Cross Dressed 8 Ball

Shooting pool is tough enough without heels, boobs and long nails. I know, having spent as much of my misspent youth as possible playing pool in flat shoes, with a flat chest, and nubby nails. I truly enjoyed the social setting of bar pool. Very democratic. The challenger puts a small stack of quarters on the table rail, waits his/her turn and pays for a game with the winner of the prior match. The champ stays on the table as long as the champ wins. Simple. Always an audience around the table which of course is something that anyone with cross dress tendencies is looking for whatever the setting (awful exhibitionists, aren’t we?).

Time to time, back in the day, I shot pool well and was able to play and drink free for an hour or so on a lucky night. But I always lost whenever a nice looking woman who knew her way around the table challenged me. My brain would just start misfiring. And my cue would follow. Ah well.

So, back to the present…

I had earlier in the evening spent a couple of hours nursing a glass of wine with a lovely young lesbian couple and a fully transitioned, and fully beautiful star of the Atlanta TG scene (more thoughts on that another time). We all kind of realized it was time to say so long and head out on out separate ways. Hugs (O, do I love the feeling of the melting, merging real breasts with my fake boobs) and off into the chilly night.

It was late yes, and yes a sensible girl would go home, slap on the cold cream and go to bed. However, I am not acquainted with that girl. I still had that rush that goes along with dressing, looking well (for me), meeting some terrific people, and even just driving (O, do I love the feeling of my knees and thighs touching through tights as I work the pedals). I knew as well that Petra was going to be inside for some time, so maybe a quick little nightcap on the way home can’t hurt. Sold (Petra is persuasive).

So a little a curtain call at The Stagedoor. I had just missed the drag show which was a shame. A handful of the evenings performers were milling about and soaking up the available light. One voluptuous Queen flashed me one of those lightening quick, hair to heels and back again glares. That was a first for me. I don’t think I had ever warranted one of those “just who is this” look en femme. Or in drab for that matter.

So, back to the pool tables. I grabbed a glass of wine and a handful of quarters, strolled up to a friendly looking group of what I guessed to be lesbians, introduced myself and asked if anyone was up for a rack or 2. Well it was a more mixed gaggle then I thought at first glance, as the tallest of the group in a voice even deeper then mine said,

“Sure, I am lousy at pool but what the hell. Hi! I am Amanda"

Amanda is tall and attractive, my age, knee length black skirt with a very feminine shirring biased from hip to hem, and to my endless jealousy, wearing sheer, sheer nude hose over beautiful, hairless legs. Bare as a newborn from neck to toes. Yes, I have not been able to find the way to introduce or excuse the use of a razor south of my neck. I know, I know, I know I am missing out on a whole other dimension of happiness. Alas. When I do I am sure I will be unable to walk and hardly able to breath for a week. Things to live in anticipation of. Yum.

In any event, we shared thoughts on our habits while making a complete and utter mess of the relatively straightforward game of angles that 8 ball is. But as I said earlier, there were new distractions in my stroke. We did a little shop talk too. The Limited for her skirt. American Apparel for my dress. Kiss press-on nails for me, polish on natural nails for Amanda. Natural shape around the hips and butt for her, layers of padding and shaping for me. She called me a bitch for being a size 4.

But after all the pro-forma CD chit chat we did have a very sincere and close talk about just life in general. Strange and electric moments of real. Odd how a false front to the world often gives us permission to expose truer and more sincere selves.

Amanda was travelling from Memphis to Miami with her wife Mary. Amanda and Mary started on their trip of cross dressed discovery and forgiveness and now, increasingly, sharing after 10 years together in drab. Not easy for either of them and for different reasons. Such an attractive couple too and so much the object of my envy. Totally inspiring. And not only of because of their legs (Mary’s are terrific too). They have managed to get to the place they are without tearing apart the other real things that brought them together in the first place. This is to be celebrated.

Back to the bar for last call. I was able to give Amanda some local tips on shops and they decided to take an extra day in Atlanta for a little wardrobe building. More warm hugs, and then home safely home for me.

Amanda is a pretty lucky girl. And so is Mary too I think. I somehow lost Amanda’s email. It’s a shame. Amanda if you are reading this, please give my best to Mary, and do drop me a line. It was just such a nice time meeting you both and I hope the rest of the trip was everything you both were hoping for. I hope the trip continues. I hope to enjoy and write about my own such trip some happy day too.