Before I get into a new short I’ve been working on for Loveyoudivine.com, I’d like to drop a hint that there’s going to be something new over at loveyoudivine.com very soon. I can’t talk about it now. But I will on August 3rd. With all the drama slithering around the Internet this month, it’s nice to see something positive for a change.
I don’t have an image yet for my upcoming release, THAT COWBOY IN THE WINDOW, but I do have a blurb and here’s a short excerpt. It’s something I don’t normally write about…gender-bending…but I’ve been reading John Iriving’s newest novel, which not only gets into gender-bending but also bi-sexuality and I’ve been taking it all in, so to speak. It’s interesting to see a well known mainstream novelist like Irving get into a theme like this. This story of mine, however, wasn’t influenced by Irving.
I wrote my story story a long time ago and never did anything with it. The original title was “Bananas Foster,” which I decided to change with this release because it sounded too contrived.
This is the unusual gender-bending story of Paige living as a woman by night and a harmless effeminate man named Paul by day. Though her best friend knows the truth about her, no one else does, especially not the handsome young straight guy in the cowboy hat who lives in the apartment across the alley and likes to watch her undress every night. She’s always been able to pass without working too hard, but never felt complete as a woman. But when she finally decides to get the exaggerated breast augmentation she’s always dreamed about, her life changes in ways she never expected. Although it’s not the kind of happily-ever-after ending found in most romance stories, it is the kind of emotional happy ending in modern romance that begins on the inside where it counts the most.
Before Paige found a really good set of fake boobs, people assumed she was just another flat-chested lanky woman with a nice smile. There were no obvious telltale signs. Even her hands had a small, delicate appeal most real women would have killed for.
She kept her hair long and blonde and parted dead center. It fell perfectly straight and stopped at the middle of her back. Her small frame never gave her away. Although average in height…some would have considered slightly tall for a girl…she practically lived on lettuce and carrots to maintain a small waist. But she compensated for this one minor drawback in height with small features, large blue eyes with long natural lashes, and a perfect button nose. She’d never needed hormones or surgical procedures to cross-dress and pass as a real woman; just lipstick and earrings and a cute short dress did wonders.
As a child, strangers would say isn’t she a pretty little girl…such long, silky eyelashes and glorious high cheekbones, and the sweetest smile they’d ever seen. When corrected by her frowning father, they would gasp and assume apologetic expressions with their palms pressed to their open mouths. You couldn’t blame them, they would say. It wasn’t their fault she was such a pretty little boy.
If nothing else, she deserved credit for one thing: she knew she looked like a little girl and she liked it when they thought she was a pretty one. Most little boys would have cringed and either slipped into a shell of embarrassment or a defensive rage. But not Paige…or Paul as she was called back then. Sometimes, if her father wasn’t around when they thought she was a girl, she’d even dip, curtsy, and thank them herself.
Once, when her father caught her smiling too much at a handsome young waiter in a restaurant he took her to a barber shop the next day and had all her blond baby curls cut off. It wasn’t the waiter’s fault. He just smiled back and said, “What a cute little girl. She’s gonna break a lot of hearts someday.” It wasn’t really her fault either. The waiter was cute and she would have loved to sit on his lap and stare at his beautiful lips. She was only about five years old and too young to realize there was something wrong with this.
Her hair finally grew back and she refused to ever go to that barber shop again. She even told her father she’d stab him in his sleep if he ever shaved her head again. She was lucky enough to have had a mother who stood by her side, which eventually left her father turning his back in a hapless daze, as if he realized he may as well finally face facts. Deep down, he must have known that his little Paul would never play baseball, football, or basketball. How could he not know this when on her seventh birthday her grandmother asked her, “What would you like to be when you grow up?” and she replied, “A pretty girl with lots of boyfriends.”
Her grandmother gasped and looked up at the ceiling. Her father dropped his spoon on the floor and blinked. He mother changed the subject and cut the birthday cake. Though her mother didn’t encourage her, she didn’t discourage her either.