One Snip Short 
        ==============


Karen paused outside the lavatories. To the left was the 
Gents, signified by a pin figure. To the right was the 
Ladies, where a similar pin figure wore the silhouette of a 
skirt. Well, it was obvious really. She was the one in the 
skirt, so she pushed the door open with a determined and 
resolute thrust.

After relieving herself, she busied herself with the real 
reason she'd scuttled off to the loo, and that was to adjust 
her hair, reassure herself about the make-up she'd thickly 
applied to her face, and to make sure the scarf hadn't 
slipped down too low. Yes, it was fine! She added an extra 
lustre to the deep red of her lipstick, revelling in her 
reflection in the mirror. 

She was an attractive woman: that was for sure. Slim, 
curvy and, this she knew from the heads that turned 
appreciatively as she strode across the bar, very striking. 
Her hair fell over her face, almost obscuring her well-
rouged cheeks. Had the hairdresser left her hair too long? 
Or could he have snipped a little more off? This was an 
extra anxiety she could have done well without.

She returned to the bar where Kenneth was waiting, 
sipping his glass of wine, the Guardian that had identified 
him when she arrived in the bar still in front of him.

Karen had been ever so nervous when she set off earlier 
that evening for the date she'd arranged through the dating 
agency. Was Kenneth really the slim, handsome, w/e 
graduate that had attracted her attention? Was he really 
sensitive with a Good Sense Of Humour? So far there was 
nothing about him that suggested otherwise.

But she was still nervous about her description of herself 
that must have taken his eye. Sure, she was slim, attractive, 
keen on the arts, enjoyed walks in the countryside and 
liked a good time, but as she knew, and he still didn't, there 
was much more about her that she had deliberately omitted 
to mention. But would she ever do so? It was her intention 
to, but when would the time be right?

She sat down opposite him and sipped her glass of 
Chardonnay, and glanced around at the other couples who 
looked as sophisticated as she hoped Kenneth and she did 
in the slightly pretentious wine bar she'd arranged to meet 
him.

"You must excuse me," she said anxiously. "I'm very 
nervous. I've never done this before."

He looked at her through soft green eyes, with just the glint 
of contact lens, and smiled. The slight blueness of his 
cheeks swelled as his teeth shone in the candle-light of Le 
Jeune Obscure, as the wine-bar christened itself.

"My first time, too," he said softly. His voice was gentle 
and seductive, but she was astute enough to see a kind of 
restiveness, even awkwardness, about him. "I'd wondered 
what it would be like, you know, meeting someone like 
you when it's sort of arranged. A kind of confession of 
failure, I suppose."

"Failure?" wondered Karen, with a slight alarm How could 
someone so handsome, but also so gentle and reserved, be 
anything less than a total success in the game of love? In 
fact, why had some fortunate woman not already clasped 
him to her bosom? Karen was sure that if she was lucky 
enough to take Kenneth in her grasp, nothing, but nothing, 
would ever take him away from her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to say that you were a 
failure. I'm positive that someone as beautiful as you is 
nothing but a success when it comes to, you know, 
catching men's attention."

"It's never as easy as that," she said automatically, and 
hoped that he didn't guess the deeper meanings of her 
words. "The right man has just never come along, I guess."

"The same here," he said. And then with a blush, he 
corrected himself. "The right woman, that is. I've never 
found the right woman."

"That is so difficult to believe."

"And me with you," he agreed. "But the path to true love, 
as they say..."

She shook her head in agreement. "It's not smooth. It's not 
smooth at all."

And, indeed, it never had been for Karen.

In a sense, she still thought of herself as a virgin. Perhaps 
not so in the literal sense, but in an emotional sense there 
was a truth about this she was too embarrassed to admit. 
True, she had experimented. There were the men who'd 
enjoyed her body when times were hard and the doctors' 
bills most difficult to afford, but she knew for sure that 
she'd not really relished their affection as much as they 
apparently did. And, in any case, her scruples had never let 
her go beyond oral sex. She may have suffered financially 
as a result, but she had limits she'd set herself, however 
desperate she might have been.

When she was young and not so sure of herself she'd even 
had sex with women, but this was wholly unsatisfactory 
and more than anything reinforced in her mind just where 
her sexual preferences lay. It wasn't just the humiliation of 
leaving her female lovers dissatisfied: there was also the 
deeper discovery that she would never be the sort of 
woman who could properly love another woman however 
much she enjoyed her company.

"Do you like this wine bar?" Kenneth asked, perhaps 
noticing Karen's restlessness.

"It's not the sort of place I'd normally go to," she admitted.

"And what sort of place might that be?" he asked 
sympathetically. 

Karen didn't want to compromise herself too much by 
discussing the sort of slightly run-down pubs she'd more 
often go to where she felt more at ease. She glanced 
through the plate-glass windows of the wine bar at the 
darkening shadows of Kensington High Street.

"I like restaurants," she said. "There are some very nice 
ones near here, I'm sure."

"Do you like Italian?" 

"Italian. Portuguese. Thai. Anything, really. Just 
somewhere friendly and," she lowered her voice, "above 
all, intimate."

"I don't know this part of town so well, but I saw a nice 
small Italian on the way here."

Karen nodded. 

His smile broadened and for a moment Karen was 
speechless in the gleam of his penetrating green eyes and 
the seductive blueness of those cheeks which no razor 
could emasculate. Could men really be so luscious and yet 
she be so lucky to have such a man as a date? Even if he 
left her now, she would remain with memories of what 
might have been that would comfort her on many a lonely 
night at home. Oh please please let it work! Just this one 
time!

She nervously adjusted the scarf around her neck, stroked a 
stubbornly wilful strand of hair into place and swiftly 
drank the last few dregs of her glass.

He stood up sharply. "Shall we go now?"

"The rest of your wine?" asked Karen, whose days of 
relatively poverty and the sacrifices she'd made prejudiced 
her against such waste.

"Don't worry about that. We can get another bottle in the 
Fiorenze."

As the two of them walked along the high street, Karen 
shyly slipped her arm into the crook of Kenneth's and was 
pleased that he didn't let it slide away. He seemed 
genuinely happy in her company and his lively 
conversation about the Italian meals he cooked at home 
distracted her mind from her anxieties. She just hoped his 
affection for her wouldn't lessen if ever he discovered more 
about her than she felt willing to disclose at the moment.

The Fiorenze was a very small restaurant with barely more 
than a half dozen tables, but it was pleasingly busy.  The 
waiter showed the couple to a table for two where Karen 
was able to study Kenneth's face lit from below by a candle 
and hardly at all by the low lights of the restaurant. The 
candle's play on his cheeks and chiselled chin made him 
look, if anything, even more infeasibly handsome. She 
hoped the same subdued romantic flicker would enhance 
her own beauty. Or, at the very least, obscure any 
imperfections. 

It was rare for Karen to enjoy a man's company and to talk 
so much. Normally, it was the man who'd do the talking 
and in the course reveal enough of his character for her to 
be able to dismiss him as a realistic proposition. But here, 
with Kenneth, it was she who was doing most of the 
talking, but not so frankly that her more intimate secrets 
were revealed. She discussed the books she'd read, the 
countries she'd visited on holiday (despite them not being 
at all exotic), her executive job in the Home Office, the 
plans she had of re-decorating her flat, and her abiding, but 
still guilty, love of cheesy dance music.

Kenneth laughed sympathetically.

"You don't have to apologise for liking mushy stuff like 
that!" he said. "I quite like house and garage and smooth 
jazz. Why! I've even got records by people like Macy 
Gray."

"Do you go to night clubs?" she wondered, getting 
dangerously close to the limits of what she was willing to 
discuss. If she mentioned the places she'd be more likely to 
spend her nights, what would Kenneth think?

"Not often," he admitted. "I'm a stay-at-home guy mostly, 
though I like a drink with my mates. Although..." and he 
paused, as if uncertain whether he should say anything, but 
he checked himself, "...I've sometimes been to some pretty 
banging night clubs. I quite like hard house, I think. You 
know, music by people like Tony de Vit..."

Karen frowned. "I've never heard of him. What kind of 
music does he play?"

It was Kenneth's turn to look slightly uncomfortable. "Er... 
hard house. Anyway, it's not what you'd call easy listening. 
Erm, do you like Jamie Cullum?"

She nodded, slightly aware that an awkward moment had 
been sidestepped.

Karen was secretly relieved, when the bill came, that 
Kenneth insisted on paying the whole tab. At a snip short 
of œ70, it was a little too much for her to afford what with 
the ongoing debt on her medical bills. If only there was less 
distance between the two of them, she would have leant 
over and given him a kiss there and then.

It was very dark when the two of them ventured out of the 
restaurant into a street slightly shining from a brief shower 
of rain. Taxis and buses cruised by, lighting up the moist 
black tarmac with their headlamps. The tube station was 
only a couple of hundred yards away. What should happen 
now?

Karen glanced at Kenneth who was almost exactly the 
same height as her, but would be slightly taller if she 
wasn't wearing such high heels. Perhaps her thoughts were 
written too clearly on her face because he bent his face 
towards her. This was an opportunity not to be missed! Her 
mouth eagerly opened and the two began kissing 
passionately under the streetlamp, pedestrians dodging 
past.

There was a great deal she could establish from the snog, 
even though she was far too much of a lady to confirm her 
suspicions by placing a hand on his crotch. When their lips 
parted and she could see the bright gleam in his eyes, the 
rim of green cornea overwhelmed by the black of his 
pupils, she knew that the evening wouldn't end with a fond 
farewell at Kensington High Street tube station.

"Erm..." she said in a voice husky with excitement. "My 
flat's not far from here..."

"Is that so?" he asked, his mouth again seeking out hers to 
resume the kiss they had enjoyed so much.

The couple made their way back to her small flat, on which 
the payments for the mortgage often caused her to despair 
and contemplate a return to her earlier more desperate 
ways of earning enough to meet her financial 
commitments. They made their way up the narrow stairway 
to the second floor, his arm so reassuring around her waist 
and she still not sure whether this was all a dream that 
would soon come to an unhappy end.

There was no need for excuses. There was no pretence at 
preparing coffee, no giggling discussion on how 
comfortable the sofa was, and no apologies for missing the 
last train. They made their way directly to Karen's 
bedroom, threw themselves onto the mattress and resumed 
their passionate embraces.

However enjoyable kissing can be, and Karen was enjoying 
Kenneth's tongue inside her mouth more than she'd ever 
enjoyed physical intimacy with anyone before in her life, 
there comes a point where the tongues must part. In any 
case, the very blueness of his chin that attracted Karen so 
much when lit beneath by the restaurant candle was now 
grating painfully against her cheeks.

"What now?" he asked, as their mouths parted.

She smiled. She knew exactly what she wanted to do. And 
it was something she'd wanted to do ever since she saw 
Kenneth's details as supplied by the dating agency. She slid 
down onto her knees in front of him. She unzipped his 
flies. And with a gasp of delight she pulled loose his erect 
penis which had been pressing so hard against the crotch. 
She bent her head down and applied her tongue and mouth 
to the glorious proof of manliness that she'd unsheathed.

Her head bobbed up and down on his lap, his penis inside 
her mouth and pressed against the back of her throat. He 
certainly hadn't been lying in his ad. She'd never known a 
better endowed man than Kenneth.

When he ejaculated, as he did after just over ten minutes of 
her ministrations, she made sure that as much as possible 
spurt into her mouth, so that only the barest dribble of 
semen trailed down her chin, which she greedily lapped up. 
She still wasn't sure whether she liked the taste of semen, 
but she was certain that with more practice she should soon 
appreciate it rather more, perhaps as one gradually came to 
appreciate blue cheese and good wine.

But would she have another opportunity with him?

Karen leaned back, her knees on the carpet and her skirt 
taut above her knees. She looked imploringly into 
Kenneth's eyes, so green and excited. She held tight onto 
his penis, which still had life in it despite its release, and 
smiled at him shyly.

"I wasn't being totally honest in my ad, you know," she 
said above the thunder of her heart.

He frowned. "Sorry?"

"I haven't been totally honest with you."

"But you're exactly as you said you were. I don't 
understand."

"It's not what I said," she replied. "It's what I didn't say."

"What you didn't say? Why? Are you a secret axe 
murderer? Do you vote Tory? What can it be?"

"I haven't always been a woman."

"Oh!"

"I'm mostly a woman now, but I haven't always been one."

Kenneth took a deep intake of breath. His face changed in 
a way Karen couldn't decipher. Was he shocked? Would he 
jump up in disgust and leave? But how long could she have 
kept up the pretence without her secret being discovered 
anyway?

"Post- or pre-op?" he asked at last.

"Pre-," she said sadly. "I've had the hormone treatment. I've 
had surgery to my breasts, thighs and so on. I'm almost 
there."

"You just haven't had the snip?"

She shook her head. "I'm too frightened. It's something I've 
always meant to do, but the idea still scares me. It's so 
expensive anyway."

"Just one snip short?" he asked in a voice she was sure was 
kind and sympathetic, rather than the disgust she'd feared. 
Significantly, he hadn't shifted his body, letting her hand 
rest by his penis.

Karen nodded her head. She gazed imploringly into his 
eyes.

There was a pause while Kenneth returned her gaze with a 
complex expression that she hoped (hoped so much!) 
would not collapse into utter rejection. Perhaps they could 
just be friends. That would be better than nothing.

Kenneth coughed.

"You're not the only one to be deceitful," he said at last.

"I don't understand."

"I also omitted to mention certain truths."

"You did?"

Kenneth sat up, his trousers and underpants still around his 
knees. Karen withdrew her hand and let it rest by her side.

"It wasn't me who wrote the advert. It was my mates."

"It was!" she said. At least they had accurately described 
the fact he was well-endowed. But then, she wondered, 
how did they know?

"My mates were worried about me. They're good friends, 
but they'd been worried that I didn't have a girlfriend. In 
fact, that I've never had a girlfriend."

"You haven't?" she asked in genuine surprise.

"I'm gay," said Kenneth. "Not bi. One hundred percent 
homosexual. I've just never been attracted to women. But 
my mates, most of whom I've known since school, they're 
all straight. So they assume I'm the same. And, of course, 
I've been too terrified, really, to let on what I'm really like."

"So they got in touch with the dating agency for you?"

"It wasn't behind my back," he said with a smile. "They're 
good mates, not wind-up merchants. They genuinely 
thought they were doing the best for me. But once 
everything was in motion, there was nothing I could do but 
go along with them."

Karen sighed.

"Does that mean that you don't, that you don't... fancy me?"

"That's the strange thing. I must have guessed somehow. It 
wasn't the scarf around your throat, though in retrospect 
that would be the most obvious sign. It's the little things. 
The thickness of your wrists, the shape of your jaw, the 
texture of your hair, the huskiness of your voice, the things 
you don't sort of immediately notice. But I guess it was 
those little things that made me think that perhaps there 
was something about women that's not so bad really."

"So, do you actually think I'm...?"

"Yes, I do find you attractive, Karen. And the fact you're 
also still something of a guy, well, I think I must have 
struck gold."

"Do you really mean that?" she asked breathlessly, a tear 
trickling from the corner of her eye and a stirring from 
inside her skirt that reciprocated Kenneth's own openly 
displayed proof of manhood.

"You may be one snip short of a complete woman," he said 
with a reassuring smile, "but you're all the woman I'll ever 
need."