Fiona Dobson's Trans Blog.

Annie walked into the coffee shop several doors down from the bank where David worked. She caught sight of Dave sitting in the corner furthest from the door. He glanced furtively at Annie, and pointed to the latte he’d bought her.

She walked to the table and leaned over him to kiss him. He shifted uneasily away, checking around the room to see if he was being watched by anyone.

“Not here,” he said.

“Hello, Dave,” said Annie, affronted that he’d not greeted her politely.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, embarrassed by his lack of manners.

“Would you rather come to my car,” said Annie with a smirk. She was aware how he disliked public displays of affection, but old habits die hard. She’d always been a little bit of an exhibitionist. And really, who could blame her. Anyone who had spent this much time trying to look good had a right to enjoy being looked at.

“Your car? Good God, no! That’s what got me into this mess!” said Dave.

“Yes,” said Annie a little awkwardly. “I had no idea anyone would see that. I mean, it could happen to anyone, right?”

“It wasn’t just ‘anyone’ that saw us. It was Shannon, my wife’s sister,” said Dave.

Annie sipped her latte, a thin trace of frothy milk lining her top lip above the scarlet lipstick she liked to use. Dave looked at it. A milk moustache. How awkwardly appropriate.

“You can hardly blame me for that, Dave,” said Annie politely. Even in disgrace she embodied poise and dignity. She sat very straight, her shoulders back and her chin held high. She brushed a lock of her chestnut hair from her face, and looked coyly at Dave. Sitting there, in her blue blazer, high necked blouse and pencil skirt she looked the picture of propriety.

“Besides,” she continued, “it didn’t exactly stop you. As I remember it, you were quite absorbed in things as she knocked on the window.”

Dave cringed as he remembered the moment, Annie’s head between his legs and the slow tap, tap, tap on the car window. His sister in law had been with the local police detachment for a little over five years. The torch, the tone of voice. Everything compounded to form an overwhelming swamp of nightmare soup, and he felt himself drowning in it.

“I thought that was you,” his sister in law had said, the reflections of her torch playing over the shiny badge on her uniform. And Annie, looking up in surprise as his convulsions ceased, a drop of semen falling from her lips.

“At least she doesn’t know you’re,” he paused as he awkwardly searched for the words, “you know.”

Annie stared at him. There is a look only a transgendered person can give, and she gave it on high beam.

“You mean, ‘she doesn’t know I’m a trannie’?” said Annie slowly.

“Oh God,” said Dave.  “I don’t mean…”

“It’s ok,” said Annie. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard it before.

“No. Really,” protested Dave. “You know I’m not like that. I’m a compassionate person.  I didn’t mean to be like that.” Dave’s words hung there, but his face silently added, ‘Thank god she doesn’t know.’

“What’s the matter Dave?” said Annie. “The thought of you getting nailed by a trans girl’s worse than you doing one of your co-workers?”

“No,” he said squirming inside. “It’s not that.”

“So, it would be better if I had a vagina?” said Annie mockingly. She checked herself. It was easy to be unkind. Too easy.

“Don’t,” said Dave.

“I suppose it’s as good a reason for vaginoplasty as any,” she murmured as she looked across the tables and chairs and noticed a disabled young man was trying to negotiate the door of the café. His wheelchair was getting stuck and blocking people trying to enter the place.

Dave groaned. He didn’t want to hurt Annie’s feelings any more than he had to.

“At least Shannon hasn’t told Debbie,” said Dave.

“No,” replied Annie. “She won’t just yet.”

“What do you mean,” said Dave.

“She’ll make you sweat for a bit first. Maybe she’ll see what she can get out of you first.” Annie paused and then added, “She’s bound to. She’s a cop.”

Annie slid her hand onto Dave’s leg beneath the table and stroked it. She noticed his hand tremble on his coffee cup. She smiled to herself.

“You’re in a real pickle, aren’t you, Dave.”

Annie got up and walked across the room.  She held the heavy door open and the young man in the wheel chair moved through quickly, a flurry of apologies.

She returned to her seat, several of the people in the café looking at her for the first time. She was tall, a little oversized, probably an athlete. An unusual woman.

As she sat down she returned her hand to Dave’s thigh, a little higher up this time. She continued the gentle pressure.

“Please don’t,” said Dave.

“But Davie,” said Annie, “You said something about, what was it now?” The words hung there for a moment, and then she continued, “Oh yes, I remember now.  You’d do anything for a night with – how did you phrase it – ‘someone like me’. Yes, that was it.”

“Annie, please. We have to stop this,” said Dave pulling himself backward in his chair.

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Annie. “We’ll just be a little more discrete.”

Her hand slid between his legs and he glanced nervously around the coffee shop.

“Tomorrow night then?” asked Annie.

“Tomorrow night,” assented Dave.

The End