Friday Girl

4pm, on Friday, and I have my little tapestry valise packed and ready. I shut off my computer and put on my coat. It’s the coat I bought in the women’s section of the Gap. The way it fits, a little too snugly and not quite big enough, it seems very obvious to me. I slip on my soft knit gloves, which hide the pink polish I’ve applied to my nails. I did them at my desk, with the office door closed, like Charlotte told me. My toes I did last night, as we watched television. I stop to say goodnight to my assistant, Tracy. She looks up from her computer and smiles and I blush. I wonder, as I always do lately, if she knows. She looks at the little tapestry valise in my gloved hand and then back at my face. She wishes me a good evening, and a good weekend. I return the wish, and hurry to the elevator.

The motel is about fifteen miles from the suburb where Charlotte and I live. It’s one of those rundown looking places on the side of the highway. The reservation is already made, and I retrieve the key from the office. The night-manager looks me over briefly, and I see disgust and curiosity register on his face, before he dismisses me completely.

It’s at the end of the row, the room Charlotte has rented. I unlock the door, step inside, and feel my heart catch. There is no telling what she has planned for tonight, what she’s decided she’d like me to do. I am helpless in her hands, and her desire to feminize me has rendered me her slave. Quickly, I strip and shower. My body has been waxed and smooth for some time now. The lacy panties, the garters, the stockings—all in white. The pink lipstick and lipliner. The blush beneath my cheekbones. I do my eyes dark. I clip the fall of her hair to my own. I slip my arms through the push-up bra and I actually have cleavage.

Inside a pair of white platform pumps, I feel sexy and vulnerable. I turn down the bed and lie down. The heat is just beginning to warm the room.

With a shaky hand, I’d already lit the votive candles Charlotte instructed me to light.