Switching

This is fiction, as far as I know. Any similarity to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. As always, play hard, but play safe! What do you mean, you haven't gotten around to donating to Nifty yet!? The author retains all rights to and ownership of this story.

Switching

This is embarrassing. It is so fucking embarrassing. But I made a deal, and Ricardo was worth it--at least I thought so until about thirty seconds ago.

Back story: Ricardo and I had come up to the state capital for a gay rights rally, all very prim and proper, and we wound up sharing a motel room. Our eyes met, etc. and we had a fine old vanilla time. Ricardo has a body like a Greek statue and glistening black hair and all, and the guy is hung like a horse! In the morning, when we were talking and getting our grown-ups-talk-to-legislators clothes on, he confessed that when he saw me he was convinced I'd walked out of his fantasies. We were made for each other, it seemed.

Except...when I wasn't being a responsible grown-up I was very much into BDSM, and when Ricardo wasn't quoting everything from the Bible to the Constitution to convince a legislator to support GLBT rights, he was a drag queen--and not just a guy in a dress, but an honest-to-God perfect drag queen. He'd- -She'd--"Ricci" had been dozens of places in public, in broad daylight, and fooled everyone. "Wow," I said one night about a month later, after watching her perform "You and the Night and the Music," "you're incredible!"

Ricci/Ricardo smiled. "Practice, Gil. That's all it takes. And a fabulous wardrobe, of course."

"And a fabulous voice," I added.

Ricardo blushed. "Thank you, doll. There was a time..."

"What?"

"I was going to be a star! Then I discovered sex and what the hell I made my choice: big fish, small pond! Let's go fuck for days."

I hemmed and hawwed until Ricci rolled her eyes. "Spill it, stud! You got the clap, or what?"

So I explained what I was into, and how it just couldn't work in the long run if he, she, whatever--

"It's just different drag, honey bear," he said. "Leather and lace, like they say."

"No, it's not! I am so sick of hearing that. Leather is not drag! It's...it's deeper than that."

"A little sensitive, aren't we? You see a lot of people walking down Main Street in body harnesses and 16-inch biker boots?"

"Ricardo," I said, sadly, "it's just...ships passing in the night. We did our thing. Let's just remember that and move on."

"So...you're tired of me? It's over?"

"No! It's...I don't want you...us...okay, me, to get hurt!"

"God, Gil! You are such a drama queen! What if I did leather?"

"It's not that--"

"Seriously, hon. What if I put on full leather drag--we're about the same size--would you...could we still be an item?"

"Maybe," I admitted. It was doomed to failure, of course. Leave it to me to fall for someone like Ricardo. "Yeah, maybe. Worth a try, anyhow."

So we tried: Ricardo came over to my place and got all leathered up. At first, I was so busy with the details that I didn't pay much attention to the over-all effect. But then Ricardo stepped back and said, "Well? What do you think?"

I thought my cock was going to carve a hole right through my jeans. Of course, it was partly because I knew what lurked beneath that cod piece, but even so..."Wow," I grinned. "Wanna fuck?"

"Want me to take you over my knee, boy? Teach you manners?" Ricardo suddenly grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back, forcing me to my knees. "This what you want, boy?" he snarled.

"Yes, Sir!" Right then, I wanted to throw myself at Ricardo's feet and lick his boots until my tongue fell off--except, of course, that they were my boots.

"If you want this, you can have it--on one condition," Ricardo growled.

What? 'Til death do us part? Be your bottom forever? No limits? I just stared into his eyes, lost, and nodded.

"I do your drag, and you do mine."

Huh?

The godawful thing about cocks is that they can wrestle your brain to the ground anywhere, any time. I'll skip the details of the negotiation; what it came down to is that I would take Ricardo to The Dark Knight (local leather bar--the intense one with the decidedly illegal bathroom stalls) in full leather. And I would wear drag. Dress, wig, heels, the works: Scarlett O'Hara in "Gone With the Wind," and Johnny Strabler in "The Wild One."

Ricci spent a week (and a nice chunk of change) on a dress and a wig. I spent all my spare time in a pair of his heels learning to walk "like a lady." High heels have to be the wickedest torture devices ever created. I'd rather spend a week on the rack than an hour in heels, I swear! Anyhow, there I was, during Pride week, yet, in this lovely dress--Ricci said it was a "Nigerian style evening dress"--burgundy polyester that was supposed to look like watered silk, full bodice with a sheer ivory top and full length burgundy sleeves, tight in the waist, hips, and thighs, floor length. "Then why do I have to wear the heels?"

"So the dress will hang right, hon. Otherwise it will look like a really ugly bathrobe!"

Ricci had a padded girdle for my butt and a padded bra for my bosom. I had to shave my face, of course, and my armpits, my chest hair down to my navel, and "just in case," my leg hair up to my knees. (I insisted Ricardo at least tie me up for some of that.) Thank goodness, all I had to do was slick down my hair so the wig looked right. He got earrings, and a bracelet, and a little locket on a chain for my neck. Foundation, lipstick, eye shadow--I looked good! Or rather, my alter ego looked good. It was bondage, I swear! The nastiest bondage I've ever suffered in.

"Sell it, girl!" Ricci commanded.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Mistress, hon. It's 'Yes, Mistress.'"

"Yes, Mistress." But there was no way I was going to get a hard-on underneath everything.

Ricardo drove, of course. I had enough of a challenge walking in the damn heels! He parked about a quarter of a mile from The Dark Knight, opened the passenger door, and offered me his arm.

Oh, yeah: Ricardo had a leather chest harness under my motorcycle jacket, chaps (and that studded cod piece I mentioned) and my engineer boots--sixteen-inch Wesco's.

"Why do I have to wear sixteen inch boots under the chaps?"

"Just in case." So there.

The Dark Knight is just a couple of blocks off of Central Avenue, so naturally Ricardo walked me down Central as far as possible before turning away from the crowd. I got lots of looks, as you might imagine.

"Sorry, Ma'am, you need to be wearing leather to come in here," Harry the doorman (six feet two, two- sixty, all muscle, shaves twice a day) said. And that brings me up to thirty seconds ago. Harry didn't even know me! He fucked me once, and he didn't even know me!

"She's with me," Ricardo said, and he gave Harry this look he has that wins just about any argument. Look at how I was dressed, if you need proof! And in we went. Ricardo escorted me all the way to the back bar, and it was like Moses parting the waves to watch all those guys in leather just step aside. I don't think anyone recognized me, right off. There were even a few whistles. C'mon! What guy whistles at a woman in a gay leather bar?

Ricardo ordered me a martini, which I chugged in a rather unladylike way, which resulted in a subtle but extremely painful kick to my calf. "Yes, dear," I said. "Thank you, dear. Would it be all right if I had another, dear?"

Ricardo nodded, thank God.

It was a little brighter at the counter, of course, and Eddie Studer sidled up to Ricardo. "Hi," he said. "Haven't seen you in here before."

"This is my first time." Ricardo smiled, and Eddie saw my face in the mirror behind the bar and did a double take.

"Holy cr--is that you, Gil?!"

"Hi, Eddie."

"I didn't know you did drag!"

"Leather and lace, man," I heard myself say. Ricardo's reflection smiled at me. "Look, Eddie, um, this is sort of a--"

"You lost a bet, right?"

Okay, yeah. I nodded my head. "Yeah, as a matter of fact. So, look. If you don't tell anyone, I'd appreciate it."

"Whatever," Eddie replied. "Why don't you introduce me to your... escort?"

"Ricardo, this is Eddie. Eddie, Ricardo. Ricardo and I--"

"Pleasure to meet you, Eddie."

"So...buy you a drink? Both of you, I mean."

"That would be nice, but I don't want Miss Lil to get tipsy, you know," Ricardo answered, suggesting that he had plans for a very lively evening.

"Any chance of a three-way?"

"Not tonight, baby," Ricardo laughed. "This little lady's going to have her pretty little hands full of this." And he groped his crotch through the codpiece.

"Oh, man," Eddie said, eyes wide. "What I wouldn't give to see that!"

"Eddie," I growled.

"Hush, dear. The men are talking." Ricardo signaled to the barkeep and drinks appeared--another martini for me, beers for Eddie and himself. "Eddie, would you steer me to the restroom?" He turned to me. "You just wait here and watch our drinks, hon!"

I didn't know what to say, or do, or...so I just watched the two of them disappear into the crowd.

"Um, excuse me, Miss, but--Gil? Is that--what the fuck guys, it's Gil!"

"Bernie," I hissed, but it was too late. The room went quiet, then the whistles started. And the laughter. I was ready to deck Bernie Hollister, but he took me by the hand very elegantly and walked me to the center of the room.

"Gentlemen! Allow me to introduce our guest of honor, Miss Lil!" Bernie announced. I felt like I was blushing a deeper red than my gown. And then the applause started. And kept going, while we turned in a slow circle. Eddie and Ricardo wormed their way to the front of the crowd, laughing and clapping with the rest of the guys. Ricardo stepped forward and subtly shoved Bernie aside. He embraced me and whispered into my ear, "Hun, you got the biggest balls in this room!" and planted a full French on my mouth. What could I do? I swooned into his manly arms.

Then, we danced. I hadn't couple-danced since high school, and never like a lady. Ricardo kept whispering "left, left, right" or whatever in rhythm with the music and we more or less danced around the circle, then back to the bar. Everyone applauded.

"Curtsey, dear," Ricardo whispered. I actually managed to do it, more or less, gripping Ricardo's hand like a life preserver.

More applause. And another martini. I was beginning to feel the effects of the liquor, unfortunately. So now I had to act like a lady in heels who didn't appear to be as drunk as she actually was. And then I realized that Ricardo was trying to deal with another drunk, in full leather.

"C'mon, man," the drunk said. "You don't want that bitch--you want a real man!"

"Oh!" said Ricardo. "Do you see any?" The guys near us winced.

The drunk, however, grabbed his pants and roared. "I got a man for ya!"

"I'm after a full meal, dearie--not an appetizer." Ricardo was very gradually turning into Ricci.

I tried to come to the rescue. "Ricardo, dearest, I think we're going to be late. We should probably be on our way."

"Naah! We've got time for one number. Right, babe?"

"Huh?"

"You and the night and the music," Ricardo started, in an impressive tenor. "Come on, babe, let's do it!" He started the song again, wrapping his arm tightly around my waist. "Fill me with burning desire," we sang--or Ricardo sang, while I tried to pull off a falsetto, and failed.

"Come on, babe," Ricardo said. "Show them your pipes!" He leaned close and whispered in my ear, "It's not the pitch that counts, it's the style. Sing like you're in a night club!"

"You and the night and the music," I sang.

Ricardo joined in, pitching his voice lower than mine. "Fill me with flaming desire,"

"You are flaming!" the drunk yelled, and three guys immediately shushed him.

"Setting my being completely on fire." Somehow or another, it was working. "You and the night and the music, Thrill me but will we be one, After the night and the music are done?"

By now, half-a-dozen guys were singing with us, which was a good thing, because I hadn't a clue what the next verse was. It all sort of broke down about two-thirds of way through, but by then we were drowning in applause. We left the Dark Knight pretty thoroughly drunk, and to lots of cheers and whistles. Harry, bless his heart, had a cab waiting, and twenty minutes later, we were at my place.

"Whew! What a night," I said, collapsing onto my sofa and kicking off those diabolical heels.

"We're just getting started," Ricardo growled. "Strip! Now! And from now on, call me Sir!"

"Oh, my stars and garters!" I cried, throwing my hand to my forehead. "Am I about to be ravished?"

"You better believe it, lady!" Ricardo got me out of my clothes, then ordered me to strip him. When we were done, the living room looked like a costume shop had exploded. We retired to the bedroom and I dropped to my knees and buried my face in Sir's crotch, ready, willing and eager for ravishment.

"Ricardo and Lil" got something of a reputation in our leather community, so we worked up "You and the Night and the Music," "Whatever Lola Wants," "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered," "All That Jazz," "Anything Goes," and a couple of other numbers. Ricardo taught me how to waltz like a lady...

And I taught Ricardo how to tie knots.