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. just one biscuit ... but a pile of hash browns ... yeah ... with Texas Pete ... no tobasco. Two rashers of soft bacon ... not crisp. Buttered toast to sop up the runaways. A big water glass of mango orange juice.Sure, I could eat it all and wash it down with coffee.But ... I’d settle for coffee and toast.A step and movement at the hatch.“Ah ... you’re awake,” he said.Two mugs of steaming coffee, one in each hand. How he managed to keep them level with the rocking and rolling his boat was doing I’ll never know. I’d been at sea or living aboard for 12 years and I know I couldn’t do it. At the very best I could fetch and carry half a mug and not spill it.“Naked or sweet?”“Brand?”“You never heard of it,” he said. “Black or cream and sugar?” he asked again.“Ah,” I said, “You only get one shot...” I thought a second, “Or maybe not. Black.”Black was the one in his right hand. He passed it over. I took a sip.“Ooo ... french press...”“What?”“Best coffee in the world. Grounds barely covered. "Dennis nodded. "Okay," he agreed, his voice and posture meek."Great! I'll see you there."---What the hell am I doing, Dennis asked himself. He asked it in his mind over and over as he drove out to About Face. Dennis had never been to a gay bar. He rarely went out at all. He spent most of his evenings at home with his cat, reading or watching television. He was terrified and exhilarated at the same time. The day had started as a harmless adventure to indulge his secret crossdressing, but now it was escalating. He hadn't dressed to go out. He wasn't ready for that yet. But he had on a pair of black French cut panties and a matching silk camisole under his jeans and chambray shirt.As he had done at the wig shop, he sat in his car for several long minutes to get up his courage. It was an effort of will to open the car door and step out. He walked slowly to the front door of the bar. There was a well built young man at the door with a close-cropped black goatee and a blond crewcut. He was.
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