As James approached the front door he reached absently for the keys in his back jeans pocket, striding up the steps to the door. Without thinking he reached for the door handle, and to his surprise it opened without any need for the key. He paused momentarily. Strange. Even if Michael was at home it was unlikely that he would have left it unlocked.
James cursed the luck that had him watching over Jack and Wendy's house while they enjoyed a three week European vacation. He understood, though – Michael was staying behind, and even at 18 he still seemed very young. Even effeminate. James didn't know if he would have trusted Michael to watch over things either.
Conscious that there may be strangers in the house, James stepped in quietly, slipped his shoes off as he shut it gently behind him. He surveyed the house briefly: nothing appeared to be out of place. He stepped forward gingerly, his feet making no sound on the tiled floor as he moved from the entranceway into the lounge. And then he heard – did he? – a murmur, a voice perhaps, a whisper from upstairs. The hairs on the back of his neck rose in warning. Even though he hesitated, he knew that he would have to go up; and so he moved to the stairway, stepping carefully as he climbed, counting the sixteen treads that that took him to the passageway between the bedrooms.
Here it was carpeted, and everything seemed normal, except for the reflected light that was seeping out under the half open door to the main bedroom. He slipped quickly to the side, peering into the room through the gap at the hinges, surveying the room quickly to see who was there. Of everything he had expected, though, the sight before him caught him unprepared.
The main bedroom was large. To the left stood the double bed, slightly out of James' vision. Wendy's closet was against the far wall, standing open. To the right was a full-length mirror, and standing with her back to the doorway was a woman – a girl perhaps – dressed in a full length formal dress. James recognised the dress as one belonging to Wendy – but it certainly wasn't Wendy evaluating herself: this woman was thing, gangly even, and the dress hung slightly loose on her frame. James wondered if anyone else was in the room – it was conceivable that someone was on the bed out of view. He stood without moving, waiting quietly to see what was happening.
And then a voice – Michael's voice – spoke: "Very nice. Now turn around."
The woman rotated, still looking at the mirror over her shoulder to keep herself in view, but James saw her face, lipstick, rouge, mascara, blush, earrings, girlish tilt of the head and realised with a shock of amazement that he was staring at Michael. Michael – dressed in his mother's clothing, parading before a mirror, made up like a woman, obviously using the opportunity while his parents were gone to explore personal fantasies. James realised that he had wandered into a private sexual exploration – Michael playing out a scenario for himself, watching himself, as a woman, in the mirror.
For a moment he wanted to turn and leave – but Michael was facing the doorway now – any movement might alert him to James' presence. Motionlessly he appraised the scene. Apart from the makeup, Michael had obviously taken some time to prepare himself for this: James could make out the shape of breasts beneath the dress. Michael's hair – always long – was blown back, hanging to his shoulders. James could make out strappy black shoes matching the black sheen dress, over grey pantyhose. Michael looked anything but a parody – he was deliberately dressed and posing to look like a sensual woman, and for all the world he did. As Michael spoke again, James began to understand the fantasy that was being played out – he alternated between two voices, a feminine lilt that was obviously the role he was portraying, and a deeper voice that belonged to an imaginary man – who James came to realise was supposedly interviewing Michael for a job.
Female voice: There. I hope you like what you see. I'm not used to being asked to do this for a job interview. Male: Well – we both know that you have interviewed for a lot of jobs, don't we? And that you haven't had any luck? Turn around again.
Michael dropped his head resignedly as he rotated to again face the mirror. James could leave now, but he was fascinated by this play taking place before him – by the voyeuristic opportunity that had presented itself. From the back Michael looked like a woman again – he had obviously posed this way a lot, and this was perhaps old sensual territory for him. He appeared to be a shy, coy woman as he spoke again.
Female: I haven't had much luck, no. Jobs are not easy to find. I really do need this one. Male: There are many candidates that I have to interview. Work is hard to find. If you want this, you'll have to prove that you have something to offer.
Michael raised his head and looked at the mirror, lips pouting slightly in feigned anger.
Female: I work hard. You'll never have to worry about the quality of what I do. Male: That's not what I meant. I meant that you'll have to show me some of what you have. Female: I don't understand. Male: Some of what you have under that pretty dress.
James was fascinated by the scenario: Michael fulfilling both the role of the aggressive, demanding, controlling manager – and the woman reluctantly being drawn into exposing herself. James recognised the type of fantasy – he had had it himself. How many men had not imagined having an attractive woman obeying his every command? It was built into most men's psyche. And yet this was different; Michael was deliberately positioning himself not as the domineering manager, but as the submissive, reluctant victim obliged to obey these instructions in order to get employment – and James was intrigued. More than intrigued … as Michael mouthed the next words James felt a movement in his groin that alerted him to the impact this was having. This pretty boy/girl (for Michael was unquestionably attractive – as he shifted his stance slightly the movement of his ass under the dress caught James' eye) wanted to be controlled, wanted to be a submissive little girl to a controlling male figure. Michael wanted to explore his femininity by pretending to be made to do this.
James had explored his dominant preferences more than once. Early in his marriage he had started to tie his wife up, once taking photographs of her as she lay helpless on the bed. That day had been a long, slow exploration in which he had bound her while still dressed, and then unexpectedly pulled out the camera when she could do nothing to stop him. He had taken pictures as he stripped her, and her first attempts to pull out of the ropes had only added to the erotic nature of the images. She had become progressively humiliated, especially when he pulled up her skirt and pulled the panties to one side, holding her knees apart and ensuring that her face was in each photograph, particularly the most intimate. Her muffled anger through the gag had no impact at all, until he pulled it away so that she could take him in her mouth. He remembered how angry and turned on she was simultaneously, tearing against the bonds, but still taking him fully into first her mouth, and then when he turned her over, between her soaked lips. No matter how she had raged afterwards, they both knew that she had been left drenched and wanting: she had bucked under him with abandon. And as time progressed ropes, scarves, and eventually even some handcuffs had progressively found their way into the bedroom. As the marriage had turned bad the domination had remained, becoming more overt. Once, as they stood against the back wall in an elevator, he had reached under her dress, pulling her panties down and letting them fall to the floor out of sight of the unsuspecting patrons; he had been too strong for her to stop him even though she frantically tried to hold them up for a few brief moments. Each time there would be anger followed by lust. As the marriage irreparably shred he started doing it in more public situations, pulling down her bathing suit in the pool once so their friends could see her breasts, reaching into her pants and cupping her while she tried unsuccessfully to pull his hand away, and all their friends laughed. However madly she had twisted away, even in those brief moments he felt how wet she was.
