Standing On A Chair

Telling it like I see it…

New Year’s Eve Story: You Think You Know Somebody

At the end of 1995 things were going well, and the year had been positive.  August had me happily divorced, again; my daughter had left my nest empty; and I had begun a new relationship in late October.

This “new” man, we’ll call him Jeffrey, was someone I had known for twenty years.  We became friends when my boyfriend-at-the-time Mel and I moved to a Southern California beach town in 1974.  Through a dear, longtime girlfriend of mine, Mel and I met and hung out with a fun and boisterous group of fire fighters and their women. 

So I became great friends with Jeffrey, who was also in a relationship at the time.  He was tall, black-haired, cute and very funny.  We all spent countless hours playing Backgammon, drinking shots, smoking pot, going out to dinners, movies, taking quick ski trips, and lazing on the beach. 

Fast forward twenty years later, I am living in Gainesville, Florida, and I get a shockingly surprising phone call from Jeffrey.  He said he’d been divorced twice, no kids, quit fighting fires, was working on his Ph.D. in psychology and had moved to Jacksonville to be near his family.

“Remember all those long, serious talks we used to have?” he asked.  “And how much we used to laugh? Will you have dinner with me? I’ll be in Gainesville next week.”

Thus began a couple of really exciting months of dating, getting to know each other again, meeting each other’s families, trips back and forth between Gainesville and Jacksonville.  And sex.  Really good sex.  I honestly thought I had died and gone to heaven. 

Except for one nagging little thing:  Jeffrey kept telling me he “had a little secret.”  But when pressed, he would say, “You’ll know soon enough, my love!”  By December it was beginning to eat away at my last nerve.  On New Year’s Eve we were having this fancy late dinner out with his parents and siblings, when he brought it up again, I said, “For the love of God, Jeffrey, will you please tell me what your fucking secret is?”  The thing is, I might have said it a little too loudly, because silence befell the table, and suddenly all eyes were on me.

The uncomfortable moment somehow passed, we finished a fine meal, toasted in the year 1996, and as we drove home to Jeffrey’s house we talked of being horny for each other and of cracking open another bottle of champagne.

“Lemme slip into something more comfortable while you pick out the music,” he said, breathing heavily between deep kisses as he body-pressed me against the beveled glass of his front door.  “Champagne’s in the fridge,” he whispered, nibbling lightly on my right earlobe.

Feeling weak-kneed and dizzy, I lovingly scanned the titles in his tall, teak CD rack next to a set of giant speakers.  He had the Allman Brothers’ Live at the Fillmore.  He had Steeley Dan, the Temptations, and even Tower of Power.  I adored Tower of Power.  And Oh My God he had Tyrone Davis!  Otis Redding!  Gabor Szabo!  The Average White Band!

I decided on “Stormy Monday” and after opening a bottle of champagne and pouring two glasses, I sat cross-legged on the floor about two inches from the speakers. 

I looked at my watch.  One-forty-five a.m.  What was taking him so long?  I put on some Sergio Mendez.  Perfect! Nothing like a little swing and sway in the background for hot, sweet passion on the living room floor!  I turned the music down low, lit the vanilla candle on the coffee table, and I waited.

“Jill,” he said suddenly from somewhere behind me.  I felt excited by the smooth alto of his voice calling my name.  I turned to face him.  He stood in the doorway.  Light from the bedroom behind him outlined his form, making it difficult to see.  He moved toward me, and then stopped under the track-lighting in the hall.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” I whispered.

There he posed, his tall, hairy bulk adorned in matching, sea-foam green camisole and slip, trimmed with delicate antique-white lace.  An enormous boner protruded proudly from under the fine silk.

I focused on the stubbly squareness of his jaw for what seemed like forever.

“Your chest hairs are poking out through the lace,” I said.

He opened his arms to me, but I stood riveted to my spot, not daring to move.

“Come to me sweetness,” he said hoarsely.  “I need you now.”

I jumped backward.  “What is this, a joke?” I asked hopefully.  “Your version of Milton Berle doing his best drag bit?  Because Jeffrey, quite frankly your timing sucks.”

It all of a sudden seemed hilarious.  I started laughing like a maniac.  And then I watched as his smile slowly vanished, his erection disappeared.

I tried.  Really I did.  But the transvestite act was such a profound turn-off, I just couldn’t go with it.  I told him I preferred my men in Jockey Life Slim Guys, and that was the end of that.

Jesus.  Just when you think you know somebody.

I don’t have any answers.  Who ever gets answers in life?  I suppose it’s the seeking of answers that’s more important anyway.

On that note, I wish everyone a Happy, Healthy New Year, and I thank you for reading my blog.


December 28, 2010 - Posted by | Cross Dressing | , , , ,


  1. Jill, once you said it was taking awhile I guessed it. Too many cop and detective book I guess. I would’ve died laughing too! What a life you have had.

    Comment by Barb | December 28, 2010 | Reply

  2. Lordy, lord, lord. I don’t even know what else to say.

    Comment by April | December 31, 2010 | Reply

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