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===================
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PERFECTLY REASONABLE
The majority of the audience - still murmuring
among themselves - headed towards the exits of the
empty old warehouse that had played the part of a
'theater' for the afternoon's entertainment.
In that out-flow of perhaps sixty people, perhaps
a tenth of that number fought against the tide.
Eyes agleam, the moved, not away from, but towards
the tricked-up flat-bed trailer that served as a
stage.
Though they came from various parts of the crowd,
they all moved towards the same location - the
juncture at which the stage-trailer joined with
it's equally gaudily-painted Freightliner tractor.
The truck, painted jet-black to better display the
red-and-gold lettering on the side that announced
'Miranda the Mystic!', boasted not only an
over-sized sleeper cab, but one with an unusual
design feature - a 'back door', leading onto the
stage.
It was towards this door that the small group
gravitated - or, rather, toward the slender,
dusky-skinned young woman who was about to pass
through it.
She was certainly the type of woman to draw a
crowd. Even in her street clothes, people paid
attention to Miranda De La Noches. A tall, supple
body, firm, full breasts, a strong-yet-delicate
face surrounded by a thick wealth of midnight
black hair... she was, quite simply, stunning.
In her 'costume', however, she was breath-taking.
The black-red-and-white leotard, silk-screened to
appear as if it were a sleeveless tuxedo shirt,
red cummerbund, and black 'shorts' clung to her
lithe, well-toned body - and displayed a
remarkable length of lean, shapely leg encased in
fishnet stockings. A claw-tailed black coat, red
bow-tie, and the black top-hat completed the
magician's 'uniform'.
Indeed, of the half-dozen people who approached,
many of them admired her body even as they raised
their voice to express their admiration of her act...
...all save one.
"The Mystical Exchange." That one voice said, cool
and contemptuous, cutting through the babble of
appreciative compliments.
The small crowd, suddenly silence, fell back,
leaving the ground open between the dusky young
woman who'd just descended from the stage - and
the man standing a few feet away.
Robert - and don't dare call me 'Bob' - Tayle
stood with a contemptuous sneer on his lips as he
eyed the highly attractive young woman.
At twenty-five, they were not only of roughly the
same age, but nearly the same height, allowing
Robert to keep his eyes locked on hers as he
closed the distance somewhat. The heels of the
cowboy boots under his boot-cut jeans clocked off
the concrete floor, seeming impossibly loud in the
sudden silence. He came to a stop perhaps three
feet away from her, and the handsome,
golden-haired man crossed his arms over his chest,
the sleeves of his faded denim shirt rolled up to
display the well-muscled flesh of his forearms.
"I beg your pardon?" Miranda asked, struggling to
remain polite in the face of the
athletically-built man's obvious attempt to get
under her skin.
"That trick, 'The Mystical Exchange', where you
step into a box, and a minute later a man who
looks like he could be - and probably is - your
twin brother steps out." Robert said, eyeing her.
"That's the only trick in you repertoire I
couldn't figure how you pulled off. How'd you do it."
'Oh - one of those', Miranda's expression
proclaimed loudly.
"Magic." She said, shortly. "Like I said before I
started my 'act', I do no illusions, pull no
'tricks'. I really turned myself into a man - and
then back again. Magically."
" ." Robert said, flatly. "It's utterly
impossible to 'really' change a person's gender -
and there sure as hell isn't any such thing as
'real' magic."
Her dark, long-lashed eyes narrowed dangerously,
and her full, gloss-coated ruby-red lips
tightened. Crossing her arms under her full,
deliciously displayed bust, Miranda drummed the
long, dark-red nails of her left hand against her
right elbow.
"I don't particularly like being called a liar,
Mr. Tayle." She said, her mellifluous voice tight
with annoyance.
"Well, then, don't make such obviously impossible
statements." Robert said. Looking the tall, supple
woman straight in the eye, he quite deliberately
snorted in the most contemptuous manner possible.
"Magic!" He said, rolling his baby-blues with a
theatrical flair, playing for the small 'audience'
still watching the confrontation. "What a crock!"
The muscles of Miranda's well-defined jaw began to
tighten - and then, slowly, her look of annoyance
began to fade.
Her previously anger-heavy lids rose to reveal
dark eyes glimmering with a wicked amusement, and
her lips softened and curved into a faint, knowing
smile.
"So magic - 'real' magic - is utterly impossible,
is it?" She asked, softly, uncrossing her arms and
idly twirling the slender, hand-polished 'magic
wand' in her right hand.
"Of course it is." Robert said - with another
contemptuous snort, hoping to get her ire up again.
Her strange little smile only widened slightly.
She began pacing in a short arc in front of him -
slow strides of her oh-so-long legs, the click of
her five-inch heels almost as steady as a metronome.
"If there's no such thing as 'real' magic, then I
couldn't possibly cast any spells on you -
wouldn't you agree?" She asked - pointing at him
with the wand for emphasis.
"Obviously." Robert returned - while eyeing those
shapely legs in their fishnet nylons. She might be
'weird' - but damn, was she hot...
"So..." She said, thoughtfully, tapping the wand
against her full, pouting lower lip - and then
snapping it straight to point at him again. "If I
can't possibly be casting magic spells, then I
must not be able to say - or do - anything you'll
find the least bit magical, mystical,
paranormal... anything but utterly mundane, with a
perfectly reasonable explanation?"
"Yeah." Robert replied, wondering why he couldn't
seem to get her worked up any more. In fact, her
smile was even wider, and she seemed to be
enjoying some sort of 'inside joke' that he wasn't
in on.
Somehow - he wasn't quite sure how - something
seemed to have 'shifted' in her favor, and it was
Robert who found himself beginning to get annoyed.
"Look, I should probably get going..." Robert
said, preparing to extricate him from a situation
that was rapidly loosing it's appeal.
"You're not going to walk away." Miranda said,
with an odd note of utter certainty. "Not you.
You're going to stay right here until you've
utterly convinced me of your viewpoint - or until
every single option has been examined."
Robert's annoyance rose into the range of anger -
because of how easily, and accurately, she'd
begged him. She'd seen right through his little
ploy, pretending he was going to leave in order to
get her to blurt something out - but damned if she
didn't somehow know he was so damned competitive!
"Okay, so you're right." He admitted, tightly.
"That just means you've been warned - I'm not
leaving until I get you to retract that ridiculous
statement!"
"Fair enough, Bob." Miranda said, with a
dismissive little shrug.
Robert's anger flared higher, and he opened his
mouth to put her in her place - but she was still
speaking.
"You don't mind if I call you 'Bob', of course."
She said, airily, making it sound more like a
statement than a question.
He blinked - but answered it anyway.
"No, of course not." He allowed, though still
annoyed at her. "That's what everybody calls me."
Hell, with a last name like 'Tayle', it was damned
near inevitable, anyway - so Bob had never
bothered trying to fight the obvious use of the
diminutive moniker. He'd been 'Bob Tayle' since
the day his mother had stuck 'Robert' in front of
their surname, and he'd probably be 'Bob Tayle'
long after he was gone.
"There's no need for us to be at each other's
throats." Miranda said, warmly, smiling at him as
she toyed with her wand. "I saw you looking at me
during my act. Tell me the truth - you find me
sexually attractive, don't you?"
"Oh, yes, definitely." Bob admitted, candidly.
Miranda gestured at him with the wand. "Tell me
something about me you find sexy - and why."
Bob's eyebrow rose at the request - but he
answered without hesitating.
"Your legs." He told her, leering at the
appendages in question. "They're so long, and
slender. You've got fantastic legs."
"Well, thank you." She said, smile briefly
flashing into a grin that showed dimples.
"Of course..." She continued, "...part of that is
'illusionary'. The tight, high-cut hips of my
leotard make my legs look much longer than they
really are."
She paused, then laughed briefly, pointing her
wand at Bob's own legs.
"Of course, you know exactly what I mean." She
chuckled. "Your shorts are at least as high-cut
and tight-fitting as my leotard."
Bob heard a murmur run through the half-dozen
people still watching - and not a few gasps.
He could well guess why.
"Well, yeah." He admitted, 'idly' running the
palms of his hands across the taut muscles on the
outward sides of his hairy thighs - and, not
incidentally, drawing attention to the reason why
he wore such almost indecently skimpy jean 'shorts'.
Bob had always figured; 'If you've got it, flaunt
it' - and the slender 'V' of the crotch of his
shorts did just that, clinging almost painfully
tight to his larger-than-average package, with
just barely enough fabric there to keep him
'street legal'.
Sure, the 'butt floss' effect of the damned-near
bikini 'shorts' had been annoying when he'd first
cut his summer clothes ultra-high, but in the
nearly a decade since, he'd gotten used to
practically having his hairy ass hanging out.
"Wow!" Miranda said, the pacing of her arc having
taken her almost behind him. She leaned to the
side so she could look him in the face, while
pointing at his mostly-exposed backside with her wand.
"I couldn't say this to many other men..." She
said, sincerely, with an odd little throb of
emotion in her voice, "...but your ass is even
bigger, firmer and sexier than mine!"
Bob blushed brightly - as several of the
'audience' broke out into laughter.
Unfortunately, as embarrassing - 'em-bare-assing'?
- as it was, Bob was used to it. People had been
making fun of his huge, round, firm 'girlie' ass
since high school.
He had to fight back the urge to try and cover his
backside - mainly because he knew it would be an
exercise in futility. His hands wouldn't even come
close to covering the globe-like expanses of the
rounded, out-thrust ass nature had cursed him
with. He just wished, fervently, that Miranda
hadn't pointed it out.
Then again, he had to admit to himself with a
sigh, it was probably pure shock, rather than
planned cruelty. After all, Miranda had a
world-class ass herself, and it was just as
exposed - albeit covered in the wide-weave fishnet
of her ' hose'. She couldn't be used to
finding anybody, especially a man, who had an even
more spectacular ass than herself. Especially a
white man - usually the only race who could
out-class Hispanics in the caboose department were
the blacks.
Tipping her tall, black-silk top hat further back
on her mass of equally silky black hair, Miranda
shook her head in disbelief.
"That sure is something, Bobby." She said - then
cocked a finely-drawn eyebrow in his direction.
"You have no problem being called 'Bobby', do you?"
"No, no..." Bobby assured her, feeling the heat of
his blush slowly fading as he tried to take the
whole ass-noticing moment and... well, put it
behind him.
"Good." Miranda said, tapping her wand in the palm
of her left hand.
Bobby rolled his eyes.
"Can't you put that damned thing away?" He asked.
"Watching you wave and waggle it around is getting
annoying."
Her face began to harden - and then she smiled.
"Oh, it's just sort of 'something to do'." She
said, gesturing - with the wand, of course. "Kind
of like you and that big, thick of yours -
except, of course, I twirl and point, while you
lick, fondle and suck."
"It's not the same thing at all!" Bobby
complained, blush returning with a vengeance as he
lightly stroked the cool, black plastic of his
over-sized - . "I just sorta.. somehow...
kinda fell into doing this when I was quitting
smoking... and whenever I try to break myself of
this habit, I'm right back to cigarettes!"
He was so humiliated to be walking around carrying
a big, black plastic - but even worse was
the fact that he couldn't stop licking and sucking
the damned thing! He still vividly remembered the
very first time - when, desperately craving a
cigarette, he'd tossed his apartment in hopes of
finding a stale old smoke forgotten in some
drawer, he'd come up dry... and found himself
first eyeing, then reaching for the plastic
phallus an ex-girlfriend had long-ago 'lost'
behind the couch...
Hell, there were times - like right now! - when he
was tempted to just give in to the cravings the
was substituting for, and go back to smoking
cigarettes. Sure, he had an incredibly high
risk-factor for lung cancer, but it almost seemed
like an early death was far preferable!
Almost.
Titters of laughter and snickers of shocked
amusement suddenly made Bobby realize that, even
as he was considering how hideously embarrassing
it was, he'd thoughtlessly slipped the end of the
huge, fake cock into his mouth and begun to suck
on it. His already deep blush unable to get any
redder, he hastily yanked the saliva-slicked rod
from his mouth and wished, desperately, for a
graceful way to get the hell out of here.
There wasn't one, of course - not until he and
Miranda finished 'playing out' this discussion. He
was much, much to ornery to let something as small
as utter humiliation drive him away...
The small knot of people watching the
confrontation were standing with an almost
painfully eager expectation, obviously enjoying
the little scene - which, Bobby thought dryly,
said much about their general level of entertainment.
Nevertheless, the knowledge he was being watched -
and his own sense of self-superiority - played a
big part in what happened next.
"Well..." Miranda said, taking in his deep blush
and decidedly uncomfortable body-language. "I
guess we don't need to drag this discussion out
much longer..."
She lifted the wand in his direction.
"Not at all." Bobby agreed, arrogantly. "Since,
obviously, you've decided I must be right, since
you can't think of anything else to do but 'run
away'."
Dead silence hung in the air for a second.
"Actually, I was thinking of you. All that sucking
on must be hell on your lips." She
said, smile slowly returning. "Then again - I
guess that thick, glossy pink coat of lipstick on
your full, pouty lips keeps them nice and slick
and soft for sucking."
Those full, gleaming pink lips tightened at her
sharp tone, but Bobby refused to be baited - out
of all the products he'd tried, the hot-pink,
high-gloss lipstick was the best protection he
could find for his lips, given all the
-sucking he almost unconsciously did every day.
Even if he did have to reapply the lipstick quite
frequently.
"Ohhh..." He shot back, sarcastically. "And here I
thought you were suggesting we stop because of
some weak, womanly think - like 'Oh, this high
heels hurt my poor little feet...!"
He said the last in a high falsetto, on hand
cocked on his hip and the other held, lip-wristed
in the air as he pranced around in a short circle
using short, tip-toe 'sissy steps'.
"Unlike you, who wears extremely high heels all
day long, every day, with no problem." She
replied, pointing at his feet - with that silly
wand, of course.
"Certainly." Bobby said, smugly. He sissy-stepped
back to his original position, and struck a pose
any Sears shoe model would have been familiar -
feel about six inches apart, with the left one
turned at about a fifty degree angle.
"I got sick and tired of hearing women bitch about
their 'high heels'." Bobby said, proudly. "Well,
sure, I had to start with short ones, but I worked
my way up - and I'll have you know, I've been
wearing nothing shorter than a six-inch heel for
nearly three months now, all day, every day."
He held the proud pose, letting the audience 'ooh'
and 'aah'... and, okay, giggle and chuckle. After
all, how many men did you see wearing white
patent-leather rounded-toe pumps with a two-inch
platform and nine-inch heels?
Well, they were seeing one now - and he was sure
it made the point, and damned effectively, that
all women's complaints about how 'hard' it was to
wear high heels all day was nothing but womanly
whining. If he could wear heels like this all day
long, so could they - right?
Just as Miranda had deduced, Bobby hated to 'give
up' on anything - and that's why he was sticking
to his original pronouncement that he'd continue
wearing heels until at least one woman in town
proved him right by duplicating his feet feat, and
went a week in nothing but six-inch or better
heels. So far, there were no takers - but Bobby
refused to give in.
Quite purposefully, he 'got thirsty' and took a
walk over to a table holding a big orange cooler
and some paper cups, poured himself some water,
and walked back - all the while showing off how
smoothly, easily and naturally he moved in the
extremely high, slender heels of the 'stripper
shoes' he'd had to order on-line, since no store
in town carried such high heels...
...in his size, that is.
"See...?" He taunted - after, of course, removing
the big, thick he'd unconsciously been
sucking on from his mouth. "No problem at all."
"Oh, yes - you've certainly shown me." Miranda
agreed, with a slightly strangled voice and a
smile on her lips.
That Bobby off.
"Of course, it's much easier for me to walk around
in heels." He said, in mock sympathy - and pointed
his big black at Miranda. "I don't have the
weight of all that saline to pull me off balance."
Miranda's gaze almost instinctively dropped to her
full bust-line...
...and when she raised her head, her face was pale
except for two bright little roses of color on her
cheeks, and her eyes were flat with anger.
"Actually, mine are natural." She said, in a tight
voice. "Unlike yours, of course. From what you
said, though, your implants must be silicone."
"Of course they are!" Bobby declared, defiantly,
proudly rolling his broad shoulders back to push
his firm double-D's further outward. The motion
caused his denim shirt, open and tied just below
his breasts, to gape wider, revealing more of the
'racy' white bra encasing his surgically-implanted
mounds.
Gasps rose from the audience - and Miranda herself
seemed taken aback.
"The way you're showing them off.. proud of them!"
She gasped, shaking her head. "And your skin!
It's... smooth. Hairless. But I didn't..."
"Didn't what?" Bobby asked, smiling at the
magician's reaction to his bust-line, every bit as
impressive as her own, supposedly 'natural' rack.
She took several deep breaths - and then, in an
oddly 'careful' tone of voice, asked him, "Bobby -
what happened to your body hair?"
"Well, I use a depilatory cream, of course." Bobby
said, with an expression and tone of voice that
all-to-clearly implied the question, 'What are
you, and idiot?'
Her lips tightened, but she held on to her anger -
more's the pity, Bobby thought to himself.
"Why do you use a depilatory cream, Bobby?" She
asked, under tight control.
"Well, these gorgeous tits would look pretty
damned silly if they were all hairy, now wouldn't
they?" Bobby asked with biting sarcasm, hoping to
get a rise out of her. She'd been entirely too
self-controlled for far too long, taking too much
fun out of the argument he'd quite purposefully
started. "I just take it all off, since I never
could figure out a 'good' spot to stop - but it's
to make these boobies look their best.
To be continued….
IF YOU WANT TO READ THIS REST OF THIS STORY, IT
CAN ONLY BE FOUND AT:
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