So, as soon as all of my co-workers were gone, I got up from my desk and hurried over to the elevator. I purposefully pushed all conscious thought and any apprehensions aside. Two weeks of internal wrangling convinced me that even the slightest doubt could push me away, send me back home for a quiet Friday night of intense frustration.
I have no actual memory of driving to the pet shop. It was about fifteen miles from my office building, which in Friday rush-hour traffic would take around and hour. But I don’t remember any of that. I had complete tunnel vision. I don’t remember anything except parking in the lot in the somewhat abandoned strip mall area where the pet store was located.
It is hard to describe what I was feeling at that moment. My muscles felt like jelly, each movement felt like it was taking up three times the normal amount of energy. My head was spinning, my stomach was knotted up tighter than I’d ever felt it before, and I actually felt uncomfortable by how fast my heart was beating. But the urge to go inside, now that I was here, could not be denied. I had to go inside, I needed slip outside the prison I’d built around myself, even if just for a few minutes. I turned off my car and stepped out into the parking lot.
I jogged inside. This time, there was an attendant sitting at the desk, a college-aged girl reading a romance novel. She looked up once and nodded, but didn’t offer any assistance. I was happy about that. I looked around for a brief moment and didn’t see anyone else in the store. When I was certain the girl at the counter wasn’t paying attention, I slipped into the bathroom.
It looked just as it did two weeks earlier. I looked under the bottoms of the doors but then saw that they went all the way to the floor, which is sort of odd. My mouth felt dry and palms felt sweaty, but I pushed forward and entered a stall. Only now, I didn’t enter the middle stall this time. The stall where my “visitor” had been hiding the last time. I quickly closed the door behind me. I locked it. I suddenly felt extremely peaceful, almost safe. My pulse slowed and my stomach loosened.
For a moment, I didn’t know what to do. I knew from my own experience that the person in the middle was supposed to signal. But I tried anyway. I figured the sequence I’d tried before might work, so I tapped three times, paused, then once more.
Nothing happened. I didn’t know if that was because no one was in the middle stall or if it was because that person was supposed to signal. I didn’t have anywhere to be that night (the only benefit of having no friends), so I decided I would wait. If nothing else, it was exciting and naughty to just be here and ready.
In fact, standing in the stall, waiting for someone to knock was sort of a turn on. I felt my body start to react to the anticipation, the nervousness, and the anonymity. I didn’t so much make a decision as start to act. I slipped my work jacket off of my shoulders and hung it up on the peg on the back of the door. There were actually several pegs, as though it was normal for someone to get completely disrobed in this stall. I started to open my blouse, my fingers slipping around buttons from excitement. In a few moments, my shirt was open and I pulled the bottom out from the waistband of my skirt. I slipped it off my shoulders as well and hung it on top of my coat.
I reached behind my back, fiddling with the clasp of my bra. I almost giggled because of the trouble I had with it, I felt like a fumbling teenage boy. Finally, the hook came loose and I slid the bra down over my arms, catching it in my hand. I hung my bra up on one of the open pegs and looked down at my breasts. I always thought that I had beautiful breasts, they were my favorite feature. Back in the day when I allowed people to look at them, they had always commented that they were lovely. They were on the small side, as I said before, I but they looked perfect on my frame. They were shaped like teardrops, with a soft rounded bottom and a sloped top. The two angles met at my pink nipples. My areolas were around the size of quarters and my nipples were around a half inch long.
I moved my hands over my breasts, kneading the flesh and tickling my fingers across my nipples. I felt the electrical thrill of sexual arousal rip through my body and I bit my lip to avoid moaning. It felt so lovely I squeezed again. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt such carnal fire without the attendant guilt and fear. I wanted more.
I started to sit down and then realized that I had no intention of slipping my shoes off. The floor was… less than pristine and besides, I am not that tall and the hole was kind of high. So I stayed standing and silently unzipped my skirt. It unzipped on the side and in a moment, I was pulling it around my high heels. I hung it up on top of my bra.
Now I was standing in the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of red boy-short panties and black high heels. I looked down at my legs and feet. I always liked that I had very small feet and they looked cute in my favorite shoes. My legs were silky smooth (I was naturally hairless below my eyebrows) and they looked longer than they actually were with the combination of my shoes and my cute panties.
But I wasn’t quite done yet. I needed to feel completely free. I slipped my fingers into the waistband of my panties. For the first time since I’d stepped into the stall, I felt the slightest tinge of nervousness. I was about to eliminate the last shred of my cover. But I was too excited, and far too deep, into this to stop now. She pushed down on the hem of my panties and wiggled my hips as the fabric slid over my ass and pooled on my feet. I bent over, picked them up carefully and hung them on the door as well. Even as I did so, my hands reached down between my legs.
I found the corner of the tape that I used to strap my cock down. It was something I’d done every single day since my long-ago date with Dan. I never wanted any accidental revelation. But now I picked at the tape until I got the corner up and then quickly pulled it away. As I said, I am naturally hairless so there wasn’t pain. What there was a tingling feeling as my numb cock started to stir to life. My heart was pumping and blood started to flow to my member. I was so titillated that within a couple of seconds my cock was hard and standing up at full attention.
I looked down on it. The source of all of my misery, but also something that seemed to offer an eternal opportunity for pleasure. I always thought to myself that I hated it. But, if that were the case why didn’t I just get rid of it? Lots of women in my situation had done so. It would solve all of my problems. I guess there were two reasons I didn’t. First, fuck everyone who wanted me to keep this a secret. I was part of who I was and even though all I felt about it was shame I knew that I shouldn’t have to feel that way. Removing it would have been to make my identity a permanent secret. I could be bitter and hateful, but I couldn’t just… give up.
Second, I liked the way it looked on me, as strange as that sounds. As I stood in the bathroom stall in my high heels, I looked down over my body. There was the top of my chest as it sloped gently down to my breasts, my flat stomach, every-so slightly outie bellybutton, and my narrow waist that flared out to wide, feminine hips. Then, between my legs was cock. About five inches long and circumcised, with a smooth tip that looked like a large, pink grape and a largely vein-less shaft. As I said, my body was naturally hairless and even my balls, which were small and hung just slightly below my shaft, were smooth. From there, my body flowed down my legs. It all just worked together. I liked how I looked, maybe because everyone else found the thought of it so repugnant.