by Brandy Dewinter

(c 2001, All rights reserved)

Chapter 8 - "See Me Through The Night"

     Back in Denver, McDaniel tried to throw himself into his work.  But 
thoughts of what awaited him in the coming weekend, both things that he 
would do and things that might be done to him, distracted him again and 
again.  And so, on another Tuesday afternoon, Tyler Andrews intruded 
during a caffeine break.  

     "I promised myself I wouldn't butt in again, but you are even more
distracted this week than last, and less pleasantly.  I guess I feel 
responsible.  Is it something I did?"  

     "No," said McDaniel with a smile that was meant to be reassuring, 
though the effect was undermined by his words.  "Except that I guess 
talking with you brought some things into focus.  I talked with Jayla 
about, um, what she wanted."

     "And?"

     "And we have some things to work out," McDaniel said, his smile 
still in place but his meaning clear that he was not encouraging this 
line of questioning.

     "Oh, sorry," Andrews said.

     "No problem," McDaniel claimed.  Then he said, "Look, Tyler, I'm 
glad we talked.  Both you and me, and Jayla and I.  It cleared the air.
We still have some things to work out, but I'm sure we'll be fine.  
Better, in fact, for having worked through any problems before they 
really occurred."

     Andrews nodded, not sure if he was as convinced as McDaniel wanted
him to be.  That doubt showed in his eyes, and McDaniel tried to change
to a less-awkward subject.

     "You know, Tyler, when we talked last week I was sort of wrapped up 
in my own issues.  Maybe I'm the one intruding now, but, um, if you want
to talk, I owe you one."  McDaniel said the last bit with a smile to show
he wasn't demanding anything, not even the chance to return a favor.  But
there was real curiosity there, too.  

     "I suppose I did open that door, didn't I?" mused Andrews.  "Okay, 
what do you want to know?"

     McDaniel chuckled and said, "That's hardly fair.  I don't even know
what to ask.  If you don't want to talk, just say so."

     Andrews nodded at the accuracy of McDaniel's comment, but his eyes
faded out of focus as he tried to figure out where to begin himself.  
Finally, he decided the real need was indeed to establish a starting 
point.  "How much do you know about being transgendered?"  

     "Not much," McDaniel said.  "Like I said, I just browsed a few 
websites."  

     "Okay," Andrews nodded.  "If any of this seems too obvious, let me
know."

     "Real human psychology is always complex, so any attempt to categorize 
it sets up almost as many exceptions as examples that fit the categories, 
but I guess I'll say that there are two main types of male-to-female 
transgenders.  One wants to be a real woman, may even believe he is really 
a woman in a man's body.  They want to become a woman as fully and 
permanently as they can, with surgery if possible."

     "Ugh," McDaniel said, wincing.

     "Yeah, well, it's certainly not for everyone," Andrews smiled.  "The
other main type is more interested in the clothes than the plumbing.  They
want to be pretty, but usually only on a temporary basis."

     "I guess I fall into that category, then," McDaniel said.  

     "Maybe," Andrews replied.  "Most of that category are aroused by the 
image of being pretty.  I didn't get that from your story."

     "You mean aroused sexually?  Just by clothes?"

     Andrews nodded, prompting McDaniel to say, "Well, I guess that's not
me, then.  If Jayla hadn't asked me to, I'd never have done anything like
this."  

     "That's what I thought, from what you said," Andrews agreed.  "Like I
told you, there are more exceptions than examples."

     "So, what are you?" asked McDaniel.

     "Oh, I'm definitely part of the second group," Andrews said 
confidently.  "I dress part time, and I like the sensations of the 
clothes and the way I look in them, but I don't want to do anything, um, 
irrevocable."

     "I thought you said you couldn't help yourself when you were growing
up, that you got in trouble for it."

     Andrews nodded again.  "I couldn't, and I did.  Just because I only
want to do it part-time doesn't mean it doesn't become a real need upon 
occasion."  

     "I . . . see," McDaniel said, but it was clear he did not.

     Andrews finished his coffee and stood to go back to work.  "Don't
worry about it.  It took me a long time to get to where I'm comfortable 
with who I am.  I spent years not understanding."

     "Um, Tyler," McDaniel's voice held him before he walked off.  "You
said you were, ah, that you, um, liked the way you looked.  I, uh, well,
sometimes I do, too.  When I'm, um, wearing makeup."

     "Good for you," Andrews said with a smile.  "Maybe there's hope for
you yet."  

     McDaniel winced a bit at the thought, but it was clearly an 
artificial gesture, not a sign of real distress.  He tossed his coke 
can in the recycle bin and followed after Andrews.  When they got back
to their work area, Andrews pulled him aside.  

     "Come here for a second," he said.  When they got to Andrews' cubicle
he pointed at a photo on his desk.  "That's my sister, Tylara.  We're 
twins."

     "Twins?  I thought you said your sister was older.., oh, yeah."  
McDaniel felt his face flush as he realized who he was really looking at.  
And then felt shocked when he realized how pretty the woman in the photo 
was.  "Wow," he said softly.  

     "Thank you," whispered Andrews.  He smiled at McDaniel's obvious 
amazement, then decided to tweak his new friend some more.  "Would you 
like to meet her?"

     "I'm married," McDaniel said automatically. 

     "I'll be sure and tell her," Andrews said, grinning.  

     "Oh.  Uh, sure.  When?"

     "Well, I don't think she's doing anything tonight."

     "Oh.  Okay.  Where?"  

     "There's this club she likes to go to.  A lot of her 'special' 
friends meet there.  You'd be more than welcome, I'm sure."

     McDaniel heard the significance in Andrews' tone and knew what it
meant.  Or, at least he thought he did.  "So, how, um, dressy is this 
club?"

     Andrews laughed out loud, provoking a few heads to turn, then 
quieted down.  "Oh, 'dressy' is right, for some people anyway, but you
can come however you'd be comfortable."  

     McDaniel nodded, then looked around like he was worried they were
being watched.  He started to move toward the room they were working 
out of without saying anything.  As they walked from Andrews's cube, 
the blond man whispered, "Tylara will pick you up at your hotel, at, oh,
8:00.  Okay?"

     Committed now, McDaniel nodded again.  

     A few hours later, when the knock came at his hotel room door, 
McDaniel was not entirely sure he should answer it.  He hesitated for a 
long moment, long enough that the knock came again, accompanied by a 
quiet, "Mr. McDaniel?"

     Maybe it was just manners, more than a conscious decision that is,
but McDaniel found himself opening the door then stepping back as much in
shock as in invitation.  The woman at the door was not what he had 
expected despite the photo he had seen.  She was pretty, but there was 
more than that.  She had an elfin charm that just didn't come across in 
the photo, not the girl-next-door cuteness of his own bride, but an 
ethereal beauty that seemed untouched by the mundane world.

     Her laugh at his amazement was a crystal tinkling of silver chimes.
"Why Mr. McDaniel," she said.  "You'd think you've never seen a girl 
before."

     "Tyler, um, Tylara?"

     "Who else did you expect?" she asked, laughing again.  It was a 
friendly laugh, though, sharing fun at no one's expense but the 
overly-stuffy - and implying she was just *sure* that didn't include
him.  

     "Wow," he said softly as he stepped further back into his room.  She
followed, allowing him to close the door.  

     "Thank you," she said with a quick little curtsy.  With a smile of 
continuing amusement, she undid her jacket, asking a question with her
eyes.

     "Oh, here, let me take your coat," McDaniel belatedly offered.

     "Thank you again," she replied, handing it to him.  Under her coat -
a neatly-tailored ski jacket, virtually obligatory in Denver in the fall - 
she had on a thick, pale blue turtleneck sweater over trim tan stretch 
pants.  If the resorts were just a little bit closer, you'd have figured 
she had been skiing all day and was ready to party all night - an 
impression heightened by the rose of cheeks recently chilled by the crisp
mountain air.  

     "Uh," McDaniel said meaninglessly as he held her jacket.

     A mischievous grin, actually a transformation of a smile that had
already held a fair share of mischief, showed the Tyler within Tylara for
just a second.  

     "Either hang that up, or get your own," a familiar voice said.  It 
didn't seem to belong coming from that elfin face, but it was definitely 
the voice McDaniel had heard all day.

     "Oh, um, sorry," McDaniel said.  He moved to the closet, planning 
actually to reach for his own coat, but before he had to make a real 
decision Tylara's voice stopped him.  

     "Logan, you don't mind if I call you Logan, do you?  Could I make a
suggestion?"

     "Um, fine," Logan answered, not entirely sure which question he was
answering.  Maybe it was both of them.  

     Her voice became serious as he turned back to her, the crystal giggle 
that had underlaid it falling away.  "You know what sort of club this is, 
right?"

     "I, uh, guess so."

     "Have you ever been to one before?"

     "No!"

     "Well, I expect you'll be surprised.  But there is an opportunity in
that, too, if you're interested."

     He nodded carefully, not agreeing to anything except a willingness to 
listen.

     "This is a transgender club," Tylara explained.  "Everyone there is 
expected either to be TG, or at least very tolerant of TG.  Gawkers and 
pity are not welcome.  You honestly might be more comfortable if you were,
if you looked a little TG yourself.  It would make it clear you weren't a
sightseer, and I think your basic attitude would make it clear you're not
looking down your nose at the members."  

     "Looked, um, I mean . . . myself?"
    
     "Yes.  You don't have to worry about passing - though you could, 
easily, with very little work actually.  But if you were sort of, um, 
deliberately androgynous, you'd find the crowd more sympathetic."

     "Crowd?" he gulped.

     "Not a mob, just a group of people with a common interest," she 
promised.    

     "I, uh, I'm not so sure this is a good idea," McDaniel said.

     Tylara's face fell like her world was ending, but she didn't
say anything for a moment.  Then she held out her hand for her jacket
and said, "As you wish."

     "No, wait," McDaniel said, changing his mind again.  "It's just 
that, I've never done anything like this."

     "You know what?" she asked with a grin.  "Every single person in 
the club had a first time, too.  For several of them, it will be tonight."

     "Uh, yeah.  I guess so," McDaniel said, ducking his head a little 
at the obvious point.  "So, what should I do?"
   
     "Not much, really," she said again.  "If you let your hair down, and
maybe put on a little makeup?  And do you have any other earrings?"

     McDaniel nodded, finally completing his errand to the closet by 
hanging up her jacket.  Stepping to his luggage he pulled out the bag
that had the cosmetics that Jayla had given him.  Tylara came over to 
offer her help, to retreat in pleased surprise when he didn't need any
assistance.  It took McDaniel about 20 minutes but at the end of that
time he had recreated a sort of intermediate look, much like his other 
time out in public at the theater and restaurant.  A quick brush through
his hair and it tumbled around his shoulders with unconstrained grace.

     He was reaching in his closet for their jackets when he saw his 
new boots on the floor.  He had brought them to practice walking a bit
more and it seemed like the perfect time for practice was upon him.

     "Just a minute," he said, gathering up his boots and taking his
jeans.  He stepped into the bathroom, returning a moment later wearing
his shapely jeans over his boots.  

     "Very nice," Tylara said.  "Those look really good on you."

     "Thanks," he said, reaching again for their coats.  

     "Better take along a little repair kit," suggested Tylara, pointing
at the cosmetics that still littered the counter under the mirror.  

     "Oh.  Um, do you think that will be necessary?"

     "It might be," she said.  "And better safe than sorry."
   
     "Ah, yes.  Well, okay."  McDaniel gathered up a few of the more 
obvious things, adding the powder compact at the urging of Tylara's 
pointing finger.  He stuffed everything in the pockets of his sportcoat,
then looked at Tylara with a question in his eyes.

     "Yes," she said, answering his unspoken request.  "We're ready to 
go."  

*****

     As he drove to his house that Friday, after flying home, McDaniel 
decided that no matter what Jayla might have in mind for him, he could
handle it.  At least it had to be better than the club he had gone to 
with Tylara.  

     Actually, it hadn't been that bad.  Or so he kept telling himself.
He had been well within the range of the people in the club in just 
about every way.  He passed better than a lot of them in fact, which
didn't seem to bother the less-attractive clientele, at least not 
noticeably.  Tylara had been right that taking at least a few steps to
show he was 'one of them' had broken down any barriers and he had been
welcomed literally with open arms.  The fourth time he had been squished
against a decidedly 'squishy' bosom (complete with bubbling squeak) he had
been soaked by a leaking . . . enhancement.  

     Not that any one cared.  They were all having too good a time to 
worry about things like that.  Several people had made a point to tell
him that; how good a time everyone was having.  Over and over.  Maybe
some of them even believed it.  Maybe for a few it was true.

     Not for Tylara, though.  She laughed and talked and danced and did 
all the high-energy, "We're having fun now!" things, but McDaniel could
see the tension in her too-bright smile and hear it in the change from 
crystal bells to broken glass in her voice.  It had still been early when
she asked if he wanted to go, and he was more than ready to leave when she 
suggested it.  

     He hadn't had a bad time, though, in any sense of feeling laughed
at or humiliated or embarrassed.  He just hadn't felt the need for 
reinforcement that seemed to drive the party-goers.  Tylara had dropped
him off at his hotel, not getting out, and though their good-byes were 
pleasant enough each knew they wouldn't be repeating that particular
sort of evening.

     The next day Tyler Andrews had asked how things had gone, just as 
though he had no idea.  That was a nice little excuse for them both to 
use, allowing McDaniel to be fairly honest without 'officially' blaming
his guide for the evening.

     "It was interesting," he said, a nicely non-committal response.

     Andrews nodded, then said, "Tylara tells me it's sort of like a 
'fix' or something.  Something she needs every now and then, but then
she's fine without it for a while."

     "She's an amazingly pretty girl," offered McDaniel.

     "I'll tell her you said so," promised Andrews.  

     McDaniel was just finishing his mental replay of the conversation 
when he pulled into his driveway.  Shifting the car into park was like
shifting gears in his mind, as he thought now of what would happen with
his wife.  

     When he got inside, he was greeted by a naked woman, never a bad 
thing, especially when she was as gorgeous as his wife.

     "Nice outfit," he said.  When she released his lips so he could 
speak.  

     "Glad you like it," she said.  "I wore it especially for you."

     Taking him by the hand, she led him to the dining room table.  On 
the table were two envelopes, cryptically labeled 'A' and 'B'.  

     "What's this?" he asked.

     "A choice," she said, unhelpfully.

     He just smiled at her and leaned easily against the table, crossing
his arms as though he were prepared for a long stay.  

     "Oh, you," she said, but she had to laugh.  "Serves me right for 
even thinking I could out-stubborn you."  

     "Indeed," he said, still making no move toward the envelopes.  

     "Okay," she grumped, but her voice still held a laugh she couldn't
quite contain.  "In one of the envelopes is what I want for you this 
weekend.  In the other it just says, 'You choose.'  If you get that one,
then I do whatever you want, for as long as you want.  If and when you 
decide to, you can pick the other envelope and we'll do what it says."

     "And if I get the one with your plan?"

     "Then we do what it says.  Depending on how things go, we might 
get to the other envelope, or we might not."  

     "Interesting," he said with a smile.

     "That was what we required of ourselves, right?" she replied smugly.  

     "It would seem so," he nodded.  
 
     Smiling, he moved to stand between Jayla and the envelopes.  He faced
her so that they were behind his back, then reached behind himself to 
shuffle them back and forth so that they were thoroughly confused.  
Turning them both upside down so that the revealing letters were hidden, 
he picked one and quickly turned around to read it, continuing to block 
Jayla's view.  

     "Interesting," he said.