What Has Rachel Done To Me?

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," my words are blunt and I am doing my best impression at seething with distaste and disgust.

Too bad she's not buying it.

"Oh shut up, bitch," Rachel replies cheerfully, "You've got nothing to complain about."

And really I didn't. After the morning I'd had with so many men and the afternoon I'd had with her alone, complaining is the last thing I should be doing.

"Besides," she goes on, "Even if this was optional which, I will remind you, it isn't. And even if you hadn't agreed to let me be your guide to all things sexuality and sexual expression. There is still also in addition to all of that the simple and undeniable truth that you completely and utterly owe me."

"I do," I sigh.

"Because I totally saved your ass," she smiles at me.

"You did," I acknowledge, nodding regretfully.

"So fucking cheer up, bitch!" she laughs, "Because tonight is going to be amazing and you, and I say this as someone who absolutely cannot get enough of you at the best of times, look hot as fuck."

As if to emphasize that she grabs my ass. And I do mean my ass because she grabbed the fabric covering it, sure, but the dress she'd put me in was short enough that she got plenty of bare skin as well.

But I might just be getting ahead of myself here.

How to best summarize the events of the past few hours? Do I start when Blake left me on my knees covered in his cum and hidden behind a few flimsy tents but otherwise out in the open and totally exposed? Do I cover how my only thought had been to contact Rachel who had showed up with paper towels and a baggy sweater that she'd managed to con some frat boy out of?

Or do I jump ahead to her dorm room where Rachel had made me put on a fashion show consisting of every single dress in her closet? Do I talk about what happened after she'd settled on the right dress for me and before she'd gone to town on my makeup?

The shower? The one that we shared together? The long and lingering one that involved far more exploration that I knew I had in me and that left me so weak in the knees that she gave me the benefit of being, as she put it, a 'pillow princess' once we were back in her dorm room where she used her tongue to get me so dirty that I might have actually needed a shower again?

Or do I talk about the process of her making me over? Do I focus on the way that I watched myself transform by her skilled hand? The way my eyes stared transfixed in the mirror as she brought my femininity out of me until I was staring at someone more beautiful than I ever knew I could be?

Heart achingly beautiful. Show stoppingly beautiful. Head turningly beautiful.

And it was all because she knew what I needed, and knew how to give it to me.

So where do I begin? How do I state all of that without leaving anything behind? How do I explain that my reticence here, out in the open, is merely the last vestiges of a self defense mechanism that is half-tied to my waning masculinity and half-tied to my general wallflowerness?

How do I explain that the hours spent with Rachel made me want to be a woman even more than I already did? How do I explain that the teasing, the protests, and even the compliments are all seasoning on a life that I was starting to love?

How do I fully tell someone that, right now, I'm the happiest I've been in years? That I'm maybe the happiest I've ever been?

How do I say anything even remotely like that that without sounding like a fool?

And how do I say it without calling down fate to strike me down for my hubris?

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