At first Belle thought the personal ad said: "Real Man Seeking Travesties." Then she looked again and realized the poster to TG-Online had misspelled "transvestites." Belle identified with either label, so it scarcely mattered.

"Rollerdemon," the advertiser, lived near Belle in Durham, NC. He described himself as "tall, built, and all man." He had a goatee and 'stache, and kept his head shaved. "i'm 100% str8 but sometimes i need a girl with a little something extra, no what i mean?"

Belle hit the command to e-mail Rollerdemon. She battled the urge to type: "Sure you're straight. And I just serviced the Dalai Lama behind the Circle K." Then Belle surveyed herself, wearing her finest slutdrag without the Male Gaze. She thought of spending more evenings alone in her prefab one-bedroom flat, with its late 70's sitcom decor. Instead she typed: "Honey, this girl's for you. I'm all the woman you'll need, and my 'toy surprise' beats anything you ever found in a Crackerjack." It wasn't Belle's finest prose, but it would do. She hit send, then put on her tape of Donna Summer's "She Works Hard For the Money" and lip-synched around her apartment with dramatic gestures.

So the next day was Monday. Belle drove to a big semi-conductor company in Research Triangle Park wearing her best three-piece suit and no make-up or wig. "Bill" carried a ton of transparencies detailing the relationship between managerial Warm Fuzzies and revenue per FTE. Bill's services were popular with tech companies in the tight job market. S/he lived pretty comfortably, and could tell which clients to invest in by their level of desperation for his advice. But he felt he spent most of his days masquerading as an alpha male.

Rollerdemon had e-mailed Belle by the time she got home and dressed. "U no the state motto?" Rollerdemon asked. "'2B, not 2 seem.' I'm 4 real. UB4 real 2. When can I slide my 7" cut manhood into those painted lips of yours?" Belle responded eagerly, and even included her phone number, with a little trepidation. The phone rang half an hour later. "Is this Belle?" a smoker's voice said. Belle said it was. "Are you going to be my fully poseable action figure?" Belle said she would. They agreed to meet at a diner an hour or so from Durham -- far enough that Belle wouldn't fear running into someone she knew.

The Shiner boasted the best meatloaf in North Carolina. But it was best known for its dazzling aluminum outer walls, which had caused controversy with local residents and nearby merchants. The townspeople had ended up passing an ordinance against "unseemly shininess." With this in mind, Belle showed up wearing a sequined dress, silver wig and mirrored boots. She could actually check her makeup by looking down at either boot, a handy trick in a crowded gay bar. She far outshone the diner's walls, which had been burnished to the dullness required by law.

Two truckers and a gaggle of Quality Assurance types looked up from bowls of chili when Belle tiptoed in. Her mini-dress came awfully close to giving away the store with every step. The men stared at Belle, but only the tired-looking woman behind the counter returned Belle's smile. Belle sat at a booth with a mini-jukebox crammed with Country and Classic Rock, and tried to study the menu. Behind her, the truckers discussed Nascar listlessly. Belle read the menu three times, then studied the jukebox's photo of Dwight Yoakam.

She glanced up for the zillionth time at the parking lot. A tall man climbed out of a Japanese subcompact with difficulty. He wore a crewcut, a denim jacket and jeans, and rollerskates. He glided into the restaurant, looked around briefly, then sat opposite Belle. "Rollerdemon?" Belle said. She could just glimpse someone else sitting in the man's car. He nodded, pointing to his skates puckishly. "I was just looking at Dwight Yoakam," Belle said to fill the silence.

"You're pretty brave, dressing like that," Rollerdemon said.

"It's not bravery. I'm scared not to do this," Belle said.

"You should become a chick for real. Meatloaf. With mashed potatoes and extra gravy. And a Pepsi." It took Belle a moment to realize Rollerdemon had stopped talking to her and started ordering. "I wish I had it in me to be chickified. 'Cuz it's men who have made the environment what it is. I've vowed to go everywhere on these skates until we clean up the environment." Belle ordered a salad and a beer. The waitress had chewed her fingernails until they looked like corn flakes. Rollerdemon showed Belle pamphlets about Gaia while they awaited their food. "I don't even know how to drive," Rollerdemon said proudly.

"Didn't you come here in a car?"

"My mom drove me. She's waiting in the car." Belle must have looked startled, because Rollerdemon added: "She doesn't mind. She has a book and a reading lamp."

"Do you two live together?" Belle asked uneasily. Rollerdemon shook his head. "My mom died when I was nine," Belle offered. "After that I was raised by my dad, my uncle and my older brother. Femininity was something I glimpsed across the schoolyard at recess, or at church when we bothered to go. I'm the only crossdresser I know who didn't steal his mom's slip when I started out."

"It probably would have been too big anyway," Rollerdemon said.

"I bet Freud would have had something to say about me," Belle mused. "Probably something to do with inverted sexual development."

"Well, I think you're hot," Rollerdemon said, as if contradicting something Belle had just said.

The waitress showed up with soup for Belle and meatloaf for Rollerdemon. The conversation died until she lurched away. Then Belle spoke up again. "So, does your mom know about your tranny-chasing?"

"Why are you so interested in my mother?"

Belle gazed out the window at the blue Honda. It had a dent in one side. She glimpsed gray curls illuminated by a reading light. "Just curious."

"She doesn't know any details. Just that I'm meeting a girl. She's driven me a few times before, mostly to meet bio-girls. So how does this work? I haven't exactly done this before."

"What do you usually do when you're dating a girl?" Belle asked. Rollerdemon shrugged. "I mean, I guess we should be becoming friends first. Or at least making sure neither of us is an axe murderer." It was obvious, to Belle at least, that neither of them was exactly normal. They ate and talked some more about the environment and -- very quietly -- about their mutual desire for Rollerdemon to dominate Belle sexually.

Belle left the diner first and walked past the tiny Honda. The large woman in the driver's seat reading a romance novel didn't look up.

Rollerdemon called Belle a few days later. "I've got it all figured out," he said. "You're really an adolescent girl trapped in a man's body. And you need somebody to nurture your budding sexuality and shepherd you through the difficult years, and I've always been a very responsible person just ask my mom." Belle wanted to hang up on Rollerdemon, but she wanted to taste a man more. And she was pretty sure he wasn't an axe murderer, not unless his mom was an accomplice. So instead Belle told Rollerdemon her address and invited him to show up at eight Friday night.

The next few days slunk by, and Belle hated herself for obsessing about licking a man's Secretives when she should have been thinking about Productivity. She feared she'd slip up and discuss rimming during a HR presentation.

Wednesday came. Belle channeled her nervousness into obsessive shaving and primping. The process lasted so long she was still finishing her mascara when the doorbell rang. She put on her wig quickly, then opened the door. Rollerdemon stood almost as precariously on his skates as Belle did on her slut-stilts. He wore a leather jacket and T-shirt. Behind him Belle could see the little blue Honda with the old woman and her book in the front seat. Rollerdemon smiled and kissed Belle lightly before she could close the door behind him. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked. "Beer? Coffee? Cheerwine?"

Rollerdemon unzipped his chinos and pulled out his Real Manhood. "Kneel," he said. Belle knelt, but something crackled in her throat.

"You know," she said. "I feel a bit weird doing this with your mom waiting outside. Maybe next time I could pick you up at your place and bring you here in my car."

Rollerdemon's dick twitched through the slit of his boxers. "I don't want you knowing where I live."

"But you know where I live." Always start an argument before you're kneeling in front of someone's plumbing, Belle chided herself. Her pink-posy throw rug chafed her knees.

"Look, are we going to do this or not?" Rollerdemon demanded. Belle sighed and parted her lips.

She put her hands on Rollerdemon's pelvis. He rolled backwards, lost his balance, and toppled with a cracking noise. Gaia leaflets scattered from his denim jacket. Belle pitched forward onto her hands and knees, micro-skirt fluttering in mid-air. Rollerdemon howled. His crotch remained inches from Belle's face. "Are you all right?" Belle gasped.

"No, I'm not all right! Get my mom!"

"Get your -- are you sure --"

Rollerdemon screamed again, louder this time. Belle picked herself up carefully. It wasn't as if the neighbors weren't going to notice something either way. She put on her bulky coat, then stalked out her front door toward the old woman in the Honda. Belle deliberately did not look around her on that long march up her subdivision's lawn path. The Honda had beads covering its front seats, and a Gandhi statuette glued to its dashboard. Rollerdemon's mother hunched forward to keep her book under the circle created by the pencil-necked lamp nestled in her lap. The woman on the book's cover had her breasts mostly exposed and her head tilted backwards as a muscular man, naked from the waist up, kissed her neck and pulled on her chemise. The penlight gave the lovers an unhealthy pallor.

Belle tapped on the window a few moments before the woman looked up. "Uh, ma'am?" The woman blinked, her mind evacuating with difficulty the world of strong hands tearing silk. She looked up at Belle and smiled uncertainly. "Uh, your son's inside. He needs your help."

The woman examined Belle more carefully. Then the smile vanished. "I don't have any money with me. If Roy can't cover your charges, you'll have to complain to him."

Weariness larded her Southern cadences, as if she had explained this many times before to other women. Then the woman locked her car door and rolled up the window. Belle tapped on the window several times, but Rollerdemon's mother stared at her book and turned a page mechanically. Belle stalked back into her house. Rollerdemon lay on his back, his dick still hanging out. "Your mom won't help. Can you stand up?" Without waiting for an answer, she reached out and took Rollerdemon's hand. She pulled and after a moment, Rollerdemon raised himself up onto his skates. He overbalanced forward. His momentum carried him toward Belle, who fell backwards. She ended up flattened against the wall by Rollerdemon's torso. Rollerdemon did a modified charleston for a moment, all the while pressing his chest against Belle's padded bra. Then he stabilized and looked into Belle's eyes.

"I overpower you, don't I?" he said. His smile arched his mustache. "Beg for my love muscle."

"I have a headache," Belle said. "Your mom's waiting."

For a moment, Belle feared Rollerdemon would force himself on her. Then he pushed against the wall and backed up. He finally got his prick back in his pants and opened Belle's front door. He pivoted to leave, then paused. "You're living in a fantasy land. When you're ready for something real, e-me." Then he rolled out and down the path to his mom's car, leaving Belle sprawled against her pale wallpaper. Only after the car had gone did Belle allow herself to giggle madly.

 

©2002 Charles Anders - Contributor's Bio