|
"I look like Mamma but I f--- like Daddy." Mani O'Malley is a seductress with a big secret, 91/2 inches
to be exact. He/She walks a tight rope balancing her past as a cross-dressing prostitute with the future as
a passable, transsexual. Mani is approached by a famous plastic surgeon who is planning the launch of a fantasy nightclub called "The Gray." Inside the posh, gentleman's club the most glamorous women in Tampa are neither male nor female but somewhere in the gray zone. The plastic surgery, new career, and new life become a perfect veil for Mani, who is hiding from a serial killer. She changes everything about herself but the man who haunts her past is always one step behind.
In a world filled with murder, sex, drugs, and designer shoes, Mani has had enough of hiding. It's time to stand up...High In Heels!
GLB Publishing, San Francisco
Eight High in Heels is an erotic novel with a twist. The story gives an inside glimpse of the secret world of Trannys and the men that love them. The story line follows Mani O'Malley's transition from an attractive cross dresser to a gorgeous, passable transexual.
Excerpt
Transgender Novel
by
Jamison Gardner
Chapter One
Passable
St8, wht, male with 9 inches D/D free.
I have always wanted to try being a bottom for a tranny with fake tits!
Be hot and passable!
Black thug looking for hot T-girl that knows how to handle my anaconda!
If you want a muscular, DL brotha then today is your lucky day. I like my bitches to look passable. No CD's please and NO MEN!
Red, hot Latin lover seeking a girl with secrets. Sexy, ripped body right here for my special lady. I wanna feel your balls slapping my ass with your tits on my back!
You won't be disappointed. Just be passable.
Passable
Mani scrolls through the web postings, saying, "'Passable. ' In my world, that's a dirty word. I laugh when I read these ads. Do these men have any idea of how much money it takes a 'special' lady to create this hot, passable illusion? They want you to look just like a girl so they can get on their knees and suck your big, fat cock. They also want your tits to be bigger than anything a real woman has, and since you look so smoking authentic, they might want you to go out in public with them on a date. They want you to be all of these things plus the dirtiest word of all…free.
"I've got news for these two-pump chumps. If I were totally passable I'd be on an airplane to Paris or something. I wouldn't have to whore myself out on fucking Craigslist in Tampa, Florida. I'd be screwing rich rock stars and pro-football players in the ass…not these losers…no way! I read this stuff every night before I start answering the crazy calls. My own ad is posted under ‘Erotic Services' and it goes something like this:
‘Beautiful Trans-Vixen. I look like Mamma but I fuck like Daddy. Out calls only $95 an hour. 21 yo 5'12" inches tall, 140 lbs…soft, supple, white skin,
Fiery redhead…luscious tits and a 9 ½ inch surprise just for you. Let me show you a trick.
Discretion and satisfaction guaranteed.'"
Rashana, a nineteen-year-old college student, is captivated by the tranny's rant. The two sit
in a small studio apartment in North Tampa. The apartment is cluttered with girlie clothes, accessories, pin-up pictures, and antique furniture. The room resembles a vintage showgirl's suite complete with pink, scarf-covered lamps and a dress dummy fully clothed in an antique, evening gown.
Rashana, detailing her notes, says, "Mani, I won't use your name but I am curious. How did you come up with it? Is it short for something else?"
Mani ignores the question and smiles as she swivels her chair around, holding up two photos of herself. The one in her right hand shows her dressed as a dominatrix wielding a riding crop. The picture in her left hand is a simpler pose in a green bikini, complete with matching eye shadow.
She holds them up, asking, "Which one should I post with my ad today? The riding crop picture really gets the investment banker types going. I mean they will blow my phone up like crazy, girl!"
Mani bites her lip and hangs her head to one side dejectedly. "But they're never around except
on the weekends or during business hours. I better go with the green. Quiet, demure, eyes down…yes, this will turn all the mid-week pervs on, mostly 'cause my tits look so real. See, I know how to market myself."
Rashana chews the end of her pen asking, "I thought your ad said you had luscious boobies?"
Both ladies giggle as Mani smiles widely with her eyes half-squinted shut. "I lie to these men. I told
you they all want passable!"
She pulls a silicone breast bra out of a box and dangles the odd contraption in front of her guest.
"Lucky for them I ordered these jiggles from Germany. It's a real silicone breast bra! Feel it!"
Rashana reaches over and squeezes the silicone, cooing. "It does feel authentic. Wow, I have to
say, you have given me more than enough material for my paper on prostitution! I almost think that I should write one about transsexuals instead."
Mani clicks away on her computer keys, loading the photo of herself into the Craigslist ad.
"Mani is Persian," the tranny says out of the blue.
Rashana, confused, asks, "Persian? You're Persian?" Mani continues her typing, saying, "No, I'm not Persian —well, not completely. My Grandpa was and I was named after him. And Mani is a boy's name! In Iran it's considered very masculine." They both giggle
as she continues, saying, "I like it cause it's so androgynous and it kinda sounds like Monnneeeyyy."
Rashana watches Mani, dressed only in a pair of sweat pants, dust on makeup. She has placed pieces
of tape strategically along her hairline, pulling and lifting her brows, making the area above her eyes look larger and smoother. From the neck up she looks like a showgirl with a picture-perfect face. Rashana carefully opens a lip compact, asking, "Mani, will you teach me how to do my makeup?"
The tranny swivels in her chair. "Of course, I'd be honored. And you are so delicious. It'd be a treat! How old are you, dear?"
Rashana sighs as she answers, "Nineteen." The girl twines her finger in one of Mani's crimson ringlets,
asking, "Where'd you get this shocking red hair?"
Mani smiles. "My father is Irish and his hair is clown red, too. He always had a thing for exotic women.
So he met my Mother who is half Persian, half French, and it was L.O.V.E. at first sight, honey. She's beautiful…like the Devil's daughter-beautiful…and I guess he got what he deserved for fucking her. Mois!"
Mani swipes glue onto the seam of a false eyelashes as Rashana observes, asking, "Do you reuse your lashes?"
The tranny smiles with her head tilted back as she answers, moving only her lips. "I'm a Capricorn, honey,
and our slogan is, ‘I use.' If you don't believe me, look it up! I use and use and use again and again! I don't
throw anything away because Mani works hard for her Monnneeeyyy!"
Rashana laughs again, saying, "You have to be one of the most interesting and funny people I've ever met."
Mani, flattered, preens a Marilyn style pose over her left shoulder with a wink. The tranny parades across the room, clicking on a small, rickety boom box. "I love this DJ, Jessie Cain! He's hottt! They let him spin every weekday at sundown and it always gets me in the mood. In fact, that's the name of his show, ‘Sundown'!"
Rashana bobs her head to the song, a remix by Kerli.
Mani slides into the silicone breast bra and offers her back to the guest, groaning in a deep, masculine
voice, "Strap me in, babe!" The girl laughs giddily as she buckles up the breast bra, fumbling with the clasps.
The tranny goes back to the mirror and begins applying the second eyelash, while Rashana double-checks her notes, asking, "You're not really a transsexual, are you? I mean you're really just a Cross Dresser." Mani
drops a pair of tweezers, knocking over a few bottles.
"SHIT! I just fucking ruined an entire palette of shadow!" The nineteen-year-old jumps up attending to the disaster, screeching, "I'm so sorry, Mani."
The song on the radio mixes into something somber, almost shifting the mood of the room as the tranny holds both hands up, gritting, "Look, don't call me a CD because I can't afford breast implants! Those bitches
have NOTHING on me! I'm every bit a woman!" The two go silent as the music blares in the background.
Mani inhales deeply and sighs, saying, "I want to show you something." She shuts off the radio and picks up a carved, wooden box. Mani kicks high-heeled shoes and a few strewn shopping bags off the Persian rug in the
center of the room as she waves her hand, motioning for Rashana to sit with her on the floor. She says, "Shut off
that light and come here, girl."
Rashana cautiously stumbles through the dark, cluttered room, sitting Indian style on the floor with Mani. The tranny takes her hand, whispering, "I do this every time I'm worried about money and I swear it always works!"
She opens the box and removes a Marilyn Monroe candle holder. It is a statuette of the actress from her famed "Seven Year Itch" pose in white dress with skirt blowing up from a subway grate. The statuette is covered in
multi-colored drops of wax.
Mani places a candle in the holder. She lights it and fans a deck of playing cards to Rashana, saying playfully, "Take one and stare at the number and then think about money! Big MONEY!"
Rashana draws a card and closes her eyes. The tranny, humming "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend," closes her eyes and inhales deeply, praying, "Goddess Marilyn, you've led me to the rainbow, now take me on over and show me that pot of gold! I need your guidance and your serenity, girlfriend, but most of all; I need some fake ta tas! Help a sister out and we will remain eternally your humble servants!"
The two sit quietly for a moment. Rashana peeks out of one squinted eye, unsure of what she is to do next.
Mani squeezes the nineteen-year-old's hand, whispering, "Your turn! Say a prayer, dummy!" The nineteen-year-
old clears her throat and smiles, "Marilyn…"
"GODDESS MARILYN!" yells Mani, interrupting. Rashana pauses for a moment, shifting her weight and smiling as she calls out, "Oh, sorry…Goddess Marilyn, your highness, I call to you for some assistance. I really want Mani to get the money because I don't need any. I mean, yeah, I could use a little cash for that trip I'm taking next weekend to Disney, but I'm good, so help Mani get some fake ones! YEAH! Woo Hoo!"
Mani's eyes are tear-filled as she smiles at Rashana, feeling deeply emotional. "Did you feel that?"
Rashana stares back smiling as she thinks, "Is this for real?" She realizes that the tranny is indeed serious when she answers, "I think so." Mani points at the card in Rashana's hand, asking, "What does the card say?"
Rashana slides her hair over her shoulder asking, "What card? Oh! This one!" She holds it up, "8 of Diamonds!"
Mani snatches it from Rashana and squeals. The tranny switches the light on and yells out, "I don't believe it!
My lucky number is eight! And surely the Eight of Diamonds has to be a huge sign! Tonight will be my night! I need to change my ad. I need to wear something special. Is it too late to go shopping?"
Rashana stares at her cell phone. "Mani, it's 7:40 and I just remembered that I have to pick my friend Patrick
up from work. His car is broken down, I'm so sorry."
The tranny grabs Rashana, hugging her warmly, saying, "I will forever remember the good fortune you have
brought to me!" Rashana pushes back uncomfortably, staring at the silicone bra, and talks nervously to the fake
jiggles, mumbling, "Thank you. You're so sweet. So, will you call me?"
Mani, completely filled with nervous energy, nods her head, answering, "Of course I will!" Mani's cell phone rings and both girls jump nervously. Mani, fingers crossed, answers with a sultry, "This is Vixen."
The caller speaks in a deep whisper, "Can I see you?" She purrs in a rapturous tone, "Uh- huh, but I'm still getting ready, Baby. Where do you want me to go?" He pauses before blurting out, "Channelside, I'll call back."
The caller hangs up, leaving Mani standing still and chilly.
Rashana, concerned, asks, "What was that?" Mani types in her computer a Mapquest for Channelside, saying, "I dunno…some weirdo wanting me to meet him later."
The nineteen-year-old hesitates nervously before asking, "Why don't you just have him over here and get it out of the way early?" Mani shakes her head "No" as she types. "Number one rule, Honey. Don't ever have anyone to your place. A creepazoid like that will come unannounced, or worse, the cops will figure out where you live."
Rashana picks up her binder and scribbles on her notes. "So you just come back every time you get a call
and mapquest?"
Mani returns to her makeup. "No, baby, I usually get a list before 9pm and I input everything into a mapquest."
Mani laughs to herself, "I'm always telling them that they're entered into my GPS! Like there's a GPS in my Cavalier! But anyway, it adds to their fantasy that I'm a high-priced call girl. And it saves my dignity."
Rashana stares at the ceiling as she mentally arranges her words, eventually saying, "You know I read an
article about hookers…I mean prostitutes, in Vegas. The story said that each one of them calls their dispatcher upon arrival at a…" Mani is carefully sculpting her eyebrows with a pencil as she finishes the girl's sentence, "trick?" Rashana laughs, snorting, "Yeah, and then…like…fifteen minutes later the dispatcher calls back and if the hooker…prostitute…I'm sorry…"
Mani rolls her eyes, "Baby…continue." Rashana straddles her thought as she runs a half dozen PC terms through her mind for prostitution, saying, "If she doesn't pick up, they send the police or a security guard or something."
Mani angles her head backwards and stares up her nose, a pair of tweezers in one hand, searching for stray
long hairs. She says, "That's niiiice."
The girl, feeling silly for even thinking that Mani needs protection, finishes saying, "So I was thinking that maybe you could do that with me. And I could mapquest your calls for you. That way you wouldn't have to…miss out on work or get lost…and if somebody scary like…you know, the last guy—"
Mani lays down the tweezers and stands, interrupting the girl with, "Isn't Patrick waiting for you?"
Rashana jumps, grabbing her book bag, gasping, "You are absolutely right! Oh my God! I have to go!" The girl runs out, hearing Mani yell to her, "Hey…I'll call you at nine." Within an hour Mani has four stops, printing from her Mapquest. She sits before her computer, dressed in a
black leather lace-up halter-top with sheer sleeves. Her makeup is exquisite, giving her skin a glowing, soft
iridescent finish. The tranny isn't wearing shoes or a bottom. She walks to her closet and retrieves a black suede skirt split in the center, flaring outward with satin ruffles. She slides her long, fishnet-clad legs into the
skirt and pulls it up and over her special tranny panties, designed to tuck away her endowment and accentuate
her narrow, boyish hips. She zips up the back of her skirt as she searches through a box of high heels. A pair
of Minola knock-offs is chosen, completing the fantasy ensemble. She slides on the heels with one hand, tilting a floor length mirror with the other. She stares at herself whispering, "In this light you're passable, Vixen. I just
hope they don't have any fluorescents."
The Purple Cavalier waits in a first level-parking garage amidst dozens of humble cars. Mani passes a
pack of teenage Hispanic boys; they whistle loudly. She pushes a button on her key ring and an aftermarket
car alarm echoes a loud chirp. The door hinges creak with a high-pitched squeak. Mani pushes her padded
behind inside the car and rests it against the back of the driver's seat. She allows gravity to slide her tightly
trussed body into the Cavalier. Once sitting she pulls her long legs in and slams the squeaking door.
Driving on Nebraska Avenue she passes streetwalkers; they wave to her. Within minutes she's parking in
front of a small, 1940's style bungalow. She picks up her printout and checks off the first address while calling
Rashana, saying, "Hello, I need to speak to my dispatcher."
Rashana, lying in her bed with a text book, rolls onto her back, answering playfully, "Location please?!"
Mani checks her teeth for lipstick in the rearview mirror asking, "How late do you stay up, because I don't get
going until midnight, Baby?"
The teenager yawns, replying, "My first class isn't until 10, so we're fine. Address please?"
Mani recites from memory, "1618 E. Mulberry Drive. This one is just Jon Jon. He's a regular who always
talks me down from 95 to 75 and then I spank him for being cheap. Oh…and don't call me back on this
because I've known him for years!"
(To be continued)
|
Bookmarks
