Tori: Regrets of a fifth wheel

Ah, uh, ok.

My social life has jostled around a bit since Buddy went down to Houston. It was one thing when I could go to New York and see him every weekend, I didn't need to worry about going out and doing stuff without him. Now, I try to stay in, and when I want to go out I have to play wingwoman to Raine (and avoid being hit on) or bring Danny along to be my gay shield.

I was determined to make St. Patrick's Day work, because that was supposed to be where my plan to fix up Raine and Alex came together. I made sure to let them know it was a fix up (I mean, what was I gonna do, trick them into hitting it off?) or at any rate an "introduction." To make sure I didn't become a third wheel, I invited Danny along. Problem was, he had a date for the night, so I became a fifth wheel. But I was determined to have a good night, so I pulled on a green top and hit the town.

This worked fine at the beginning, when I was helping Raine and Alex get into a groove while Danny had his date, and we were outside the bar waiting to get in. Once we were in and the drinks started flowing, I let myself get shut out while two dates happened around me. One was Raine desperately trying to find common ground with Alex, and the other was Danny and his boy getting really drunk really quickly, and then getting really handsy.

It's weird: I was a straight guy, and now I'm a straight girl, I guess... so the sight of two guys kissing is really weird for me. Yes, I kiss guys now, but I guess I'm still really "hetero," so seeing two guys kissing is... well not wrong, but still unusual. Maybe I was gawking. Actually, I know, as I got drunker, I was pretty much just staring. They didn't seem to mind. I had nothing else to do and no desire to talk to anybody else.

When I excused myself to the restroom, I met a waitress who told me she was getting weary of being hit on. I told her that since I'd been in a long-distance relationship, I was missing the attention I'd gotten when I was single. This was unthinkable just months ago... when I was turning guys away all the time, because the idea of any man showing interest in me was just too odd. Now I would've killed for something casual just for the night. And I felt super-guilty about that.

When I got out, Raine and Alex were gone, which I took as a good sign. Danny and his boy were on the dancefloor, and it was nearly 1 AM and I had class the next day, so I excused myself.

When I got home, I made sure Raine and Alex weren't around (I deduced they'd gone to his place,) I went to my room. But I was restless (and friggin' horny, I'm sure you won't mind me saying) and desperate for contact, so I turned on my cam and made a video of pleasuring myself and sent it to Buddy.

Now, if I had ever been a teenage girl, I probably would've learned by now that sending out naked videos of yourself via the internet is not a smart idea, so when I woke up the next morning, it was all I could think of. I felt so stupid and embarrassed and frantically wrote up an e-mail explaining myself. But not before getting his response: a polite "thank you" and a photo of his erect cock.

And I mean, it was a nice gesture, but what am I supposed to do with a picture of a cock? I mean, I know it's his, but his face isn't even in the photo. It's just a dick. As comfortable as I've gotten handling the equipment (and being handled by it!!) just the sight of one isn't enough to get me wet in the panties. All I could do was laugh nervously.

I'm really a silly stupid girl sometimes when it comes to stuff like this. Not feeling like a credit to either my current gender or my old one.

Then the next day, I asked Alex about it. He was pretty sketchy on the details, saying they fooled around a bit but it ended when she got a bit sick (ugh, that green dye, I think) and he let her sleep on his couch. (The gentlemanly thing to do would've been to let her take the bed, but WHATEVER.) I pressed him for more, his opinions on her and prospects of seeing her again, but he was shy about it. I guess I've forgotten guys don't really talk about this stuff the way girls do. Huh.

Raine gave the same account, with an equal amount of weariness. I'm not sensing a lot of enthusiasm from either of them, which is sad, since I like them both a lot, and I think they'd make a nice couple.

Ashlyn--Redhead appreciation day

Sorry, wrong number

I’m pretty comfortable being Ashlyn now—I like the way I look, and with the way I’m showered with attention, I think I’m becoming an attention junkie.

But even though I enjoy some aspects of being a busty redhead—I still want my old life back. I know I had decided to move forward living as Ashlyn--but seeing myself on TV made me wonder if I hadn't tried hard enough to get my life back.

So I called “Jake” again. I felt a need to try one more time to convince him to do the right thing and give me my old life back. I had forgotten that he is a complete asshole. On the phone he sarcastically pretended to not know who I was and what I was talking about. He threatened to get a restraining order and said if I ever showed up at his home or office he would see to it I was arrested for trespassing.

Bastard!

In an odd way, I feel better. It was just a phone call, but at least I tried to do something.

Breakfast of Champions

I jumped up Saturday morning and slipped on green underwear, my green t-shirt with “Irish Princess” written across the front, and jeans. When I stepped out of my bedroom my roommate Billie was already up, sitting on the couch, eating cold cereal and watching cartoons.

“Top of the morning to ya!” She yells at me, butchering a fake Irish accent. “Happy St. Patrick’s day!”

I don’t mention Billie in this blog nearly enough. She’s the funniest person I know. When I mentioned I was dating Matt—a firefighter—she gets a big grin on her face and asks me “Does he let you play with his hose?” She then went into a giggling fit for the five minutes. Today she was wearing a t-shirt that said ‘Want to see my shamrocks?’ and green striped pants.

“I got us a special St. Patrick’s Day breakfast—Lucky Charms.” She tells me, a big grin on her face.

When you live with four roommates, the cereal collection is large and diverse. We have everything from granola to Fruity Pebbles. I’m a ‘Special K’ girl myself, because I tend to worry about gaining weight—but it was a holiday and Billie is infectious. I grabbed a bowl of Lucky Charms and joined her on the couch. BTW, it might be nostalgia, but Saturday morning cartoons have really gone downhill. ‘Teen Titans’ was okay, but nowhere as good as the ‘Superfriends’ with the wonder twins.

I had a busy weekend planned. I was working two shifts at the lounge, working some promotional gigs for the radio station and meeting Jessica. Matt wants to do a little holiday celebrating as well, but I told him I was awfully busy. He pouted, and after basically throwing him out when we were watching basketball, I felt I owed him; so I told him I would try—underline try—to spend some time with him at some point over the weekend.

Things started well. I knocked out a brunch shift at the lounge. Business had been slow because we had another round of ice and snow the night before and I think people were slow to dig out. At the end of my shift I made my way to the ladies room and change into my outfit for my radio promotion gig.

How can I describe the outfit? How about “Catholic schoolgirl meets St. Patrick's Day”. Tiny green plaid skirt, low cut top that also showed off my middle, and thigh high stockings.

“Very stripperesque.” I say looking myself over in the mirror.

Our restaurant has two managers, and one of the two, a likable woman named Maddie, picked that moment to walk into the ladies room. She gives me a surprised look.

“Ashlyn? What’s with the outfit?” She asks.

I slide on the long overcoat I had brought to wear over the outfit until I got to the location of the radio promotion.

“I occasionally take promotion work.” I say to her. “I’m doing some St. Patrick’s day stuff.”

“Oh.”

Something in her tone, or how she was looking at me, gave me the impression she didn’t approve of what I was wearing. It made me uncomfortable. I buttoned up my coat and started to head out.

“I could never wear something like that.” She says to me—she had a snotty tone.
Those were her words, but I could tell what she was really saying was “I would never demean myself to wear something like that, you little slut.” It slightly upset me—in the past Maddie and I had gotten along very well.

Of course she probably weighs around 180 pounds, so she couldn’t wear the outfit anyway, I tell myself.

Great. Now I’m getting bitchy.

Girls just wanna have fun

I call what I do for the radio station “promotional work” that makes it sound like I am doing something justifiable to earn a paycheck. Really what I am doing is being a hot babe in a skimpy outfit forced to make pleasant conversation with anyone who wants to talk to me. I’m a captive audience. I also will pose for a picture—and if you are really nice and polite, I’ll let you put your arm around me in the picture so you can show your friends, proving that you are a babe magnet.

I hang out for a living. Crazy isn’t it?

What’s even crazier is how effective it is. Guys come out of everywhere to chat me (and the other girls) up. When all the girls are busy getting their picture taken, they end up participating in whatever the promotion the radio station has cooking.

You would think that ‘hanging out’ would be an easy job—and it mostly is—but after several hours standing in heels your feet and legs are killing you. Also try smiling for several hours; it’s tougher than it sounds.

At the end of the gig, we girls get paid—in cash—and the first thing we girls want to do is take off our heels and find somewhere to sit and drink. Usually we change out of whatever outfit we are wearing, but it was a holiday and lots of people were dressed up, so we didn’t bother.

I didn’t intend to stay long. I had to work the St. Patrick’s Day parade the next morning. I was supposed to work the lunch shift at the lounge that day as well, but Maddie had called as said they were overbooked with wait staff and not to come in. After her reaction to the outfit I was wearing, this really bothered me—I had never been told to NOT come into work before.

Every time I hang out with the other girls who do promo work, I tell myself I’m not going to do that next time. Next time I’m going to do the gig and go home. Only I never do. There’s something fun/ wild/ sexy about hanging out with the other girls and I get caught up in it.
We ended up at an Irish pub with about 10,000 other people. Funny, we didn’t have any trouble getting in or getting a table.

Art was right—most nights I don’t have any trouble getting free drinks. That night, however, the drinks were coming so fast and so frequently I had to start turning them away.
At some point the street outside the pub got blocked off and fiddle began to play. People formed a line in a circle and began to dance in traditional Irish styles.

“Would you care to dance?” The man spoke with a slight Irish accent. I hadn’t seen him walk up; I was distracted by watching the dancers. He was tallish with light brown hair and blue eyes.

“Ah no. It looks like fun, but I have no idea how to do any of that.” I gestured to what was going on outside.

“Then that is a great injustice. The most beautiful Irish lass I have ever met and she doesn’t know how to Céilí dance.”

“Céilí? That’s what it is called?” I ask.

He shook his head in mock exasperation. “Did your folks not teach you anything? Céilí refers to many dances, but the one they are doing right now is called ‘Shoe the donkey’.” He holds his hand out to me.

“It’s really time you learned. I would love to teach you. My name’s Hoyt.”

My legs were still tired, and I was slightly drunk—but what the hell, my heritage was calling out to me.

I took his hand. “Nice to meet you Hoyt. My name is Ashlyn.”

He leads us outside and we join the circle—it was so hot in the bar I forgot how cold it was outside, and I wasn’t wearing all that much. Fortunately, for the most part, the dancing kept me warm. Hoyt was a good teacher and I was a fast learner. I had an amazingly good time.
Eventually I succumbed to the cold and my legs were exhausted, I had to tell Hoyt I had to call it a night.

He got us a taxi. “A gentleman sees a lady to her door.” He says to me.

I’m thinking he was still hoping he was going to get lucky—I knew he wasn’t. I could barely stand I was so tired.

In the cab I gave him my phone number. He gives me his number “In case you want some more dancing lessons.”

The cab arrives and he walks me to my door. There is an awkward pause when I expected he would reach in for a kiss but didn’t.

“Good night Ashlyn. I hope to see you again.” He turns and begins to walk off, returning to the cab.

“Hey!” I say to him. “What, no good night kiss?”

He gives me a smile. “The lass wants a kiss?”

“Yeah, the lass wants a kiss.”

He walks back to me. He wraps one arm around me, placing his palm in the small of my back, pulls me close, and kisses me. It was a great kiss.

I'll try to post more tomorrow. I've got to write about Jessica--But right now I've got to get ready for work.

--Ashlyn