didn't know what they were laughing at."

Derek looks like he's been struck by a thunderbolt. It had never occurred to him that they might be laughing at him.

I nod. "Yeah, you."

There's silence for a full minute as I comb my hair before going to bed. Derek is watching me. Suddenly he says, "That's a cute nightgown, Chris."

I blush. "Thanks."

"No, seriously. It looks good on you. Or you look good in it. Turn around a moment. Let me see how it looks in the back."

I turn slowly, not sure what to think. Derek is looking at me, really looking at me, in a nightgown. Why? Just curiosity? Or is it more than that? I turn back slowly and face him, wishing he would say something.

He looks like he might say something for a moment. Something romantic, or sexy, or flattering. But the moment passes, and then he says, "So, did you get your wish?"

"My wish?" My heart is in my throat. Does he know?

"I just figured you spent three hours in the sun today. There had to be a reason. I'm thinking... Tan lines?"

I blush crimson. I can feel the heat in my face.

"That's okay," he says hurriedly. "I don't mind. I can tell you kind of like doing this, being all girly and stuff."

I want to sink into the carpet. I feel tears come to my eyes. I have no idea why. I suspected he knew, but hearing him say it is still a shock. Part of me wanted him to know, while another part of me hoped that it would stay secret. Being a transvestite is filled with a lot of contradictions.

When I don't look up at him and don't reply, Derek knows he's struck a nerve. He gets off the bed and comes over to me. If I were a real girl, he would hug me. As it is, he's not sure what to do. He pats my shoulder awkwardly. "Hey, I'm sorry."

I can't stand it anymore. I step back into the bathroom and close the door. Derek apologizes three more times from the other side of the door and asks me to come out.

On the other side of the door I'm not crying. I'm trying to cry, and my eyes are moist, but it's not the good cry that I was hoping for. What did I expect? That I could pretend to not like being a girl and wearing a bikini and having my ears pierced, and that Derek wouldn't notice?

Finally, I open the door and look out. Derek is sitting against the wall next to the door with his knees up as he stares straight ahead. Hearing the door open, he looks over at me and apologizes once more, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything."

I shrug. "It's okay. It's not your fault. I just let it get to me. I guess I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by all of this." I reach over and touch his hand lightly. It's the only gesture I know he will allow that comes close to expressing my desire for him.

Derek looks blankly at my hand. I'm not sure what he's thinking. Maybe he notices, for the first time, what I'm trying to tell him with that gesture. Maybe he guesses what it means, but doesn't want to deal with it. Why would he want to deal with the fact that his best friend is a transvestite who has a crush on him? Maybe he's like every other guy in the world; too thick in the skull to figure out what a girl is telling him.

"And, yes, I do like this, being all girly and stuff," I say.

There, I'd said it. Now I just needed to wait for his reaction. In typical guy fashion, it was anti-climactic. "Yeah, I figured," he says.

It's Tuesday morning and the ship is docked in Montego Bay, Jamaica. I dress in shorts and a t-shirt, put on a necklace and my flip-flops, then add three bracelets and an anklet. My nail polish looks fine, so I don't have to touch it up. I fix my hair with a brush, and spray on some perfume. I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment. I look more like a girl than a guy, I decide. But I need more makeup. I fix my cheeks and do my eyes and I'm ready to go.

Derek rolls out of bed with a yawn and a stretch. He splashes some water on his face, rearranges his hair with a damp towel, throws on some khaki shorts and a t-shirt and is ready to go.

It's not fair how much less time it takes for guys to get ready.

There is only one bed in our cabin, so Derek and I have been sharing it. I'm sure that's been more difficult for me than it has been for him. I'm forced to sleep on the edge of the bed, as far from him as I can, to prevent myself from snuggling up next to him during the night. I have taken to changing my clothes in the bathroom where he can't see me, but he seems to have no concerns about dressing, and undressing, in front of me. So far, I haven't seen him in anything less than his boxer shorts, so I can only imagine what's underneath. But, for the last few nights, my imagination has been working overtime.

We catch a shuttle boat to the island and spend the day sightseeing. There's so much to do. We join a small tour group that takes us to the Bluefield Mountains. The secluded glens and waterfalls are breathtakingly beautiful. I can't get over how green and lush everything is.

I'm in a romantic mood. There's something about the gorgeous scenery that has me wanting Derek to hold my hand and put his arm around my waist. Maybe it's the way I'm dressed. He does it once in a while, in situations where he knows someone might be watching us and expecting him to treat me like his girlfriend, But the rest of the time I'm just another guy. A guy who happens to be traveling with his friend and who happens to be dressed like a girl. We stay close together, but we don't touch any more than we need to. I can't help feeling more lonely and frustrated as the day goes by.

I know I'm not being fair. If it hadn't been for Mr. Dunn telling us about the complaint, I'd be in exactly the same position. The only difference is I'd be dressed as a guy instead of like a girl, and I wouldn't even be getting the occasional romantic attention from Derek. So I know I can't complain. I know I should just be happy with what I've got. But I'm not. I want more.

As the day gets warmer, we take a short tour of a Jamaican Rum Factory. It's cool inside the wooden structure, and everyone seems to be looking forward to the free samples of rum that we will be getting at the end of the tour. Everyone but me that is, since I don't drink. The tour is fascinating, however, and fills me with fantasies of pirates loading barrels of rum onto their ships as they prepare to return to the sea. My own pirate, Derek, buys a miniature barrel of rum as a souvenir at the factory's gift shop as we prepare to return to our ship, the Yucatan.

We eat a late lunch at a restaurant on the beach. The shrimp is freshly caught and is the best I've ever had. It comes soaked in a garlic and lime sauce that is sensational. I look across the table at my date, Derek. I wish he was my date. He is enjoying his plate of native fruits served with roasted pork. His blue eyes twinkle as he savors a slice of mango. I sigh softly. How can a man so sexy and good-looking be my closest friend and have no idea I'm secretly in love with him?

"Derek?" I say, thinking that I'll just tell him.

He looks at me in surprise. It's as if he only now notices there's another person sitting at his table. "Yeah?"

I lose my nerve. I decide to ask instead about a reef tour in the bay that we'd seen a brochure for earlier. "It's early," I say. "We still have a few hours before the boat leaves. Do you think we can go on a tour of the reef?"

Derek smiles broadly. "Sure. You wanna see some fishes, do ya?"

I grin and laugh. Derek's credit card is paying for most of our expenses that aren't included in the cruise, including the two tours we went on earlier and the lunch we're still eating. I know I have to be careful that we don't spend too much. I also know that he gets the final word on what we buy with his money. I'm just his guest. I've brought a modest amount of cash, but it's only enough for an occasional souvenir. I have to be frugal.

"Yeah. I think I can afford that," he says. He knows I don't want to go snorkeling and that the only way I'll be able to see the reef is on a glass-bottomed boat.

"Thanks," I say, and give him a flirty smile.

If Derek notices anything about the way I'm smiling at him, he doesn't say. He's calling for our waiter, who has forgotten to bring me the cup of water I asked for. Tom, our waiter arrives and Derek points out the oversight. "I'm so sorry, Miss," he says to me. "I will bring it right away."

I smile. It feels good to be called Miss and to have people thinking that I'm a girl. More and more I'm convinced that I don't want to ever go back to being a guy.

Tom brings me my water, calls me Miss again and gets another smile. When we are paying the bill, I remind Derek how solicitous Tom was in hopes of getting him a bigger tip. "He called me Miss," I say, "I liked that." I give Derek a level look, making sure he understands I liked it for more than social reasons.

Derek nods, understanding. I don't see what amount he writes down, and don't ask. Ultimately, I realize, it's none of my business. As he is writing, however, he says, "I told you not to worry. You're doing fine. No one has any idea you're not exactly what you look like."

"What's that?" I ask. I know, but I want to hear him say it.

He glances around to make sure no one else is listening. Then he leans closer and whispers, "A very pretty girl."

I smile and blush at the same time. It's extremely gratifying to hear him, the man I dream about, say that to me. Even if he does still think of me as a guy.

Derek gets my chair as we prepare to leave and escorts me out of the restaurant by gently placing a hand on my waist. It's another one of the things he does that excites and arouses me when he's doing it, but frustrates me later when we're away from the crowds and he quits doing it.

After lunch, we board a glass-bottom boat that takes us out to see the reef. The boat doesn't actually have a glass bottom. It just has small windows in the hull below the water that let us see under the water. It's still breathtakingly beautiful. The colors are extraordinary. The camera fails to do justice to it. It's like a giant aquarium filled with tropical fish. I watch the colorful creatures as they dart in and out of the reef. I'm especially intrigued by the rays, which glide with seemingly no effort through the water.

It's nearing sunset when we finish the reef tour and get our feet back on solid ground. Derek and I take a walk along the beach as we watch the sun set. He knows that's what I wanted most, to stroll along a Caribbean beach at sunset. It's the most romantic moment of the trip so far. At least, it would be if Derek had the same thoughts about me as I have about him. I try not to let that bother me. I'm a girl, walking on the beach with my boyfriend. I take off my fllp-flops off and walk at the very edge of the water, letting the waves wash over my bare feet. Occasionally, a wave larger than the rest surprises me, and I find myself in water up to my knees. When that happens, I reach out to Derek to keep from falling.

For several seconds he's holding my hand. He watches me protectively until I'm able to regain my balance. For a brief instant I dare to imagine that he wants to kiss me. But the moment passes, and we go back to walking without touching.

The shuttle boat back to the Yucatan is almost filled up when we arrive back from our walk along the beach. Derek helps me board and then we find a seat. He sits close to me, his arm placed casually around me, but not quite touching me. It's symbolic of the entire day as far as I'm concerned - so close, but yet so far.

Before going to bed, I flip through a small catalog of flower arrangements for sale in the ship's floral department. Derek has generously allowed me to use his credit card once again to order flowers for the Olsens' anniversary the next day. "Honestly, I don't know why you bother," he says, flopping down on the bed wearing just his boxers, and using the remote control to turn on the TV.

I sigh. "Neither do I. I just want her to know she completely misjudged me that first day."

Derek looks at me with an amused grin, but doesn't say what he's thinking. He doesn't have to. I know exactly what he's thinking. It's the same thing that got him into trouble with me the night before. This time he knows better than to speak up.

I sigh again. "Okay, I just want her to think she completely misjudged me that first day."

Derek's amused expression turns into a triumphant grin. "You're doing great at this, Chris. You really are."

We're hurrying to catch the first shuttle boat to Grand Cayman's George Town Wednesday morning after breakfast, when we catch up with the Olsens, who are doing the same thing. "Chris, you have like a day and half of activities here," Derek told me as I was getting dressed after my shower. "We only have twelve hours on the island."

"Well then, we better get started early," I grinned. "Get out of bed so we can catch the first shuttle boat out."

To my continuing chagrin, Derek cleaned himself up, dressed in shorts, a button-down shirt that didn't need to be tucked in, and huarache sandals, and waited at the door for at least five minutes before I was ready to go.

"Show off!" I said, as we hurried off to breakfast.

Happy anniversary," says Derek loudly, surprising the Olsens from behind and causing them to stop and turn around. Mrs. Olsen is dressed in bright orange slacks with a white and orange flower blouse. She looks every bit the American tourist. "Orange is so not her color," I think to myself.

Derek gives Mr. Olsen a congratulatory handshake, leaving Mrs. Olsen and me to exchange hugs. I'm caught slightly off guard by that. It seems I'm now regarded as one of the girls. I'm not quite sure how to feel about that.

Joanne thanks us for remembering their anniversary, and then says more privately to me, "Thank you for the lovely flower arrangement, dear. It was extremely thoughtful of you. Yellow roses have always been my favorites. They brighten up the room and smell wonderful."

I smile softly and blush as I mumble something about it being no big deal.

Then she asks, "What brand of perfume is that you're wearing, Chris?"

I blush again. Having someone notice the perfume I'm wearing is another new experience for me. I don't know what I'm supposed to say.

Derek rescues me. "She forgot to pack perfume, so we had to buy it after we boarded. It's called Angel." He turns to Mr. Olsen and adds, "Three suitcases! You'd think she would have remembered to pack perfume into at least one of them."

The two men chuckle, leaving Joanne and me to glare at them for being oblivious to the traveling needs of women. Again I feel that slight sense of the bizarre for being included into the group of women. Part of me wants to point out that I'm not really a woman. The rest of me is totally thrilled by it.

I can't help noticing the look Derek gives me at that exact moment. If I didn't know better, I'd describe it as the look a guy might give his girlfriend when he's been teasing her, but wants her to know that he really cares about her. Why would he be giving it to me? He must be a very good actor, I decide.

Before we board the shuttle boat, Derek convinces the Olsens to pose while I take an anniversary picture of them. "We'll send it to you as soon as we get back," he promises. "Do you have an email address you can give us?"

The shuttle boat takes us to George Town where Derek rents us a Jeep for the day. Our plans have us driving along the south shore to the eastern end of the island and then returning along the north shore, with a stop at Rum Point, before returning to George Town. "You have to see the blow holes there," Derek says of the island's eastern end. "You won't believe it."

Fortunately, the Olsens have other plans, making it easy for us to leave them behind. I shiver at the thought of spending an entire day with Joanne. I'm sure I'd go crazy before it ended.

On the shuttle boat, Joanne sat next to me and told me all about their plans for the day. I seem to be her new best friend, although I'm very uneasy about it. There's a certain falseness to her that keeps me always on my guard. I feigned interest, but occasionally found myself catching Derek's eye and begging him to rescue me. When I did, he would just give me a helpless grin followed by a shrug that said, "What can I do?" And then he would go back to looking over the rail with Mr. Olsen.

The Olsens planned to spend a few hours shopping for souvenirs in town before celebrating their anniversary with dinner at a restaurant on Seven Mile Beach. They figured to be back on board the Yucatan well before dark. Why do I think that has anything to do with the story?

Derek and I, meanwhile, were going to have to hurry if we wanted to make the last shuttle boat to the Yucatan. So, we wish the Olsens a pleasant day, renew our wishes for a happy anniversary and set off on our own journey.

Blow holes, in case you're wondering, are places where water gets forced by the waves through underground/underwater caverns so that they spray up like geysers. Derek insists on stopping at every one we see until I finally put a stop to it. "Derek, at the rate we're going, it'll be dark by the time we get to North Bay. And you promised me we'd stop at a turtle farm and then go out and see the Stingrays." The fact that I'm still drying off from our stop at the last blowhole reminds him that I'm not enjoying the water fountains as much as he is.

Derek thought it would be funny if I was standing right over one when it erupted. It was - for everyone watching. I enjoyed watching the waves as we drove along the shore, so each time we stopped, I naturally wandered out for a better look and a picture. One time, with a little help from Derek, I managed to stop in exactly the right place to get soaked when a wave forced a spout of water to erupt just a few feet from where I was standing. Everyone thought it was hilarious. Everyone but me, that is. But okay, once I got over my surprise, even I had to admit it was kind of funny.

The thing is, I'm wearing a pink bra and panty set today. The panty is a lacy thong, and with my soaking wet white shorts, everyone looking at me knew that. It was embarrassing on several levels, not the least of which was that, being a boy, I'd never had my underwear become the object of so much attention before. Especially not from men. Along with that, it was proof to anyone looking that, yes, I was wearing pink panties. I suppose that spending three days doing my best to look and act like a girl wasn't proof enough for me. Having my pink panties show through finally made it undeniable.

My own sexy, handsome pirate, Derek, drives us along the north shore to Rum Point, where we have a late lunch - including a rum punch for him. "Are you planning on drinking all the rum you can find for the rest of the trip?" I ask, teasing.

He responds by closing one eye and, leaning in toward me, says, "Aargh, that I am little lady. That I am."

I laugh, and momentarily allow myself to consider a fantasy where I'm a serving wench and he's the dashing pirate who wants to carry me off to one of the upper bedrooms and ravish me.

Of course, since the restaurant we're eating at has only one level, that would be extremely difficult, so my fantasy is quickly brought back to reality. But for one more brief moment, I watch Derek as he signals for the waiter to bring me another glass of water, and think, "If you only knew what I was thinking."

Our next stop, a turtle farm, was my idea. The turtles are raised for meat, unfortunately, a fact I was aware of before we got here. Still, it pains me to look at these slow, lovable creatures, and think of them as being destined to one day end up in a bowl of soup. The farm guide assures us that turtle farms make it less likely for turtles to be killed in the wild, and thus enhances their survival rate. Still, as I hold one of the yearlings at a Touch Tank, and later stroke the smooth shell of a 450 pound giant, I doubt the farm turtles take much comfort in that fact.

Our last stop of the day, before driving back to George Town, is Stingray City. Stingray City is a series of shallow sand bars where you can actually see and touch the stingrays. I'm not that excited about getting in the water with them, but not for the reasons you might think. I hear they are incredibly smooth and soft and also incredibly gentle. I remember them from a trip many years earlier to Sea World in Florida, and want to add to that memory. Despite being able to swim short distances, I have a fear of deep water that keeps me on dry land as much as possible. And on this trip, swimming just seems like a way of getting myself found out as a boy pretending to be a girl, so I have been avoiding it even more.

Short of snorkeling or scuba diving, the catamaran is the only other way to get this close to them. We could take a glass bottom boat, but that wouldn't allow us to touch the stingrays, and since we were on a glass-bottom boat just yesterday, neither of us is excited to do it again.

The catamaran takes us out to a place where we can stand in waist deep water while the stingrays swim all around us. That seems like a safe enough compromise between my aversion to swimming and my desire to see and touch the stingrays. I know my pink underwear will show again, but the Catamaran provides us with large beach towels that should take care of that for me when I get out.

As I look over the rail at the stingrays as they swim around beneath us and are greeted by the first passengers to go in the water, I find myself hesitant to go in. "The water looks deeper than I thought," I whisper to Derek. I actually grab onto his arm as I say it, a move that feels surprisingly natural as I do it, and I take a moment to appreciate his well-developed bicep.

"That's 'cause it's so clear," he points out. Pointing to one of the other passengers, who is already in the water, he says, "Look at her. She's not as tall as you, and the water's only up to her waist."

I see what he means, but I'm still hesitant. I pull him closer and whisper in his ear, "What about my panties?"

It takes him all of a second to figure out what I mean, and then he laughs, snorting. "Oh, yeah, right. I remember that." Then he grins at me; leers, actually, as his gaze drops slowly lower and lower, beginning at my shoulders and ending at my ass. It reminds me of the look he gave me earlier on board the Yucatan, when he and Mr. Olsen were teasing us for needing so much luggage. He's either a very good actor, or.... I just can't believe he's thinking what it looks like he's thinking.

He waits a moment or two, for timing - Derek's sense of timing is always perfect - and then says in a voice loud enough for a few other passengers to hear, "I think that might be worth seeing."

I blush. I can't believe he's talking that way.

He gives me a moment to show my embarrassment, then lowers his voice again so that only I will hear and says, "Chris, you're fine. If your underwear shows, it just proves to everyone what they're already thinking: that you're a cute, sexy girl on vacation in the Caribbean with her boyfriend."

I give him a long look. I want so much to believe him.

He gives me a moment and then says, "You know, most of these people are guessing we're on our honeymoon."

I catch my breath. What is he trying to say? That he's been thinking the same things I've been wishing for the last three days? Three days? More like the last month, ever since I started thinking about how it would be to share a cabin with Derek Hammond for ten days and nights on a Caribbean cruise.

Before I can embarrass myself by asking, or giving him a look that tells him just how much I wish that were true, he moves back and, in a louder voice for the benefit of those around us, growls in his pirate voice, "Aargh, who here thinks I should throw this little lady over my shoulder and carry her into the water to see the stingrays? Eh?"

There's clapping from the other passengers and a few voices telling him he should do it. In no time, Derek has picked me up, tossed me over his shoulder, and is carrying me to the catamaran's ladder.

I pretend to put up a fight. The truth is, I'm incredibly turned on and aroused by this sudden display of dominance.

I have no idea how he managed to climb down the ladder with me over his shoulder. Everyone cheered as he did, though. They cheered again as he gently lowered me into the warm water. But the biggest cheer came when he took advantage of the situation to give me a great big kiss.

On the lips!

Derek Hammond kissed me on the lips! Derek Hammond! The man I was secretly in love with!

Stingrays are swimming all around me. I think. I reach out and touch some of them. I'm going through the motions. My mind is elsewhere. All I can think about is that kiss.

We climb back on board the catamaran. Derek, ever the gentleman, follows me up the ladder. My pink panties are showing through my wet shorts. Is he... Is he checking me out? I think he might be. I glance back, but don't catch him doing it. Still, I have this feeling he might be doing it. Does the sight of my panties secretly arouse him? I'm so confused.

The catamaran crew hands me a towel to wrap up in for the trip back to shore. Derek and I sit close together. I can feel my hip touching his. I don't think I'm doing it on purpose. The boat is crowded enough to make some contact between us inevitable. He even holds my hand. Up to now I've believed he was doing that just for the sake of appearance. Now I'm not so sure.

And yet, I don't dare let myself imagine he's doing it for some other reason. No, I dare imagine it. I know I shouldn't. If I'm wrong, at the very least, I'll be extremely disappointed; and it could be very embarrassing.

Back in the privacy of our rented Jeep, I keep quiet for as long as I can. Finally I can hold it in no longer. "What was with the kiss?"

Derek grins shyly. "That was a pretty good touch, wouldn't you say? The situation just seemed to call for one. Don't you think?"

I don't know what to say.

He explains. "Everyone was watching us, Chris. They were cheering. They wanted to see something. I didn't think you'd mind."

It takes me a moment or two to register what he has just said. "What?"

He looks away from the road ahead briefly to look at me, measuring the tone of my voice. "Did you?"

I can't tell him the truth, that less than mind, I loved every moment of it. "Well, no. Not if you were just trying to make it look like..."

"Like we were on our honeymoon?" he offers, completing my sentence for me after my voice begins to trail off.

"Yeah that," I say, and give him a smile that doesn't begin to reflect the tangle of emotions I'm feeling inside.

And suddenly, before I can think it all the way through, I find myself reaching over to touch his hand as it rests lightly on the gear shift and giving it a soft squeeze.

Derek looks at my hand in surprise, and I pull back in horror. What did I just do?

The Jeep is quiet for a while other than the rumble of the engine and the sound of reggae music coming from the radio's twin speakers.

At length, Derek says softly, "It wasn't that bad, actually"

I look at him, puzzled. "What wasn't?"

His mouth gives just the slightest hint of a grin. "You know. Kissing another guy."

My heart is pounding so hard it makes it hard to breathe. "What did you think?" he asks after a moment of me being speechless.

"Um, yeah, it was okay," I lie, not wanting to reveal too much of myself.

His grin grows a little wider as his face takes on a more playful look. "So was that your first time?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"Me too."

We come to a major intersection and Derek has to concentrate on his driving for a few moments. The intersection is followed by another busy section and soon the conversation is forgotten, replaced by instructions for returning our rented Jeep to the rental company.

Only it's not forgotten. Since the kiss I'm more confused than ever. I can't figure out if Derek is sexually attracted to me, or if he's just a very good actor. I catch myself wondering and shake my head. Of course he's just acting, I tell myself. "Derek has never given you one reason to think he might be interested in a transvestite cross-dresser. Even if you are his best friend." I mumble silently.

It's late, so we eat in a hurry at a man's wheeled cart near Seven Mile Beach. We just have time for a short walk along the beach. The sun is just setting as we start out. As we descend a set of stairs leading to the sand, Derek reaches out to take my hand, offering me his support. I take it, knowing it's just for show, and that he'll let it go as soon as I get to the bottom of the stairs. But he doesn't. My heart flutters. I don't dare to look at him. I hope he doesn't notice. I still can't let myself believe it means he's attracted to me.

We walk in silence for a while. I'm dying to bring up the subject of the kiss again, but can't think of a graceful way to do it. Finally I decide to try it another way. "Why are we holding hands?" I ask. It's dark. There's no reason to hold hands if we're just doing it for show.

Derek immediately lets go of my hand, and I wish I'd kept my mouth shut. "Sorry, I forgot," he says quietly.

"It's okay, I didn't mind," is what I want to say. Instead, it comes out as, "So did I."

Time with Derek is normally filled with casual talk punctuated with a few jokes. There's never an awkward silence. Until now. It's almost a relief to get back to the shuttle boat that takes us to the Yucatan, simply because the silence between us is less noticeable.

We continue not talking about the kiss or holding hands as we get dressed for bed. For Derek, getting dressed for bed actually means undressing for bed; he sleeps in just his boxers. For me it means changing, in private, in the bathroom, into the nightgown he bought for me. I wash my make-up off as well, and then stare at myself in the mirror for a few moments. "What the hell did you expect?" I whisper. "That he'd see you in a dress and suddenly want you to be his girlfriend for ever after? You're such an idiot!" I splash more water on my face for emphasis, pat it dry, and then turn out the light and slip quickly into bed without turning on the lights.

"You okay?" Derek's voice comes to me after a few moments?

"Yeah, I'm fine," I lie. "Why?" I'm sleeping as close to the edge of the bed as I can, away from him, making sure our bodies don't accidentally touch.

"You just seem like something's bothering you," he answers softly. There is no tone of accusation in his voice. If anything, he sounds apologetic.

"No, I'm okay," I lie again.

"Sorry about that kiss," he says after a brief moment when I think he is going to sleep without saying anything else.

I'm silent for a moment, not sure what I want to say in response. "It's okay," I say finally. "I'm sure everyone there was expecting it."

"Except you," he says softly.

I don't respond. I can't. If I said anything, I'm sure I'd end up asking him to kiss me again.

"I didn't do it completely because I thought people were expecting it," he says.

I'm listening intently, my eyes wide. I still don't trust myself to say anything.

He interprets my silence correctly, that I'm listening, and continues. "It's you, you know. You're cute and kind of sexy as a girl. I even forget once in a while that you're not."

"Thank you," I say, deciding to interpret it as a compliment. "I guess that's a good thing."

"I just mean... If I forget again, I hope you don't mind."

I can only describe my feelings as wishy-washy. I don't know if he's saying he wants to kiss me again, or apologizing for it. I can't decide if I want to roll over and kiss him first, or stay right where I am. I respond slowly, determined to keep my voice under control. "Are you saying you might try to kiss me again?"

"I might," he says. "But if I did, I wouldn't want you to be surprised or take it the wrong way."

"How should I take it?"

"That you're a very pretty girl," he answers.

We're both quiet for a very long time. I can't sleep; I'm too busy thinking. I can tell from the sound of Derek's breathing that he's not asleep either. "Derek?" I ask at length.

"Yeah?"

"Good night," I say, deciding at the last minute not to ask what I was thinking of asking. What I was thinking of asking was if I could sleep next to him.

"Good night, Chris," he says. And soon I can tell he's asleep.

The next morning I'm up even earlier than usual. I want to avoid Derek. I dress in shorts and go for a run on the upper deck, leaving my camera in our cabin. I feel like I have enough pictures of the Yucatan for now. We will spend the entire day at sea on our way to Cozumel. I stop often and gaze out over the expanse of ocean around us. The ship's speed creates a constant breeze that is almost cold. I pause just long enough to get cold, and then run some more to warm up. I spend the whole time thinking. Thinking about nothing. Thinking about everything but what I want to think about. I can't seem to make my mind concentrate on that subject.

At some point it occurs to me that I can't go back to the room without having to talk with Derek. It's been cold enough and my exercise intervals brief enough that I realize I haven't really worked up a sweat. I'm cold. One of the shops where I bought some other things a few days earlier has opened early, so I go inside. I find a cute pink fleece jacket that looks good with the shorts and t-shirt I'm wearing. I ask if they can charge it to my cabin. They quickly agree, which makes me wonder what keeps me, or anyone else for that matter, from doing the same thing, and charging merchandise to any number of rooms on the ship.

With the fleece jacket, I'm able to walk around the deck and actually think about things that concern me. What concerns me is Derek. I want him now. I want him to kiss me. I want him more than I've wanted anyone before. And I want him to want me. And I'm totally clueless about how to make that happen.

Frustrated, I find my way to breakfast, and try to enjoy a half grapefruit, a bagel with peanut butter, and a large glass of tomato juice. I sit alone, and continue thinking. I think, but don't come up with any answers.

Around nine-thirty, I see Derek wander in. I can tell he's looking for me. I quickly get up and go the other direction, turning to go behind a pillar that will keep him from seeing me. "Why are you avoiding him, Chris?" I ask myself. I shrug in response. I don't know.

A morning of thinking has made me realize two things. One, when I get back home, I don't want to go back to being a boy. That's not surprising. I've been thinking seriously about it since Tony Dunn, the ship's cruise director, gave us the news that has caused me to spend the rest of the cruise dressed as, and acting like, a woman. The bigger realization is that I'm going to tell Derek - that is if I can ever stop myself from avoiding him - and ask for his help in breaking the news to my family. I've just decided it's how I want to live the rest of my life. It's how I feel the most comfortable.

The second realization, which is in some ways a natural extension of the first, is that I need a boyfriend. I don't know what to do about that. "I guess I'll start dating," I think with a mixture of emotions. In ways that idea excites me. In other ways, it frightens me since I've never gone out with anyone as a girl.

Not counting Derek these last few days, but I can't count that. Can I? I don't know. Derek's a guy. Why shouldn't I count it? Because he's just doing it to keep us both from getting kicked off the ship, I remind myself as I spin quickly on one foot and storm off to the next rail and the next round of unanswerable thoughts.

Oh, and then there's realization number three. I try not to dwell on that one too much, because it's the one that has me avoiding Derek this morning, and the one that is at the very root of my frustrating series of unanswered thoughts. Nobody else is as good as Derek. Nobody else is as good looking, and there's nobody else I'd rather be with.

I manage to avoid Derek all morning. After a few hours my thoughts have calmed into a dull ache of acceptance of how things are. I'm no longer avoiding him out of emotional dread. It has simply become a game I'm playing. I know he'll find me eventually, and then I'll laugh and smile and ask what took him so long.

I decide to have an early lunch so that I can keep an eye out for him. When he arrives at about half-past noon, I slip out one of the other doors and hurry back to our cabin. In preparation for some more bikini time I need to shave my legs and underarms where a stray hair or two has appeared, having escaped removal a few days earlier when we used the cream.

I know I need to hurry. The cabin is the first place he's bound to look for me. With a little luck, I can finish what I'm doing while he's taking a walk around the ship trying to find me. I figure I have at least a half-hour and maybe as much as an hour.

I wear the wrap-around skirt and a t-shirt over my bikini as I make my way to the same place Derek and I used three days before. I plan to spend a long afternoon working on my suntan, and if Derek doesn't eventually find me here, he's not trying.

I glance around to see if anyone is watching me. I still feel self-conscious wearing a bikini in public. I left the gel-filled condoms that have given me the appearance of B-cup breasts in our cabin. They don't seem to work that well with a bikini. If Derek goes there now and sees them, he'll know exactly where to find me. I peel off the t-shirt, pulling it over my head, and then quickly fold it and put it in my boat bag.

I look around again before untying the knot that holds my skirt in place and slip it off. For just a second I stare at the smooth skin on my thighs and calves and stifle a private thrill. I can't believe how sexy it feels to be a girl. I know that telling my family will be hard, but there's just no way I could ever go back to being a boy. Not without being totally miserable for the rest of my life.

I fold my skirt neatly and place it in the bag with my t-shirt. I grab the bottle of sun block and apply a generous coating to the front of my legs, my stomach, my chest and shoulders and my face. Inserting headphones into my ears, I lay back and relax, letting the sun warm me as I listen to music.

Derek shows up about fifteen minutes later. I know he's there when a shadow moves across my face. I look up.

"Hey good-lookin'. Is that you lyin' in the sun cookin'?" Derek is grinning at me.

"Hey!" I say with a grin, acting as if I haven't spent the morning trying to avoid him. "Where'd that rum-drinking pirate go?"

Derek looks around, "Oh, I think he's still around somewhere. Probably over at the bar looking for a bottle of rum. He'll probably be along in a few minutes."

I smile. "Good. I kinda miss him. What ya been doing?"

He looks at me. "Looking for you. What you been doing all day? I was about ready to call girl overboard."

I shrug. "Just walking around, enjoying the sun and stuff. I bought a jacket and charged it to your room. Hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all. I think I saw it in the room when I was there. Is it pink?"

"Yeah, that's it." I realize that he's holding something behind his back. "What's behind your back?" I ask.

He slowly brings it out and hands it to me. It's a single flower, a daisy, in a small vase. "This is for you."

I'm nearly speechless. A flower is unexpected. A rose would have been less of a surprise. How did he know my favorite flower is daisies?

"What's this for?" I ask, my voice momentarily slipping out of the nasal falsetto I've been using to make myself sound more feminine.

"I don't know," he says, glancing around briefly and then taking a seat so that he can lower his voice. "I felt bad about yesterday. And then this morning, when I couldn't find you, I was afraid you might be mad at me. I just wanted to say I was sorry."

I'm glad I'm wearing sunglasses, because my eyes are starting to mist. "You don't need to be sorry for anything," I assure him. I hold the flower up to my nose and sniff to let him know how much I appreciate it. I'm still puzzled how he knew about daisies.

He watches me a moment, and then says, "Daisies are you favorites, right?"

I let myself look startled; a simple task under the circumstances. "How did you know?"

"When you were ordering for Joanne. I saw you looking at the vase of daisies a little differently and just guessed."

I can't believe he noticed that. I smile, feeling completely overwhelmed by his sentimentality. Why can't I have him for a boyfriend? "Yes, they are."

"Mind if I join you for a while?" he asks after a moment.

"No, not at all," I say. "It's time for me to turn over. I was hoping someone would come along and do my back for me."

Derek's hands feel so sensual on the bare skin of my back. He even does the back of my legs. I have to close my eyes and bite my lip to keep from letting out a soft moan of pleasure.

When he finishes, he places the lotion bottle near my head and asks if I would mind doing his back.

The answer is of course not. I have a small, growing problem, however. "Um, give me a minute," I say, not wanting to explain.

He stares blankly, not understanding. When I make no effort to sit up, he asks, "What's wrong."

"Nothing. Just give me a minute," I say with a grin. My problem is only getting worse from this angle, where I can actually see part way up his shorts.

He looks at me, stretched out in front of him, and groans softly, "God, Chris, I can't believe how hot you look in a bikini."

"I think the sunshine has more to do with it than the bikini," I say with a teasing grin. Years of having Derek as a friend have taught me to come up with a few witty replies of my own. Unfortunately, his comment is making my problem even bigger.

"You know what I mean," he says. And suddenly, because of the way I'm looking at him, I see the signs of an almost imperceptible bulge forming in his trunks. If I hadn't been looking right at it at that exact moment, I might have missed it.

"Okay, give me just a moment and I'll do you." I want it to sound a little naughty.

When I still make no effort to sit up, I think he suddenly figures out what my problem is. "Oh." He blushes slightly, and lies down on his stomach. It makes me wonder if he's hiding a growing problem of his own.

After a few minutes, I sit up. I reach into my bag and get my skirt, tying it around my waist before I go over to Derek. Derek sees, but doesn't need to ask me why.

I'm tempted, as I rub lotion into his muscular back and shoulders, to wrap my arms around him and smother him with kisses. I'm tempted to tell him I'm in love with him, and want to marry him. When he points out that guys can't marry guys, I'll let him know that I don't plan on being a guy much longer so that won't be a problem. I rub the lotion on him without saying anything.

Derek applies the lotion to his front side without my help. I watch longingly, but offering to help would just attract the attention of some of our neighbors, at best, and create another awkward situation between us at worst. He spends an hour in the sun, and then informs me he's had more than enough sun for one cruise. When I tell him I'm planning on about two more hours, he lets me know where he'll be and goes off to find that bottle of rum he's been dreaming about.

Back in the cabin, two hours later, I'm staring at myself in the mirror. My tan lines are even more obvious now. Anyone seeing me naked now would know exactly where my bikini went when I was wearing it. I give the girl in the mirror an excited and knowing grin.

Derek and I spend our afternoon watching TV, downloading pictures from my camera, and planning our activities for the next two days: tomorrow in Cozumel and the next day in Cancun. By the time we finally leave for dinner, it's after seven and I'm literally starving. "I'm having the lobster!" I tell Derek as we walk out the door.

It seems completely natural for us to hold hands as we make our way to the dining room. I can almost believe Derek has agreed to be my boyfriend. Almost. It would help if we had actually had that discussion at some point, I realize. Better to be delusional, I suppose, than heart-broken.

I wear my little black dress with the gathered bodice, cap sleeves, and a black satin bow that ties across the front. With my suntan, I feel very pretty in it. Derek, of course, wears his gray pin-stripe suit again. There is a band and a dance floor next to the dining tables, and I imagine myself dancing with him later.

During dinner I excuse myself to go to the restroom. I don't dare to spend more than a couple of hours in public without checking on my appearance. Intending to go back to my cabin, I'm caught off guard when Julie gets up and says, "I'll go with you."

It's my first visit to the ladies' room. I look around, taking note of all the differences. It's cleaner, maybe, and there's a line of stalls with no urinals – the chief indicator that I'm not in the men's room. The tile is a mix of browns and yellows that could just as easily be in the men's room as here. I feel a sense of awkwardness being here with Julie. I lock myself in one of the stalls, and check whatever parts of my appearance I can. I lament the absence of a mirror for doing that. I take my time, hoping Julie will leave without me, but she's determined to wait. Finally I come out, and together we stand at the mirror and fix our makeup.

After some small talk asking if Derek and I are enjoying the cruise, Julie gets straight to business. "You and Derek make such a cute couple. I saw you holding hands when you walked in."

I smile and blush softly at the memory. "Yeah."

"When did that happen? When we first met you two, I would have guessed you were just friends."

Thinking back over the events following the kiss at Stingray City, I say, "I'm not exactly sure. Sometime between yesterday and today."

Julie nods in her understanding way. "He really likes you, you know."

The words come out before I can really take the time to consider them. "No, I don't. How can you tell?"

"Just the way he looks at you sometimes." She watches me with a smile, vicariously enjoying the thrilling emotions of love. "I guess I don't need to ask if you like him."

I blush and keep smiling. "Yeah. Pretty much."

"That's wonderful. I hope it works out. If there's anything I can do to help things along, just let me know." She lowers her voice slightly and continues, "My girls have been noticing a few things about you, Chris."

"Oh?" The elation I've been feeling is instantly replaced by dread.

"It's okay. We had a talk with them about being nice and told them to keep it to themselves."

She's still smiling warmly, so I can tell she really doesn't mind. "Do you think they will?"

"Well, if they know what's good for them, they will. But don't worry. You're very convincing. I wouldn't have known anything if they hadn't pointed it out. I think they're just at that age where they pick up on little things like that."

"So what gave me away?" I have to ask.

She gives me a close look. "Too much makeup," she says bluntly. "I teach them to use makeup sparingly, so they're good at spotting when someone uses too much."

I feel the heat in my cheeks as I blush. I can't resist defending myself. "I know it's good to use less, but I have to cover up..."

Julie stops me with an understanding smile. "I know. And I don't know what to tell you about that. Its' just something they picked up on. Most people don't notice. You really make a very pretty girl, Chris."

She lowers her voice as she finishes because just then someone enters the restroom. She glances at us, and then enters one of the stalls and closes the door.

I study my reflection in the mirror, worried that since Julie's girls saw something someone else might see it too, and wondering what I could do to wear less makeup.

Julie laughs softly and pats my hand reassuringly. "Don't worry about it. You look fine. Really. I'm only telling you now so you won't have to worry."

"Are you sure?" I ask. Self-confidence has never been my best asset.

"Yes, I'm sure."

I glance toward the occupied stall, remembering to speak softly. "Does Scott know?"

"I had to tell him when I learned it from the girls," she says. "Otherwise, I doubt he would have noticed."

"How about Larry?" It had occurred to me at some point that the people I spent the most time with, my dinner table companions, were going to be the hardest ones to keep from learning my secret.

Julie chuckles. "Larry's so quiet and shy. I think you might be the first girl he's ever sat that close to. I'm sure he doesn't know."

I grin at her description of Larry. She gives me one last helping touch with my makeup and then we collect our things back into our purses and return to the dining room.

When we get there, Scott's seat is empty, and so is Kathy's. Derek is showing Troy, Amy and Larry how to fold an origami crane. "Where's Dad and Kathy?" asks Julie.

"Kathy wanted to dance and talked your husband into taking her," says Derek. He looks over in the general direction of the dance floor. "I guess they're over there somewhere."

Julie looks for a while and then announces, "Yeah, I see them." She sits down and says, "Kathy wants Scott to teach her ballroom dancing. She loves watching 'Dancing With the Stars' on TV and wants to learn to dance like that."

Derek is instantly interested. "So he knows how to do ballroom dancing?"

"Oh, yeah," says Julie. We both do. "That's how we met. We took a ballroom dance class in college. We had so much fun, we signed up for two more semesters together."

"And been together ever since," says Derek with a wry smile. I grin too, finding it amusing to hear him finish someone else's sentence for a change.

"Uh, yeah," says Julie, momentarily surprised by Derek's response. "We have." She looks at Derek as if she's not sure whether to laugh with him or give him a kick under the table.

"He likes to finish people's sentences," I explain. "It's nice to hear him doing it to someone else for a change."

"I took a semester of ballroom dance in college," says Derek. "I heard it was an easy credit."

"So was it?" asks Julie with the first traces of a gloating gleam in her eye.

Derek doesn't give her the chance. "Not by a long shot. That was the hardest I ever worked for a class."

Both of them laugh. "It's not nearly as easy as it looks, is it?" says Julie.

"For sure," says Derek. "You really have to admire someone who can make it look totally effortless."

"Especially when you know it's not."

A moment later, Julie has asked me if she can borrow Derek for a while and the two of them are on their way to the dance floor. I look at Larry and smile. Troy and Amy, at the other corner of the table, ignore us while they have their own conversation. Larry's awkward smile in return shows how little practice he has in social situations.

With only Larry to talk to, it's very silent, and my thoughts wander to Derek dancing with Julie. I can't see them from where I'm sitting without standing or twisting my head around in an attempt to catch a brief glimpse of them, so I use my imagination instead. I imagine him twirling her and placing his strong arms around her waist as he dips her. I sigh softly. I wish it was me.

Suddenly I turn to Larry and say, "Do you want to go dance with me?"

He hesitates, stammering out a reply, "Uh, well, I don't know how to dance."

I smile softly. "Neither do I. I just want to go over there and see what they're doing. Will you go with me?"

He still hesitates until I say, "It's easy. We can just stand in one spot and hope nobody runs into us."

A moment or two later I'm leading Larry through the crowd toward the dance floor. It strikes me that, as the lady, he should be leading me, but I know Larry's social skills still need some work. When the crowd gets thicker, I reach back and take his hand to make sure I don't lose him.

We find a place where we can watch Julie and Derek, and also Scott and Kathy. Everyone looks like they are having a great time, so when Derek sees us and comes over to ask if I want to dance with him, I tell him we're fine and that he should dance a little longer with Julie.

Larry and I meanwhile content ourselves with dance steps that have no names as we silently face each other and move in time with the music. The first three songs have a faster beat, and we dance without touching. The fourth song is a slow dance. I've never slow-danced with a guy before, so Larry's not the only one who hesitates. For that matter, I've never danced with a guy at all until now.

Seeing that Larry isn't sure what to do, I take the lead again, reversing in my mind everything I've ever learned about dancing with girls. I hold my right hand up for him to hold, at the same time guiding his right hand into place just above my left hip. "Now just shuffle your feet in time with the music and show me where you want us to go," I whisper, trying to be helpful.

It's not a disaster, fortunately. We don't impress anyone, obviously, with our dance skills, but we manage to keep Larry from stepping on my toes more than once. "I'm sorry," he says when it happens.

"It's okay," I assure him, and actually move just a little closer in an effort to keep him from lifting his feet as much. That movement suddenly makes me aware of how close I am to a man. I can actually smell the cologne or after-shave he is wearing. I feel his hand on my waist, hesitantly touching and feeling what he imagines is a girl's waist. I wonder what he's thinking.

When I turn my hand slightly in his, he interprets the movement as a signal from me to let my hand go and put his arms loosely around my waist. I'm surprised, and don't know what to say. I can feel my fake breasts softly brushing against the lower part of his chest. I try to move backward, not wanting him to get the wrong impression, but it's so much easier to just relax and let him hold me that way.

Fortunately the song soon ends and he lets me go. I'm in a daze not all that different from the one I was in after Derek kissed me at Stingray City. Only I'm not thinking about Larry; I'm thinking about Derek.

A few songs later I see Julie dancing with Scott. Derek is tapping Larry on the shoulder. "Mind if I cut in?" he asks, his gleaming white teeth showing as he flashes his dazzling smile and gazes at me with his sparkling blue eyes. I can't believe how handsome he is.

Without thinking, I hold up my right hand for him to take and step toward him. It's not a slow-dance song, but we dance that way anyway. Derek's hand is on my waist and I'm aware of the fact that, even with heels, he's at least six inches taller than me.

Two songs later the band plays another slow-dance song. The change of rhythm seems to call for a change in the way we're dancing, so I slip my hand from his grip and move it to his shoulder, moving closer to him in the process. We do a slow side-to-side motion with our hips, our bodies now touching. It's the closest I've ever been to him for this long. As with Larry, I can feel my breasts softly brushing against the lower part of Derek's chest. I make no effort to keep that from happening, and instead let my body relax against his. If it were possible, I would gladly spend the rest of the night like this.

I don't know what Derek is thinking. His hands never stray from the middle of my lower back; his grip neither tightening nor loosening. I keep my face close to his chest, not wanting to look up. What would I gain by doing that? It feels warm and comfortable where I'm at, and for now Derek is allowing me to be there. If we were to make eye contact, there's a chance he might signal me to move back.

The song ends, and we separate, clapping as the band indicates their need for a short break. "Want to stick around?" he asks me. "Or should we call it a night?"

I like dancing with Derek, but I'm not interested in waiting for the band to return. "Can we take the long way back?" I ask hopefully.

Derek grins and offers me his elbow as he escorts me from the room. "I think we can do that."

We walk slowly, talking occasionally, but otherwise staying silent. It's a clear night and the stars are out, but the moon isn't. There's a steady breeze from the ship's bow, and I start to shiver. Derek offers me his jacket, and I accept it, wrapping it around me as we make our way to the ship's fantail.

"Derek," I start, my heart racing, "what would you say if I told you I was thinking of staying a girl after we get back?"

We walk several steps before Derek replies. "I guess I'd say I'm not surprised."

I don't know if that pleases me or bothers me. Am I that predictable? "You're not?"

Again, Derek lets us take several steps before he answers, measuring his response carefully. "Well, Chris, it makes sense. You've just seemed happier and more confident these last few days. In fact, remember how you signed for those things this morning?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I was looking at the receipts, and noticing your signature now and comparing it to your signature from earlier in the week, and there's a big difference."

"I finish writing my name all the way out now," I said. I'd already noticed that change. I used to lose interest in signing my name after getting about halfway through my last name.

Derek grins. "Yeah, exactly. And I think it means that you feel more complete when you're..."

"A woman," I finish for him. "I think you might be right."

It feels good to have someone who seems to understand me. "So, will you help me?" I ask, grasping his elbow a little tighter.

"You know I'll help you any way I can, Chris. I'm not sure what you need me to do."

"Neither am I," I admit.

We continue walking slowly. "Have you considered how hard it's going to be to show up for work wearing a dress?" he asks.

"A little bit," I say. "Probably not enough."

"It's going to change your life," he warns.

I laugh. I have to. "Well, yeah," I say, stressing the obvious. Changing my life is the whole point.

"What about your parents?" he asks.

"Um, will you be with me when I tell them? That's going to be scary. What if I just disappeared? Maybe that would be easier?"

Derek is quiet a long time before answering. "Chris, I know you're not serious about just disappearing. And, even if you did...."

"What?"

"Well, I still want to be friends with you. Right?" Derek's voice is emotional. "So, even if you did just disappear, my family knows you, and they'd start wondering who this girl was that looked just like you. They'd figure it out."

"Why would they need to see me?" I ask

Derek takes a long time to answer. I think I know what he's saying, but I really want to hear it. "Because I'd want to bring you over with me," he says quickly.

I squeeze his arm happily. "So, I'd be like your girlfriend?"

He takes just enough time to answer to let me know I'm right before teasing me. "Something like that."

I decide to tease him right back. "Fiancée?"

"Fiancée?! I'd tell them what a bill you ran up on my credit card in the Caribbean, and how I'm just making you do housework to pay it off."

I pout. His words have more of a sting than he intended.

"I'm sorry. You know I don't mind," he says quickly.

"I'm trying not to spend all your money," I whine.

We stop and he turns me toward him. "It's okay, Chris. I was only joking about the money. I didn't mean it."

I look at him, his blue eyes twinkling in the moonlight, which I realize is actually the light from a nearby deck light since the moon isn't up yet. I suddenly realize he's going to kiss me. I do what any girl would do in that situation. I stop talking, and lean in slightly, letting him know I want to be kissed.

It takes him... Oh, about five times longer than it takes the leading man in a Hollywood movie. Fortunately, cameras aren't recording the event so it doesn't matter. He has to make up his mind this is what he wants. When I feel myself being pulled closer, and see his head lowering, I know it's about to happen. I close my eyes and tilt my head up to face him.

Derek's lips feel soft. I thought that, being a man, they would feel rougher. I wonder if he can taste the berry-flavored lip gloss I'm wearing, and if he'll remark on it. I let him pull me closer to him as we kiss. Unlike the kiss at Stingray City, this kiss is slow and unhurried.

When at last our lips part, I open my eyes and step back, giving him a smile.

"Sorry," he says.

"It's okay."

For a moment he looks at me as if he might be considering kissing me again. I try not to move, just in case he is, wanting to be ready.

Finally he sighs. "Chris, you are such a cute, sexy girl. I really can't help myself sometimes."

I grin. It's the best compliment I can receive.

After the kiss at Stingray City I felt dazed and confused. After the kiss at the back of the ship, I feel confident and calm. On the outside, nothing is different. I know the future I have planned will be extremely difficult. Not just for me, but for Derek too. But I know it's the right choice. Whatever happens, I know it's the way I want to go.

And, on the surface, nothing much changes between Derek and me. We continue to hold hands, but we were already doing that. I know that at some point, he might decide that he doesn't want to have a girl like me as a girlfriend. For that matter, we've still avoided the actual conversation about whether or not I am his girlfriend. I think I am, but it's possible that it's still just for show. Of course, if it is, then he's putting on a much better performance than he needs to.

Even if he is, I realize, it doesn't matter. I know what I want. I know what I want my future to be. I want Derek to be part of that future, but if he's not, it doesn't make me any less sure of where I'm going.

I guess what I mean is that, despite the kiss, I still changed into my nightgown in the bathroom. Sex, although always acceptable to me, is still an extremely unlikely possibility. Derek, who was almost assuredly "straight" when the trip started, will need a lot of time before he's willing to cross the line into a sexual relationship with someone who still has male parts in her panties. I don't mind. I'm patient. For now, I have what I want. A committed man.

The alarm goes off much, much too early. I groan and swat at it feebly. Derek finally finds the snooze bar and silences it, being careful not to knock over the vase holding the daisy he gave me yesterday.

"I don't want to get up," I groan. I'm sleeping with my back to Derek, my body touching his from our shoulders to our hips. Somewhere during the night the invisible divider that kept us on opposite sides of the bed has disappeared. If I had my way, we'd never move again from this position.

Derek doesn't respond to my groaning. "Why seven minutes?" he says finally.

I have no clue what he's asking. "What?"

"Seven minutes," he says. "You press the snooze bar, and seven minutes later it comes back on. Why seven minutes?"

I turn slightly, keeping myself in close contact with his muscular body. I want so much to just wrap my arms around him. "What are you talking about?" I ask, doing my best impression of a girlfriend waking up in bed with her boyfriend. "It's so you can have a moment to get ready for the time you actually have to get up."

"I know. But why not ten minutes? Or five minutes? Why seven? Who said seven was the right amount of time?"

"Five minutes wouldn't be long enough," I say, answering half of his question. I gaze at his stubbled face from inches away. God, he's sexy. I study his lips, thin and tight, and recall how it felt when they were pressed to mine last night. I want to kiss him now, but our relationship is moving so slowly, I feel I'd be pushing the limits of his comfort zone if I did. It never occurs to me that I'm already pushing those limits just by lying so close to him.

The way I'm staring at him is making him uncomfortable, so when the alarm goes off seven minutes later, he's already out of bed.

Our tour of Cozumel keeps us busy. We first drive to Punta Sul lighthouse where I take dozens of pictures. Lighthouses have always been one of my favorite subjects. It takes much longer than we expected, but Derek is incredibly patient. "Hey, don't worry about it," he says when I apologize for making us stop for the dozenth time for "one last picture". "It's more important for you to get the pictures you want. Those ruins have been there for hundreds of years. They won't care if we're a little late."

He's referring to the San Gervasio ruins, the next stop on our tour of the island.

"Yeah, but the tour we already paid for might care," I say with a grin as I climb into the rented Jeep. For a few seconds Derek looks at me a little differently. I'm wearing a dark blue denim jumper trimmed in bright green. I know the tight fit accentuates my shapely ass and that the short legs show off much of my smooth thighs and I wonder if that's what he's looking at. "What?" I ask.

He grins. "You look cute, Chris. You look good as a girl."

I smile, totally flattered. "Thank you."

From the lighthouse, we hurry north to San Gervasio, getting there just in time for our eleven o'clock tour. I'm out of breath as we join our tour group. "Just made it," I say.

Derek gives me a grin. "Oh, I'm sure they would have waited for us."

The tour guide, Royce, scowls at us as he picks up his microphone and begins his tour speech, introducing us to Cozumel's most famous Mayan ruins. Royce is tall and thin, with a shock of light brown hair that keeps falling across his eyes. "I don't think he likes us being late," I whisper to Derek, using his arm to pull him close. Something in that movement makes me very aware that, to everyone else, we are a typical couple. I find myself playing up that role for the entire tour.

More than playing it, I find myself believing it. I'm Derek's girlfriend. On the surface, it's just an act. But something inside me knows, or feels, it's much more than a simple act.

At San Gervasio I suddenly find myself in front of the camera more as Derek decides to take over the photography work for a while. "We need some pictures of you for a change," he says. Posing as a girl is a new challenge, one that I find incredibly enjoyable. I concentrate on crossing my legs and pointing my toes and thrusting my chest out so that I will look as attractive as possible for the camera. For a while I actually consider modeling as a future career choice.

Royce has a pleasant, easy-going smile most of the time, but he always seems to be scowling at us for making the rest of the tour wait while we take another picture. When we ask him if it's okay to climb the steps to the top of some ruin, he sighs heavily and looks at his watch. "We only have about five more minutes here," he says. It's more than enough time for me to scamper to the top and come back down while Derek takes pictures of me.

By evening, we've made our way to the San Miguel waterfront. With plenty of time to shop, we spend most of our time shopping for souvenirs. When I ask Derek if we have time for dinner, he sighs heavily and looks at his watch doing a perfect imitation of Royce. "We only have about three more hours here," he says. I giggle and pull him close for a spontaneous hug that feels completely natural.

Even though the guide books all say it's expected, neither of us is any good at bargaining, and we generally end up taking the second or third price that is offered to us. The prices are already so low that trying to get the shopkeepers to go any lower just seems unfair. At one shop, where the owner repeatedly calls me Miss and is extremely patient with me as I try on several different pieces of jewelry before finally settling on a silver chain with large pink flowers to wear as an anklet, I even convince Derek to ask for a higher price than the owner's original offer. "Give him ten, Derek. Ten dollars isn't very much. And it'll mean so much to him."

Derek rolls his eyes at me as he hands over the money, but I can tell he's only teasing me.

Between shops I hang onto Derek's arm, allowing myself to feel every bit of being his girlfriend. At times it seems like I've always been a girl; it just feels so right and so perfect. When the occasional shopkeeper mistakenly asks if we're married, I smile, blushing, and give Derek a somewhat hopeful look that, maybe someday, it will be different as I shake my head and say no. The shopkeepers seem to understand, even though I know they have no idea what it is they understand.

In one shop, Derek coaxes me into holding some diamond earrings up to my ears, just to see how they look. They look wonderful, and for a moment I wonder if he's seriously considering buying them for me. "But I can't wear them until I take my starter earrings out," I say.

Derek gives me a disappointed look. "That's too bad. They look good on you, Chris."

He finally does buy me a silver chain necklace with a small medallion that has "Cozumel" emblazoned on it. I put it on immediately, considering it my first present from him as a boyfriend.

We finish our day in Cozumel with what has become our obligatory stroll along the beach, with Derek holding a shaker of rum in one hand and my hand in the other. At the turnaround point, we turn, facing each other, and for a brief moment I feel the thrill of knowing I'm about to be kissed.

In my bare feet, and standing on the downhill side of the beach, Derek towers over me by nearly a foot. For a moment our eyes meet, and that's the moment when I know he is going to kiss me. I move easily into his arms, feeling them slide gently around my waist, settling just above my bottom, as I put my arms around his neck. He pulls me close, awkwardly leaning down to bring his lips to mine. I stand on my tiptoes for him, but in the end it's easier for him to simply pick me up and hold me as our lips meet. Yeah, I lift one foot up behind me, a sign of how excited I am by Derek's kiss.

Neither of us says much as we walk back to meet the shuttle boat. The kiss has said it all.

We sleep in a little later than usual the next day before catching a shuttle to Cancun. It's the Yucatan's last port of call before we spend one last day at sea returning to Miami.

The weather has turned damp and chilly. It rained during the night, but the rain has stopped now as we make our way across the water to shore. The sky is cloudy and looks as if it might rain again.

We have a light day of sightseeing planned, with just one activity on our agenda: Crococun. Crococun is a crocodile farm and a zoo. We get to see them feeding the crocodiles and marvel at the impressive strength of their jaws as they gulp down their meals. After one day, Derek has had enough of being a photographer, so I'm back behind the camera again. Most of the crocodiles we see are small, less than six feet long, but there are a few that are much bigger. I can't help shivering at the thought of meeting one of these larger creatures in open water and being dragged beneath the water by it. Without thinking I slip my hand into the crook of Derek's elbow and pull him close as the fear slowly subsides.

By afternoon, as we make our way back to Cancun, the skies have cleared, the sun has appeared, and the weather has warmed considerably. We have plenty of time to get there, with nothing left to do but eat dinner and take one last walk along the beach. Suddenly Derek steps on the brakes and turns sharply right onto a narrow lane without signaling. "Where are we going?" I ask, holding onto the Jeep's roll bar.

Derek doesn't answer right away. Finally he says, "Did you see the sign?"

I shake my head. "No."

He doesn't respond, focusing on the road ahead of us. In a moment it opens onto an expanse of beach. He turns to the left and drives along the beach until he finds a suitable place to park. "You really didn't see the sign?" he asks again.

"No. What sign?"

He grins. "Nekkid Beach. That's where we are."

I look around. There are only a few other people on the beach. From this distance it's hard to say if they are actually naked, but on the other hand I don't see any evidence that they aren't.

"Let's take a walk," he urges.

"But I'm not taking my clothes off," I say. "They won't arrest me for wearing clothes here will they?

Derek laughs. "No, I don't think so." Then he studies me silently for a moment with a trace of sadness in his face.

"What?"

Derek's tone is serious. "I was just thinking of you getting arrested and ending up in a Mexican jail. That wouldn't be good."

I shiver too. "No, it wouldn't."

"So maybe you better take your clothes off," he teases.

"I'm not taking my clothes off," I insist. "Why don't you take your clothes off?"

He looks around for a moment. The beach is uncrowded. "Do you dare me?"

I'd love to see him naked. I stop and look around to see who might be watching us. "Okay. I dare you."

"If I take off all my clothes, will you take off everything but your underwear?"

I think about that for a moment. It seems reasonable. The panties I'm wearing this day have a sturdy crotch that I know from experience will keep my male parts in place. As long as I can keep from getting too aroused."Okay."

"Let's walk for a while first," he says. "Get used to things. See what everyone else is doing."

Vehicles driving across the sand have formed a road of sorts parallel to the water's edge, and that is what we are following as we walk. We decide to leave the camera behind so that we don't frighten anyone. At first the only other people we see are sitting far enough from the pathway that we don't see very much, although it is evident that many of them, if not the vast majority of them, are, indeed, naked. There is a mix of men and women, but mostly men.

Off to our right, closer to the water, we see several men walking along who are obviously naked. As we walk further, we begin to see several men and the occasional woman walking along the pathway toward us. When one of them, a particularly attractive and well-muscled male, walks past, Derek grins and whispers, "Enjoying the view?"

I nod. "Yeah. You?"

He laughs. "One word. Hanging sausages."

"That's two words," I say with a laugh, although I can't keep from feeling hurt, wondering if that's what he thinks when he looks at me.

But he can tell from my silence that he's hurt my feelings. Stopping, he pulls me to him and kisses me. "I didn't mean you," he assures me.

I'm still not convinced, but I can't help being aroused by his kisses. When I feel that arousal making itself evident within my panties, I feel embarrassed and pull away, refusing to look at him.

We walk in silence for a minute or two. Derek knows what's wrong, but doesn't know what to say to make me feel better. Finally he says, "Okay, that was a pretty stupid thing to say. And I wasn't thinking of you at all when I said it. Chris, I don't think of you that way at all."

I shrug, still pouting. His apology has its intended effect, making me feel better, but I'm not ready to let him know that. I concentrate on keeping my voice non-committal when I say, "Okay."

But he knows me too well. My one word response is as good as a speech for him. His face breaks into a happy smile as he growls in his pirate voice, "Aargh! Come here ya sandy-footed wench and show your favorite pirate how much ya want him." As he talks, he pulls me in for another kiss.

I'm pressed up against him, almost lying on top of him as he somehow leans back enough to pull me off my feet. Our lips meet and stay together for a few seconds. And then it's hard to say who is responding to whom, but there's this sense of our mouths opening and our tongues moving tentatively forward. Is Derek really kissing me like this? Am I really kissing him like this?

He slowly lowers me to my feet, but we continue to kiss. I have my arms around his neck, pulling him down as I explore his mouth with my tongue. Derek's hands, I suddenly realize, have moved lower. They're no longer at the small of my back, where they normally are when he's kissed me or held me, but are a few inches lower. Derek has his hands on my ass. I moan and lean into him, kissing him harder and deeper, wanting him to know how aroused he's making me. He gets the message, and gets a firmer grip of my backside.

For several minutes we actually make out right there on the beach, our hands traveling freely over each other's bodies. Caresses are intermingled with kisses, and kisses are interrupted by needs to caress some other body part. For me, it's his shoulders, back, arms, and chest. For him, it's my bottom, sides, and neck.

When Derek tips his head, intending to kiss my neck, I lift my chin, extending it fully for him. He doesn't hesitate. His mouth finds and touches every inch of my neck, leaving it wet and shiny, before he makes his way lower, pulling my shirt open as he begins to kiss my chest.

"Take your shirt off," he hisses.

I don't hesitate. I reach down and begin to pull it up. Derek helps me, leaving me to lift my arms over my head while he pulls my shirt over my head. The white lace bra I'm wearing continues to hold the gel-filled sacks in place on my chest as Derek takes a moment to gaze at me. "God, you're sexy, Chris."

I smile. "Thanks. So are you."

Derek takes my hand and guides it to his groin, encouraging me to feel how aroused he is. "I mean it, Chris. You've got my dick as hard as any girl ever has."

I feel his hardness, twisting my hand around to gauge both its length and thickness. It's massive. I groan as I realize just how horny I am for him. I try to reach inside his shorts to bring it out where I can see it and handle it, but he stops me. "Not here," he says.

He takes my hand and leads me toward the water. I realize he intends for us to go swimming. The waves make me nervous, but I know I can trust Derek. At the edge of the high-water mark, he begins to undress. "You can go in in your bra and panties if you want," he says, remembering the deal we agreed to earlier.

I don't even try to act like I'm not looking as Derek strips. I've seen him naked before, of course, but it's still a wonderfully thrilling sight. His body is perfect. Athletic and incredibly masculine. But the most incredible sight at this moment is his erection, which he makes no effort to conceal from me. It juts forward from a mass of black hair, almost begging me to reach out and touch it. Knowing I am looking, Derek pauses for just a second, not quite posing as if he was the centerfold in a Playgirl magazine. His grin is sheepish, telling me he still feels a sense of awkwardness getting an erection because of me. I smile warmly, wanting him to know it's alright.

I glance quickly around to make sure no one's watching before removing the breast forms from my bra and quickly wrap my t-shirt around them to hide them from view. Once I have my shorts off, Derek takes my hand and we run into the surf. We run out as far as we can until a wave knocks us down, and then swim a few strokes. I follow him into deeper water. I stop when the water reaches my chest. On him, it's only slightly above his waist. He looks back when he notices I've stopped, and then comes over to where I'm standing and kisses me again. As we kiss, he picks me up and we continue to kiss. He is as strong swimmer, and he pulls me on top of him as he takes a few strokes, moving us into deeper water.

I'm afraid, and forced to cling tightly to him. I sense this was his plan all along, because when I ask him to take me back to shallower water, he only grins and says, "I'll hold you up."

When it becomes obvious that I'm too afraid to relax and enjoy myself, he finally agrees to take me back. "But only if you kiss me first," he says.

The kiss is given without hesitation. I'm willing to do almost anything to get out of the deep water, and kissing him is a pleasure. When I kiss him and then wait for him to keep his word, he rolls his eyes and says, "I mean a real kiss."

Clinging tightly to him, I kiss him longer, this time letting my tongue go into his mouth. "Like that?" I whisper, when our lips part.

"Yeah, like that," he says as he begins to kick his legs, driving us back to shallower water where he can set me down.

I think we're both thinking the same thing as we make our way back to shore, find our clothes, and carry them back to the rented Jeep. Honoring the terms of the dare, neither of us dresses, other than refilling the cups of my bra with the homemade breast forms. Or maybe we both sense that anything we put on now would simply need to be removed a few moments later. As we pass them, I know several of the men take the opportunity to ogle me in my underwear, and at least one woman seems to make sure her path coincides with Derek's. I take his hand as the woman gets closer, letting her know that he belongs to me. After she passes, Derek grins and comments on my reaction.

I just make a face and then stick my tongue out at him.

Reaching the relative privacy of the Jeep, we walk around to the side of the Jeep, where there is some shade and where we are somewhat isolated from the rest of the beach by the Jeep itself on one side and a small thicket of trees on the other side. We kiss again. Deep, hungry kisses that show each other just how much we want each other.

We collapse into the sand, still kissing, as my hand finds Derek's cock and finally wraps around it. He knows what I want. "Suck me, Chris" he says.

I don't need to be asked twice. I've wanted this for as long as I can remember. Or for at least as long as I've been pretending to be a girl on this cruise. I have his cock in my mouth almost immediately, barely taking time to give it a few kisses first before parting my lips to let it slide inside. I can feel it pushing hard at the back of my throat. It's long and thick, with a silky, smooth head that is an absolute pleasure whenever my tongue runs across it. "God, Chris, you have an amazing mouth," he whispers.

His encouragement only makes me want to try all the harder, and it isn't long before Derek is warning me, "Chris, I'm going to cum. You better stop."

I shake my head and keep sucking and licking. I want him to cum in my mouth. And he does. Although I have tasted my own cum several times, it's the first time I've ever tasted anyone else's. I recognize the slightly chlorine smell as his cum begins to go into my mouth, and then the thickness of it as it fills my mouth.

I capture every drop before releasing him. I open my mouth to show him my prize before closing it to let it roll over my tongue.

"You can spit it out if you want," he says.

I shake my head again. I consider it my reward. As he watches, I swallow, and then proudly show him my empty mouth. Derek just shakes his head.

What else is there to say? That's how it started. I didn't wear my nightgown that night, and Derek didn't wear his boxers. We were too busy enjoying the feel of each other's bodies.

We were lucky with the weather during our entire trip. It had been sunny and unseasonably warm every day until that last day in Cancun, when the weather turned cooler and rainy. Cold, rainy weather and heavy seas kept us in our cabin all the way back to Miami, other than our trips to the dining room for meals. But that was lucky, too, because on that last day, neither of us wanted to leave our cabin. We were too busy making love.

Yes, Derek finally made me a "real woman" on the last day of our cruise, somewhere between Cancun and Miami, and has been making love to me ever since. We still live in Salt Lake City, only now we live together. Our neighbors, all Mormons, think that I'm Derek's wife, and, who knows, maybe some day I will be. They invite us to church and other activities and always make us feel welcome.

Derek has offered to help me with the cost of an operation that will let me be a "real" woman, but I'm not sure I want to do it. Derek says he's never been happier, and I know I never have. I don't know if any operation could improve that.

I never did let the holes in my pierced ears grow back. In fact, as I write this, I'm wearing diamond earrings in them; a gift from Derek to celebrate our first anniversary together as a man and a woman. I bought myself some quality breast forms almost as soon as we got back, and started using breast creams and taking female hormones as soon as I could get a prescription. Now I have real breasts, a few sizes bigger than kumquats, with small pink nipples that love to be kissed, licked and fondled.

It's fun to look through our pictures of our Caribbean Cruise. We call it our first honeymoon. I love the memories my pictures bring. Along with pictures of all the places we went to as tourists, there are pictures of the Lanes and Larry, our dining room companions. Julie Lane sends us a Christmas card every year, and we keep in touch the rest of the time by email. As for Larry, well, that's another story that needs to be told. There's also the picture I took of the Olsens on their anniversary. We never heard back from them and I often wonder how they liked the picture and what they did with it.

Oh, and one more thing. Remember Tom, the waiter from Jamaica's Montego Bay? Well, we actually ran into him again one day in Salt Lake City when we were at Temple Square to see the Christmas lights. It seems he's a Mormon missionary now. It really is a small world.

The End