The 25th Floor

Darlene? Sandrine? Mary Sue?

The hazy urban sun pressed down hard on every inch of the pavement and sidewalks laid out before her, and once again she thanked heavens the dry-cleaners were only a few blocks from the hotel. Her business in the city over and done with, it was a wonderful day to stay inside and make love before tomorrow brought the airport and the trip home! But she didn't want to think of home just now. That brought Rob to mind, and he wouldn't be waiting for her back home this time. But, she rejoined, that just meant what she was about to do this afternoon would be perfectly fine. And with that, she regained the spring in her step as she waded through the humidity back to the hotel.

It was Rob's own fault, really. She had always suspected he really wanted a guy rather than a gal, a jock like him. She had played that game for upwards of two years, and today she would finally get to play a woman with all its bells and whistles and satin and lace. And it did feel more like playing than like who she really was at this point. But that was okay for the moment.

Virginia? Clarissa? Juliana?

She was sweating like a pig in her street clothes by the time she reached the blissfully air-conditioned hotel lobby, but the white thrift-store dress was still fresh and clean in its cellophane over her shoulder. Thank heavens. He would be here in about half an hour, just enough time for her to get showered and dressed and, with any luck, think of the right name. She had notified him of her room number, and could only hope he would be able to get through the lobby unnoticed since he wouldn't be able to tell the concierge her real name, nor she his.

To her relief, the clerks once again took no notice as she sauntered past the desk with her dress. Of course, she mused as the elevator doors closed and she felt herself borne upstairs, that also meant there was no turning back now. He would be at her door on the 25th floor shortly. The butterflies that had been a constant presence down below all through the trip now went wild with that realization. The crazy idea she had suggested back when the trip first came up was going to be realized after all - Rob would officially be history. And she would be someone's first female lover in over a decade, if he was being straight with her.

Straight.

Poor choice of words, she chided herself as she stepped off the elevator on the 25th floor and dug her key card out of her jeans pocket. But she laughed through her nervousness at the accidental joke.

Calandra? Serena? Molly?

Back in her room, she unwrapped the dress carefully from the dry cleaners' bag. It was old, but the lace and frills were all in good shape and she looked forward to indulging in them. The thigh-high stockings and gloves awaited in the department store bag on the chair by the window, and the fancy lingerie Rob had so stubbornly failed to ever notice was ready and waiting in the closet. All she needed now was a shower and a name.

Allessandra? Francesca? Maria?

Gratefully she peeled her sweaty jeans off. Before discarding them in the closet, she pulled out her wallet from the pocket and placed it in the safe. Whatever name she settled on, he would not be learning her real one, not yet anyway. For good measure, she also placed her watch in the safe. With all her identification and valuables locked away, it was back to the task at hand. With a fitting vigor for one who was about to get lucky, she tore off the rest of her clothes and stashed them in the far corner of the closet, before retrieving her clean lacy bra and panties to ensure there would be no trouble with them smelling like her dirty clothes. With no further concerns about the maid seeing her intimate apparel, she laid them on the bed.

The shower was delightfully refreshing after the dirty heat outside, and as she washed herself down she went through the litany of the greatest hits of their online encounters. They had created some doozies in two years of playing: "God, I'm sooo wet..." "I wish I could drink it up!" "Teasing your lips with one finger each, so it tickles just enough to feel lovely," "I come so hard the phone rings and we know we woke up the neighbors again," and so many brilliant nicknames for her breasts that she had lost track of them. After all

that time, only minutes until they got to do it all for real! But a name was still lacking.

Marlena? Selena? Penelope?

He'd said he was fine with keeping their real names a secret for now, but please make it something ultra-feminine. With yesterday's discovery of that dress on her lunchbreak, all the other ultra-feminine elements were set to go, but the right name hadn't come to her yet. It would, she was sure, but the puzzle nagged at her as she was otherwise set for the fantasy to take its course.

Emerging from the shower thoroughly refreshed and smelling of floral essences, she hoped he would have the sense to take a taxi over, rather than insisting on the subway like the local snob she knew he was. It was her fantasy as much as his, after all. As she patted her clean body dry just outside the bathroom, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and once again recalled that he had asked her to be clean-shaven down below. There was still just enough time to do that...but no. She'd done it a time or two before and hated the itchiness when the hair grew back, and she found it more erotic to look down and see a triangle anyway. If she got one thing wrong, he'd live.

Of course, she admitted, admiring herself in the mirror, she could have told him that. She knew all too well why she hadn't: fear that he would call the whole thing off when she was dying for a fling with the guy who had melted her butter so many times online, and a strong sense that once she had her clothes off, he would never turn back even if she wasn't exactly what he had asked for. She was still quite sure of that.

He was due in ten minutes. She strode unapologetically naked to the window, where the shades remained open. Twenty-five floors above the street, there was little risk of being seen and little consequence but pleasant titillation if somehow she was seen. No one here knew who the beautiful nude brunette in the window was anyway, she reminded herself with a gentle laugh as she bared her body to the city. It all made for the perfect prologue.

Elena? Arlene? Cecily?

With that prologue out of the way, it was time to get dressed. She opened the package with the stockings and slid each one on, careful to pull the frilly fringe around the leg-band straight on each one and have them even with each other halfway up her thighs. Next came the bra, which was far more decorative than supportive, but that would be fine today - any athletics would be accomplished with no clothes on anyway. Lingering before the mirror now, she did enjoy the lacy fabric blossoming every which way around her breasts in any case. They hadn't been so dressed-up in quite some time, since Rob had always been so indifferent to such frills.

A spritz of her favorite perfume in her bush and another on her neck, and then she slipped on the panties. They were sheer and the outline of her triangle was clearly visible through the fabric, and she found she liked the look. If he didn't, well, she was feeling too beautiful right then to care. Before putting the dress on, she couldn't resist prancing to the window once again. The thrill wasn't nearly the same, but she enjoyed the view as she pondered the last minutes before his knock at the door was due.

With that in mind, she did turn her attention to getting fully dressed, however temporary that might be. She pulled the dress over her head and fitted it properly about her hips, feeling behind to make sure the skirt wasn't tucked into anything - one reason why she usually wore pants anymore - and satisfied that it wasn't, she reached behind herself to zip it up and clasp it. This took a few tries as she was out of practice, and she had only just finished it when the knock at the door finally came.

"Coming!" she managed to say, her heart pounding in her throat. She rummaged through the shopping bag for the white gloves, and the walk to the door provided just enough time to pull them on. She was too nervous to remember she still hadn't settled on a name.

He was shorter than she had imagined, but still a bit taller than she was. And he was a blond - dark blond, but still blond. She'd never been with a blond before, and the novelty added to her bemusement as he stood grinning in the hallway in a sportcoat and black shirt and slacks. He handed her a single pink rose.

"Come on in," she said.

"Glad to." He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. Close as they were, he didn't reach out to her just yet, but rather eyed her up and down as she fingered the rose nervously.

"I'm James," he said finally, when the silence became unbearable.

"James," she repeated, while busying herself with a glass of water for the rose. Giving him the once-over now, she continued. "As in James Dean? James Taylor?"

"A little of both, I hope."

"How do I know James isn't your real name?" she mused.

"I guess you don't. But it isn't."

"Good answer," she grinned.

"And your name?"

There was no time to panic before it finally came to her, the most sicky-sweet feminine name she had ever come across, left over from an otherwise-forgotten book she had read as a child: "Cornelia."

"Cornelia," he repeated. "I don't believe I've met one of those before."

"Maybe you have now, then," she teased.

"I doubt it."

"How's that?"

"Don't forget how much we know about each other from the web," he reminded her. "Two years now we've been reading about one another. You don't feel like a Cornelia. Too girly."

"What if my mother wanted girly?!" She looked down at her ridiculously feminine attire. "And don't I look the part just now?"

"You'd have shortened it, or used your middle name, or just made up a nickname. I picked that up about you real early on. And the clothes were my request."

"Yes, and just why was that when you normally aren't even attracted to women?"

"If you're going to cheat on your diet, you might as well go straight for dessert," he told her with a grin.

The line, coupled with her white attire, made her think of an old record album her parents had that featured a woman doused head to toe in whipped cream. Imagining herself looking like that now, she burst into laughter. "Brilliant line, my friend," she told him.

"Friend?" he asked in mock-irritation. "Now I'm only a friend?"

He was still standing awkwardly before her at the foot of the bed, as if waiting for them to embrace, and now she realized she had intended to hurl herself into his arms the moment he walked in. But they had both let that opportunity go by.

"Well, James, are you even really that?" She was feeling rather uneasy about the whole thing now. "I mean, we know everything about each other sexually, I guess, but what else have we ever talked about? I know how long your penis is but I don't know your favorite color, you know?"

"Orange."

"Orange?! That's no one's favorite!"

"You don't know my real name either; what does my real favorite color matter? Besides, aren't we just here to have sex anyway?"

"Good point," she admitted. Looking on at close range at the guy she had ravaged in her imagination so many times, she continued somewhat reluctantly, "This works a lot better online, doesn't it?"

"Did I get something wrong?" He was looking frustrated now. "You said you wanted smart but casual."

"No! You're perfectly beautiful!" she reassured him. "I mean, I hope you're not one of those guys who has issues with being called beautiful, but..."

"I'm not," he said. "I don't hear it very often, but it's fine. Thank you. But what did I get wrong?"

"Nothing!" she said. "It's only that I've imagined this so many times, without ever knowing what you really look like or you knowing what I look like, or sound like, or how we would really react in bed, and now that you're here in person I'm realizing all that at once, and it's a lot to take in.

He sat down on the bed. "Well, listen, if you don't want to do it after all, I understand. Would you rather go get a drink somewhere first?"

"I'm not going out in that soup in this nice dress," she said. "Actually, I'd rather not go out in a dress at all. I haven't worn one in years, and I'd spend the whole time thinking people were gawking at me."

"I'd feel the same about being seen in public with a woman," he said. "It's been a long time."

Touched by his frankness, she smiled. "Not so long that you wouldn't know what to do, I hope?" She cupped her breasts enticingly in her hands, tacitly inviting him to follow her lead.

"Oh, I don't think that would be a problem," he said. Standing up again, at long last he took her in his arms. She hugged him back, inhaling his cologne appreciatively. "You do dress the part well, even if it's not who you really are," he said.

"Thank you," she said. "I'll tell you what, James, it feels great to dress up like a princess for once, too. Rob, well, you've heard all my stories about Rob. He wanted a guy with a pussy, I think. Short hair, jeans, polo shirts, he even thought football jerseys were sexy. I'm surprised he didn't criticize me for wearing a bra."

"Why did you put up with that for so long?"

"For one thing, I am kind of a tomboy - I know you can't see it right now, but I am - and also, well, there was this hot guy on the Internet that I was having a great time with..."

They both laughed at the pleasant memory. "It was a great safety valve for me, too," he said.

"Or a safety vulva?" she quipped, and they laughed harder.

"I guess that too," he confessed. "In any case, it's great to be doing this in person after all this time, isn't it?"

She pulled back and took his hands in hers. "Well, we haven't really done anything yet, have we?"

"True," he said. "I guess I just want to savor the anticipation. It's been so long since I've even seen a pussy in real life, never mind touched one."

She had no doubt hers was wet to the touch in anticipation, but there was no need to rush things. "It won't be long now, will it?" she purred.

"Can hardly wait," he said, leaning in to kiss her neck. Between nibbles, he continued, "Tell me now, just how smooth are you down there?"

"Not at all, I'm afraid," she declared fearlessly.

He pulled back. "What do you mean?"

She took a deep breath. "Look, James, I did everything else you asked for, and you have no idea how silly my friends back home would say I look in this getup, but I did it anyway. I draw the line at shaving or waxing. It just isn't who I am."

"But didn't we discuss this? No real names, and we dress like each other's fantasy!"

"I did do that!" she said. "I bought this dress just for you! But after today, I can just not wear it again if I don't want to. I can't snap my fingers and grow my bush back, can I?"

"It'll grow back."

"And itch like hell for days! And do you have any idea how much a waxing hurts?"

"Actually, I do," he said. "Got it done for my boyfriend, if you must know."

"You never told me that," she said.

"You never asked. Just like I never asked if you groomed yourself down below. I figured all women do these days."

"What does a gay man know about women?!"

"A lot more than most straight guys do, actually," he said.

She smiled through her annoyance. "Okay, I can't deny that. But no, I've been natural for years. I tried getting waxed once when I was really drunk and even then it hurt, and it was a pain growing back in, and I didn't like the way I looked bald down there anyway."

"Okay," he said. "But you know, when we did it online, I always imagined you smooth and clean."

"I imagined you taller and with darker hair, but you don't hear me complaining."

"Gee, thanks," he said. "I mean, okay, I guess that's fair. But the whole idea here, for me at least, was I was finally going to be with a woman!"

"A hairy pussy is still a pussy," she reminded him.

"But...it's not the way I always imagined you," he whined. "And it's not what I asked for."

"What you asked for," she repeated. "Didn't you care at all about who I really am?"

"Weren't you the one who said no real names?!"

"Yes, but I felt safe in assuming our real bodies were okay. That's what we made love to each other with online, wasn't it?"

He gave her a hard look. "No. I was imagining something other than your real body. I see that now, and I'll bet you do, too."

She glared at him, unable to admit to him or to herself that he was right. On coming to that conclusion, she knew what she had to do next. "James. Please get out. It's over."

"Boy, is that right," he said, and without another word, he saw himself out of the room.

She stood, rooted to the carpet between the bed and the desk, for a few minutes, feeling a rainbow of emotions in rapid succession: hurt, sad, angry, disbelieving, relieved. Relieved that she hadn't given in, that she had at least remained partially true to herself through their charade, that she hadn't gone to bed with someone who would never appreciate her true beauty.

Wasn't there a guy out there who didn't want a butch or a princess?

There must be. But, she concluded, better to be on her own than to settle for someone who only wanted her to play a part.

At last, she turned and gazed at the bed, still untouched but for the few wrinkles on the edge where he'd sat. Her heart sank again as she remembered that she had expected to be writhing in passionate joy at just that moment...but it rebounded as she realized she still could be.

After pulling off the ballet slippers she had bought (high heels were just as off-limits as waxing), she pranced barefoot to the door and locked the deadbolt and chain lock. Then she reached back to undo the clasp of her dress, but one last look in the mirror changed her mind. The woman looking back at her wasn't her, but she was gorgeous.

She decided against taking off her dress, but she did reach under it and pull her panties off. Tossing them in the closet, she returned to the bed and arranged the pillows so she could lean back on them. After gathering her skirt up around her waist, she sat back against the pillows and spread her legs, and admired herself in the mirror over the desk. Her pussy looked perfectly fine in its natural state to her. With her first tentative strokes, she found it felt fine as well. Only then did it occur to her that, between the breakup with Rob and the anticipation of today, it had been far too long.

Though her earlier arousal was long gone with the unpleasant turn things had taken, the sense of liberation that had overcome her after James had gone now had her feeling frisky again. So she wasn't surprised when she inched one finger inside and found herself wonderfully wet.

"Yeah...fuck you, James, just look what you're missing!"

Stroking harder, she also began flicking at her clit with her thumb. "Oh, yes!" Remembering she was in a hotel where no one knew her and it was the middle of the afternoon - no neighbors to worry about waking up - she let go with an utterly satisfying, cathartic moan. When she opened her eyes again, she dared a look in the mirror and was even more aroused at the beautiful sight. Another finger slid inside easily, and she let her left hand take over the outer rubbing.

"Oh God..."

So much more satisfying than a guy who didn't even know her! As she went to town on herself, she closed her eyes and imagined a rainy night and a roaring fire inside and a strapping man with tight clothes that she peeled off reverently to reveal a hairy chest and a rock-hard cock amidst a delightful forest of curls, and a look of adoration on his face as he admired her body on display before him, and his gentle hands just where her own were right now.