My work trip fantasy

The plane touched down in Las Vegas and my stomach did a nervous flip. I was here on a work trip for the marketing agency I work for. The company is run by a bunch of guys who handle the big executive sales side.

My job is coordinating with models and productions, which is funny because so many of our clients are clothing and makeup brands. No one at work knew the real reason I had asked to leave early at 2 PM and skip the team dinner. I told them, “Sorry guys, I’m not feeling great tonight. I think I’m just going to rest in my room.” It was a lie, but it gave me the whole evening to finally step out as Becky for the first time.

Becky had always been my secret. It started when I was little, sneaking into my mom’s closet and feeling this quiet, warm joy whenever I slipped on something soft and pretty. It stayed buried for years, just a private fantasy. Then Covid hit. I started working from home full time and suddenly I had hours alone every day. That is when it became real. I bought my first heels, watched makeup tutorials late into the night, and fell completely in love with the feeling of becoming feminine.

Over the next six years I practiced constantly. I perfected my makeup looks, worked on my movements and posture, and became so in love with being Becky. But there were cycles of guilt and shame too. I would dress up, feel euphoric, then crash with regret. I am in a long-term relationship with my girlfriend and she has no idea. None of my friends or family know either. I still live as the normal guy everyone expects. Becky has always been my deepest secret.

That evening at the Cosmopolitan, after staring at myself in the mirror for what felt like forever, I took the plunge. I blasted Ariana Grande through my AirPods to calm my nerves and said out loud to my reflection, “Okay Becky, you can do this. Just be pretty tonight.” I shaved every inch of my body until my skin felt silky smooth. I did my makeup slowly and carefully: foundation, contour, highlighter, long lashes, smoky eyes, and glossy lips that made me look soft and kissable. I slipped into a tiny white lace thong, then the black lace romper with the soft flowy sleeves that hugged my waist and flared out at the wrists. I zipped up the thigh-high suede boots that made my legs look endless. Finally I brushed out my blonde wig and set it perfectly. When I looked in the mirror, Becky stared back. I whispered to myself, “Wow… you look really pretty.” My heart swelled. I looked graceful, feminine, and pretty. For the first time I felt completely like her. I felt sexy. I felt alive.

I took a deep breath and walked out of my room. My legs shook a little in the boots, but every step made the lace sway and the heels clicked on the marble floor. I felt so sexy and nervous at the same time.

I met up with Sarah and Rachel, two crossdresser friends I had met online months ago. Sarah was in a tight red mini dress with strappy heels and big bouncy curls. Rachel wore a sparkly silver bodycon dress that shimmered under the lights and clear platform heels.

Sarah hugged me first and said, “Becky! You look stunning, girl! That romper is fire.” Rachel grinned and added, “Seriously, those boots are giving legs for days. How are you feeling?” I laughed nervously and replied, “Terrified but so excited. This is my first time out like this.” They both squealed and pulled me into the group. “You’re going to kill it tonight,” Sarah said.

We walked into the dance club on the Strip together. The music was loud and pulsing. Lights flashed across the crowd. This was my first time out in public as Becky. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my throat, but I also felt powerful and pretty. We danced together for a while, laughing and moving to the beat. Sarah shouted over the music, “You’re glowing, Becky!” I yelled back, “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this!”

I offered to get us drinks and headed to the bar. That is when he appeared. Jason stepped up beside me. He was tall, easily 6 foot 2, with broad shoulders, silver hair, and the calm confidence of a man who knew exactly who he was. He looked at me, smiled slow and warm, and said in a deep voice, “These are on me, beautiful.” He paid for all three drinks without asking, handed them to me, and gave me one last flirty wink before he walked away. His walk was so masculine and sure of himself that I could not stop staring.

I stood there frozen for a second, confused and weirded out. Why couldn’t I stop staring at him? He was nothing like the guys I usually noticed. He was older, taller, muscular, so masculine… and yet something about the way he looked at me and the confident way he moved made my stomach flutter in a way that felt way too good. I was flirting with a guy. Me. And it felt exciting. That realization hit me hard and left me feeling strange and off-balance as I carried the drinks back to the girls.

I got a little tipsy as the night went on. Jason found me again on the dance floor. He asked me to dance in that smooth, confident way. “Would you like to dance with me?” he said, his voice low and warm. I said yes before I could think twice, even though a voice in my head immediately started racing. Why am I doing this? I don’t even like guys. This is crazy. I’m not supposed to feel excited about a guy asking me to dance. But my body was already moving toward him, and the excitement was winning.

We started facing each other, eyes locked. The beat pulled us closer until his strong hands settled on my hips and drew me in. I could feel the heat of his body, the solid muscle under his shirt. He turned me slowly so my back pressed against his chest. His hands stayed on my hips, guiding me as I rolled against him to the music. Every movement made me more aware of how tall and powerful he was compared to me. His breath brushed my ear as he leaned down and whispered, “You look incredible tonight, princess.” The words sent a shiver through me. I pushed back into him, feeling bold and feminine at the same time. I could feel him getting hard against me, and instead of pulling away, I arched my back a little more, letting the sensation build. One of his hands slid lower, resting just above my ass, holding me there possessively while we moved together. He pressed his lips lightly to the side of my neck for a moment, breathing me in like he could not get enough.

The music kept pounding and the lights flashed around us. He tried to lead me off the dance floor toward somewhere more private. In my head I screamed absolutely not. But as the song ended and he gently took my hand, I looked up at him with a shy, flirty smile and said softly, “Not tonight, Daddy… but let’s enjoy a few more songs.”

He chuckled low, his eyes sparkling with amusement and desire. “You’re trouble, princess. The good kind.” He leaned in closer, voice warm and intimate. “I could dance with you all night. You feel so perfect against me.” His thumb brushed my waist as he added, “But I’ll behave… for now. Just know I’m already thinking about the next time I get to hold you like this.”

I felt my cheeks flush. The flirtation felt so natural and exciting. We shared one last slow sway to the music, his hand still resting possessively on my hip, before I finally pulled away.

I walked out of the club without looking back, but I could still feel his eyes on my back until I disappeared into the night.

Back in my room at the Cosmopolitan I was a mess. I replayed the night over and over. Guilt hit first. Then shame. Then pure excitement. Then curiosity. The feelings spun around and around until I finally passed out, still wearing the lace romper.

The next morning I woke up still buzzing. There was a knock at the door. Room service brought in a beautiful bouquet of white and blush roses, a chilled bottle of champagne, and a small cream envelope.

I opened the note with shaking hands and read it. My eyes widened in surprise. How did he find my room number? I never gave him my name, my number, or any contact info at all. Yet here was a personal note addressed to me. That realization sent a fresh wave of nervous excitement through me.

“Beautiful Becky,
Last night you lit up that entire club. The way you moved in that lace… I haven’t stopped thinking about you. You’re intoxicating.

I’d love the chance to spoil you properly today. Wear something pretty for me.

Text me when you’re ready, princess. I’m already counting the minutes.

Yours,
Jason”

I sat on the edge of the bed, flowers in my lap, champagne sweating on the tray, staring at his number.
Part of me felt euphoric, like a real girl being romanced and desired by a strong, confident man. Another part felt deeply confused. I kept going back and forth in my head. I do not like guys like that. I have never liked guys like that. This is just a fantasy. I am a normal guy with a girlfriend I love. But then the thoughts flipped again. Do I like guys like that? The way Jason looked at me, the way he touched me, the way he made me feel so feminine and wanted… it felt so good. Do I actually like guys like that? The question kept spinning and spinning, and I had no answer.

Should I write a part two?