Chapter 62 – Special date night

With hearing Mal’s voice and seeing him seconds away from seeing a video of me giving head, I don’t think; I react. In hindsight, I probably could have reached for the power button on the monitor. Or the computer. Either would have also stopped Mal from seeing what he absolutely shouldn’t see. But beggars can’t be choosers, and the end result is that Mal didn’t see what he absolutely COULDN’T see.

At any given age, I was never the strong one in any group I was with. When compared to healthy men my own age, I was often the skinniest and the weakest. Playing the part of Paris, the perky bimbo, didn’t exactly give me a chance to show off any strength I had. Add in the long nails, making every move of mine delicate and frankly dangerous, and it’s easy to forget that I have any power in my arms whatsoever. But fear is a powerful motivator so when I ball my fingers into a fist and punch toward the monitor’s screen, I not only crack the expensive piece of computer equipment, I punch it right off the edge of my desk.

My own action startles me and I let out a high-pitched squeal as I pull my hand back and shrink back in my chair. Mal’s reaction isn’t what I expected. I could easily see him being angry with my ‘over reaction’ or being upset that I didn’t want him to see what I was watching, but his immediate reaction to my screech and punch wasn’t to move away or even glower at me, it was to quickly move to my side, wrap his arm protectively around me, and look around for any threats.

Looking up at him I see that not only is he standing over me protectively, he’s honestly looking around the room, ready to pounce if the need arises. He slowly relaxes though as the only danger apparent seems to be me. When he looks down at me, he’s more concerned than angry and even that bit of anger leaves his eyes when he sees my hand. I follow his gaze and see that I’ve ripped open the skin of my first three fingers on my right hand and am bleeding quite profusely.

Before I can even move, Mal has pulled out five or six facial tissues from the box on my desk, taken my hand in his, and presses the tissues to my wound. That’s the first moment that I’m aware of any pain and suck in a tight breath as I wince a bit. Mal’s words are soft and comforting in response, “I know, it stings, but we don’t want to get an infection. Come on, we’re going to get you to the hospital. You’re probably going to need stitches.”

Mal continues to hold the tissues to my hand as he picks up my handset and calls HR, letting Mr. Sinclair know he’s taking me into the hospital for a work-related accident and that he’ll need a tech team to fix my computer while we’re out. I take advantage of the pause to reach down and pull the plug from my computer, not wanting anybody from the IT department to replace the monitor only to find out that the video is still playing in the background.

The trip to the hospital is rather uneventful. Mal’s hand never leaves mine, except for us getting in and out of his car, until the nurse tells him he’ll have to let go in order for her to take a look. It turns out he was right and I needed a few stitches to each finger and some band aids to my palm where my dagger-like nails dug into the skin from the **** of the punch. I’m given a supply of gauze-like gloves to keep the loose bandages on my fingers and palm that I’ll need to wear for a few days, as well as some supplies to keep my fingers clean. While they numbed up my fingers before putting the stitches in, Mal insisted they give me a prescription for pain control and I had to step in and stop him from demanding they give me morphine. Instead, I end up with a reasonable prescription of Norcos that I’m sure will offer more than enough pain relief.

I know I probably could have gotten out of work, but I insist on coming back to the office as I know I really have to get started on Mal’s assigned tasks if I want to get them done in a reasonable time. Mal apologizes for surprising me several times and seems to feel guilty enough that he’s forgotten why he was sneaking up on me in the first place. When we get back to the office, my desk has been tidied up, and I have a brand-new monitor. The computer is on, but it’s on my login screen and shows no attempts at logins since my last entry this morning.

The only frustrating thing about the day is Mal’s seeming obsession with making sure I’m okay. He checks in at least once every half hour and won’t leave until he’s sure I’m not only pain free and doing well but have everything I need. I realize just how much he’s focusing on me when I watch him walk by without giving it any thought only to see him come back a few minutes later with a cup of coffee. For me. Yes, he has one of his own cuppas as well, but the pure fact of the matter is that I’ve never actually seen him make his own coffee, let alone get coffee for someone else.

At the end of the day Mal escorts me back into his car where we drive over to his bachelor pad. He shows me around as if I’d been gone for a year and not a month and a half. I’m not sure whether I should be happy or sad, but it’s all still here. Basically, a home away from home. I have nearly a full wardrobe full of clothes including outfits for the office, going out casually, and going out dressed up. I have all my shower and hair products and a full collection of my cosmetics.

When Mal tells me he’s taking me someplace special but not to change, I feel my first twinge of nervousness. The only reason I wouldn’t change for a special date night would be a pre-date shopping trip. I worry about how much of this is him wanting to get me new clothes vs him wanting to try and see the ‘new me’ as I change clothes. I shouldn’t have worried as instead of taking me to some boutique he takes me to a fashion design studio. There, two beautiful women greet us. The elder of the two takes Mal’s arm and tells him that everything is ready.

Mal smiles at me, takes my hand and gives it a squeeze as he says, “Just let them do their work Paris. It should all be prepared and ready to go. Have fun!”

And with that Mal is escorted off in one direction while I’m escorted off in another. When the woman gets me to what looks like a sitting room, if it weren’t for the huge three-way mirror in the center of the room, she guides me in and gestures at a whole team of women, “Ladies, this is Paris Beaufort. Her boyfriend has selected her outfit for her so be gentle. She doesn’t know what we have for her!”

The woman turns to me and smiles, “Paris, as I suspect by the look on your face, Mr. Orpheus not only didn’t tell you what he chose, he didn’t tell you what this is. We’re a studio of Maria Pinto and specialize in getting vintage designer gowns and tuxedos. In this instance, he chose the Atelier Versace gown worn by Lady Gaga for the House of Gucci premier in Milan. It’s a beautiful, red, laced satin corset gown featuring crisscross detailing, a sexy slit, and a modest train. We were even able to obtain the same jewelry by Tiffany & Co and the same platform heels. We’ve already pre-altered the dress to better fit you, so step into the closet there, step out of your clothes, and into the pair of thong panties we’ve left for you.”

An hour later I’m standing in front of the mirrors with the whole team behind me. An hour seems like a long time, but they literally were altering the dress to get this exact fit, which it needed. The two thin spaghetti straps over my shoulders were more for show than support as the dress had to completely carry the load for upholding my breasts. No Bra. The built in corset was NOT just for show as it snicked my waist in tightly leaving all the little criss-cross detailing to show my skin underneath, especially the bottom of the neck line which dipped all the way down to my belly button. The dress hugged my body from just under my arm pits to my hips. They’d hug my legs just as much if it wasn’t for the slit that started incredibly high up on my left thigh and showed off my entire leg. And while the heels weren’t especially high, the fact that the shoes were on a two-inch platform made me feel like I was walking on stilts.

Finally, if I needed any reminder of why this outfit was rented for the night instead of purchased, all I had to do was glance at my jewelry. Between the Apollo diamond and gold spike earclips, the graduated link necklace, the five bracelets, and six rings, I was wearing just under one hundred thousand dollar’s worth of Tiffany and Co bling.

If the team had only gotten me dressed, put all my jewelry on, and got me into these heels, it would have been amazing. But they had an entire team ready to do my makeup and hair as well. I certainly couldn’t pull off Lady Gaga’s unique look but my sultry bedroom Hollywood makeup was certainly inspired by her look, as is my hair. Looking in the mirror I can’t believe I’m looking at me as I’ve never seen someone look that beautiful and that glamorous in real life. It’s always been saved for red carpet walks at movie premiers or on E television. Seven months ago, I’d have been horrified to know that such a beauty was me, but now, after six months of presenting as Paris, as a woman, as a sex object, I’m just simply amazed that I can look that good. This good.

When I meet Mal back in the lobby, I see that he’s had a similar experience as he’s in a Tuxedo that looks like it was straight out of the movie while his hair was styled more like Adam Driver’s. He was even wearing what looked like the same iconic glasses from the movie. It takes me a beat to recognize that the glasses and tux probably aren’t look-a-likes. Like my dress and jewelry, they’re probably the real deal.

We have our photo taken a few times before we exit and see a white 1988 Lamborghini Countach Anniversary, again looking just like the one in the movie, waiting for us. Thank GOD the dress had the slit as I’m not sure there was any way I could have gotten into the low-slung sports car without it. As is, I needed Mal’s help to get out once we got to the Orchestra Hall at Symphony Center.

Walking in, I expected to see everybody dressed up like we were. Maybe this was a costume or Hollywood themed party. But while everybody was certainly dressed up for a black-tie event, in tuxes and gowns, we seemed to be the only couple dressed up this spectacularly and glamorously.

Mal chatted with several people, always introducing me simply as Paris, or Miss Beaufort. Not as his girlfriend or secretary. I imagine at this level of society it might be expected to see men accompanied by women that weren’t their wives, though I don’t know if that means I was being looked at like a whore or a friend.

Once we were seated, in a private box of course, and the lights went down I was immediately entranced by the music. I’ve never been the biggest classical music fan but according to the program I was listening to Hilary Hahn performing Mozart's Violin Concerto No. 2 and Stravinsky's Pulcinella suite, backed up by the world-famous Chicago Symphony Orchestra. During the intermission when Mal excused himself to go visit with some business clients, I took the opportunity to look up the show and was shocked to learn that this was a single night performance that was completely sold out, even though the other four seats in our box were empty. Not only that, but evidently the concert sold out within minutes of it going on sale. Last year.

I have no idea how long Mal has been planning this date, but it’s not something even he could have put together at the last minute. He had to have been thinking of our first date out after my surgery for… weeks?

Mal got back to his seat just as the lights were dimming for the rest of the show. While it’s still on my mind and before I lose the nerve, I lean in close to Mal, wrap my arms around his, and gave him a soft but loving kiss on the cheek before whispering, “Thank you for all of this Mal. It’s… you’re making me feel very special.”

Mal’s and my hands remained intertwined for the remainder of the concert, and I only realized at the grand finale, as we stood up to applaud, that at no time today had Mal put any sexual advances on me. No hand job in the office, no insistence of viewing my body again, no inappropriate touches, not even a peek while I was getting dressed up for him or a single touch to my bare leg right next to him for the past several hours. He was and remains, a perfect gentleman.