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Message-ID: <30347asstr$990209404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Grey Mead" <greymead@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Heather (mf TV Rom)
Date: Fri, 18 May 2001 14:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Heather
by Greymead (aka Richard Large)

I looked into the mirror and began cleaning the makeup from my face for the 
third time.  What was it about makeup?  It seemed that  no matter how 
carefully I worked with it, I could not make it happen.  To start with, I 
just didn't have the knack of working in the mirror like this.  On top of 
that, when I was trying to put the damned eyeliner on, my hand was in the 
way of my face so I couldn't see what I was doing.  It was frustrating.  I 
took a deep breath and leaned back from the dresser mirror - trying to relax 
a bit before I started again.

After composing myself, I began again, maneuvering the little brush around 
the line of my eye.  I finished the right eye.  It looked pretty good - not 
perfect, but my threshold for acceptability was lower than it had been an 
hour earlier.  I finished the left eye and studied the effect carefully.  I 
decided to settle for it.

I was putting on the lipstick, trying desperately and unsuccessfully to keep 
it on my lips when my sister's voice carried up the  stairs.  "Jerry!  
Heather is here!"

Oh shit.  I panicked

I tried desperately to stall.  "Uh - okay - I'll be down in a couple of 
minutes!"

The sound of someone coming up the stairs made my heart jump into my throat. 
  I didn't want to be seen like this.  I threw my bedroom door closed, 
wishing it had a lock.  It opened again almost immediately as I had known it 
would.

Heather.

She took in the sight of me standing in my sister's bra and panties, the 
sloppy, half-finished makeup on my face.  Her own face surprised and a 
little angry?  Irritated?  Something unpleasant.

"Aren't you ready yet?" She glanced at the pile of makeup littering the 
table by my bed.  "Honestly, women!"  It was the perfect parody of the line 
repeated so often in movies and sitcoms, but it didn't strike me as funny.  
"What are you doing?  Why aren't you ready yet?"

"It's this blasted makeup," I huffed.  "I don't know how the hell you girls 
can put this stuff on so easily and have it look so good."

Her impatient look became tolerant sympathy.  "Poor thing, no one has taught 
you to put it on properly, have they?"  Her tone was patronizing, but her 
attitude was all business.  "Well, I guess we'll be a little late to the 
party, but I will help you with this.  First thing is to scrub all this mess 
off of you."  She turned my face to the light, picked up a tissue and dabbed 
it in the cold cream, then began swabbing my face with it.

"You and your ideas, I complained, as she wiped my face clean.  I wanted to 
go as a cowboy, but that was too common.  No - nothing would do but for us 
to go as man and woman - you the man and me the woman."  I made a face.  "I 
guess this proves I'll do anything for you, Heather."

She smiled and kissed my forehead.  "That's only part of what I love about 
you, Jerry."

"Oh?"

"Well, you do have nice pert breasts," she joked as she caressed one bra cup 
with the palm of her hand and giving me a calculated look that let me know 
that she knew that I was enjoying this attention.

"Gee thanks."  I dissembled.  I wasn't about to admit how much it turned me 
on.

"Now let's make you nice and pretty."  Heather crouched in front of me and 
began applying the makeup.  She cupped my chin in her hand and spoke softly 
to me as she worked, telling me what she was doing each step of the way.  
But her voice became a pleasant droning background to the new sensations 
that flooded me.  I reveled in the sensations of the various brushes and 
pads against my skin, the firm way she moved my head this way and that.

"Why, I believe you are really enjoying this."  The meaning of her words 
slowly sunk into my consciousness.  I opened my eyes to see her gazing 
contemplatively at my arousal, evident through the flimsy fabric of my 
sister's panties.  She kissed me lightly on the cheek as she lightly brushed 
the evidence, causing a new shimmer of pleasure to course through me.  I 
closed my eyes again, waiting for her to continue with the makeup.

"We're done," she chuckled.  I opened my eyes, and saw the strangely excited 
light in her eyes.  It seemed to match the strange feelings within my self.

She appeared to struggle briefly before she composed herself and led me to 
the mirror over my dresser.  I was astounded.  She had made me look 
stunning.  I turned my face right, then left, studying the effect.  It was a 
marvel.  I was beautiful!

"Now I'm jealous," Heather chuckled, "My boyfriend is prettier than I am!"  
She didn't seem to be terribly upset, though.  Her smile was as gentle and 
loving as I had ever seen it.

She helped me with the clothes - a cheerleader's skirt and sweater, also 
borrowed from my sister. Another trip to the mirror revealed me - now a 
convincing teenage girl.  I felt a mix of pride and...  ...something else I 
wasn't sure I wanted to identify.  Instead of exploring my feelings, I 
studied Heather.

She looked convincing.  The slacks and bulky sweater hid her slender beauty, 
and the way she had swept her short hair into a ducktail was, if dated, at 
least masculine.  The little stick-on mustache completed the illusion.  I 
was convinced that anyone who did not know us would actually believe that 
she was the guy and I the girl.  We smiled at each other and went downstairs 
arm in arm.

As we prepared to leave, Gina spoke from the hallway.  "Hang on guys.  Don't 
want to let you get away before we commit this event to posterity!"  We 
turned to see her, camera in hand, caught in the flash.  "That one's no 
good," she frowned.  "Jerry, put your arm around Heather's waist, and 
Heather, put your arm over Jerry's shoulder."  We complied and she took a 
photo.

That was the beginning of a brief photo session - eight or nine pictures, 
probably, before she relented and let us get on our way.

In spite of Heather's fears, we were not particularly late to the party.  We 
were not late.  Several people had arrived before us, and we found ourselves 
stopping to talk to several people on the way back to the kitchen where the 
drinks had been set up.  I found myself falling into my role naturally, and 
Heather seemed to have no difficulty either.  I was happy when a few people 
we didn't know asked why we weren't in costume.  I lowered my eyes and 
smiled shyly while Heather grinned at them without answering, as she draped 
her arm across my shoulders in a possessive attitude that I found myself 
enjoying.

As I reached for a beer glass, Heather touched my hand, caught my eyes with 
hers and gave me a very small shake of the head.  Instead, she began 
assembling a cocktail for me - something elegant and feminine looking.  I 
sipped it and found it a little sweet, but quite tasty.  When I saw the 
trace of my lipstick on the edge of the glass, I felt a subtle twinge in my 
groin.  I sipped again while I looked into Heather's eyes.  She leaned 
forward and embraced me softly as she kissed the side of my neck.  A sexual 
charge surged through me, and my knees grew a little weak.  Recalling the 
phrase I had heard so often from her in similar situations, I whispered, 
"not here."

Separating, we found our way back through the growing crowd to the living 
room to find friends we could hang with.

The crowd grew larger.  Most of the people here were folks I had never met 
before.  I was apprehensive at first - afraid that someone would mistake my 
costume for evidence of a less than macho attitude, but I found my concerns 
baseless for more than one reason.  Most of the people did not know I was a 
guy, even some of my friends did not recognize me at first.  And even those 
who did know did not seem concerned - this was, after all, a costume party.  
Everyone was expected to be in the guise of someone they were not.  There 
was a moment with William, one of the football team who got belligerent when 
he figured out who I was.  He made some kind of crack about faggots and his 
girlfriend snapped at him to stop being stupid.

But it did give me pause.  Although I had started the evening in the guise 
of someone I was not, I found myself enjoying the costume - finding a 
certain comfort as if I were at home in this guise.  William's crack made me 
begin to think about it, and what I realized about myself made me concerned. 
  I enjoyed being a girl - I enjoyed Heather, as a boy, making little loving 
gestures as a boy to a girl.  But there was a little hollowness in the pit 
of my stomach as I wondered what I had become.

Heather, my friend for years before we had started dating each other, was 
sensitive to my moods.  She sensed right away that something was bothering 
me, and guessed what it might be.  Summoning her role as the man, she 
steered me through the back door into the garden.  There were little lights 
strung among the trees and bushes and a path that led a short way from the 
house to a bench by a small fish pond.  We sat on the bench.  Heather turned 
to me, took both of my hands in hers and looked into my eyes with sympathy.

"Are you disturbed about what William said?" she asked softly.

I was hesitant at first, not sure I understood my feelings thoroughly - not 
sure if I wanted to risk our relationship by revealing what I suspected my 
feelings might be.  Slowly, I began to tell her, and she to draw me out 
until finally, I revealed to both of us what I already knew unconsciously - 
that I enjoyed the roles we were in, that I wanted to do this again.  I 
watched her face for the disgust I feared, but instead her face softened.  
"I want it, too," her voice was husky with emotion.

Her arms found their way around me, embracing me.  I found tears in my eyes, 
could not see clearly, but my lips found her lips, clung to her lips in a 
soft and lingering kiss that promised so much.

I giggled nervously as I wiped the lipstick from her lips, the tears from my 
eyes.  "Can we go home now?" I asked.

"My house is closer, and no one is home," she responded, squeezing me, 
giving me a peck on the cheek.  The implied promise made me giddy with 
anticipation.

I don't really remember leaving the party.  I do recall arriving at her 
home, entering the front door and embracing in the front hall.  I remember 
clearly the kiss, her tongue exploring my mouth, her hands exploring my 
body.  I recall going limp with desire before she relented.  I know that I 
caught my breath as she led me up the stairs to her bedroom, then lost it as 
she closed the door and caught me in another embrace.

Without being aware of moving, I found the edge of her bed touching the back 
of my knees, and I sank down, pulling her down on top of me.  Her lips never 
left my mouth as her hands found the hem of my cheerleader's sweater.  We 
broke the kiss as she lifted the garment over my head, and resumed it 
immediately.

She unfastened my skirt, and slipped it down my body as I raised my bottom 
for her.  I caught at her as she stood, but relented and watched as she 
slipped the sweater and slacks off, returning to me unclothed.  Her hands 
explored my soft skin while her lips explored my mouth, my face, my neck, my 
shoulders.

She slipped down my body and drew the panties away from my quivering cock, 
kissing it lightly on the tip before she engulfed it softly with her mouth.  
Before I lost control, I pulled at her shoulders, urging her up on top of 
me, and she complied, kissing my lips again before she reached down to fit 
my hardness into her wet sex.  "Oh, sweetheart," she whispered, "I want to 
make love to you always like this."

"I will always be your girl," I promised.  "But fuck me now, boyfriend, fuck 
me and make me come like I never came before!"

And she did.  Slowly and sweetly at first, then wildly.  At the end, she was 
gasping and sweating as I was gasping and sweating.  I watched her boyish 
face as she fucked me, her eyes sometimes closed in concentration, sometimes 
open and drinking in my own pretty face.  And when I felt my orgasm 
building, I told her, urging her to make me cum, urging her to cum with me, 
and she did, shuddering sweetly as my spunk pumped into her.  This was 
completeness - she and I together, loving, straining to be one.  The warmth 
that had built in us so urgently blossomed and settled like a slow bubble 
around us and we drifted sleepily in each other's arms, still joined, unable 
to find enough energy to do much more than look into each other's eyes.

---

That was last night.  I awoke this morning, still in her arms, the dried 
evidence of our passion crusting skin and sheets.  Her face is so beautiful 
in repose, but my arm is under her, and I have to go pee.  I worry that my 
parents might be worried that I didn't come home last night.  The makeup on 
my face is itchy and I want to get it off.  But I know, as I watch her smile 
in her sleep, that I will want her to put it on me again - soon.




(http://www.geocities.com/greymead)
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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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