The Crossover Read Online Free Page B

than Mario and had humongous hands. Tammy was African-American and had an orange tint afro. Tammy’s big, hooped earrings constantly swung in motion as she used a lot of head movements when she spoke. She was definitely a man.
    “Follow me, sweetness.”
    Again I felt less than manly. I followed Tammy down the opposite corridor to the men’s changing room. I wanted to cancel but Monet paid up front.
    I took the longest time to undress and don my complimentary robe. I peeked outside and Tammy was patiently waiting tapping her feet and chewing gum.
    “Don’t be shy, sweetie. Let me check to see if our room is free.”
    I prayed that it was occupied. That was my ticket out.
    “C’mon precious, I won’t hurt you,” Tammy said as she opened the door.
    It was spotless inside. The ivory décor was a nice touch and gave it a sense of cleanliness. A burgundy leather massage table was the focal point of the room. There was a partition for me to disrobe and tie a towel around my waist. The only redeeming factor of this experience was I momentarily forgot about the love of my life being halfnude alone with what’s his face. I felt vulnerable. I reluctantly laid on the table face down, my cheeks in clinch mode.
    Across from me were a mix of lotions and other accessories to be used during the session.
    Tammy stood in front of me and gave me her well-rehearsed spiel.
    “This is a legitimate establishment. I don’t give hand jobs and don’t ask me for a blow job. So let’s get that straight, okaaay.”
    Wow. If she only knew how distasteful that sounded.
    “Okay.”
    “Also, it’s perfectly natural if you get an erection; we can work through that.”
    “Yeah, somehow I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem.”
    “Just sayin’ if it happens, it happens. No big deal.”
    “So what’s the VIP treatment?” I asked.
    “Hun, this is top-shelf pampering. First you get a fab wax job and then you’ll get a royal massage that will make your toes curl,” Tammy said enthusiastically.
    “Waxing?” I had flashbacks of the movie Forty-Year-Old Virgin.
    “Honey child, we wax everything from the back to the sack to the crack.”
    “Okay. I’m outa here. I need to check on Monet,” I said as I got up from the table and went to get my robe.
    “Sorry, no offense. I’m just a little uncomfortable.” Tammy was taken aback by my attitude and my abruptness. “Would you prefer a man instead?”
    “You are a man.”
    My inside voice slipped out again.
    Tammy became upset and highly emotional. I could tell I hurt her feelings. I felt terrible. She reached for her wallet.
    “Here, this is my driver’s license. What does it say?” Tammy asked.
    I stuck my hands in my robe pockets and squinted to read the print on Tammy’s license.
    “It says, Tammy Monroe, Sex: Female?”
    “Damn skippy. If the State can recognize me as a woman, why can’t you?” Tammy said, waving her forefinger all around my face.
    I felt like I was being unduly chastised so I walked towards to the door in silence. Exit stage left. I paused for a moment and then I looked over my shoulder and Tammy’s eyes were welling up.
    Guilt consumed me.
    I did an about face.
    Sigh.
    “Okay, I owe you an apology. I’m sorry for calling you a man.”
    Tammy reached for a tissue and wiped her eyes before blowing her nose. It sounded like a foghorn.
    “I don’t want your pity, all right?”
    I sat back on the massage table and asked her to sit next to me.
    “Tammy, this isn’t about pity. It’s about trying to right a wrong. I’ve got some insecurities and that’s on me. I shouldn’t have projected them onto you. You seem like a very nice person.”
    Tammy sat next to me, balled up the tissue and threw it into the trash can way on the other side of the room. Maybe she really was a point guard in her former life.
    “I don’t even know your name sweetie.”
    “All right. Let’s start from the beginning, okay? Hi, my name is Clay,” I said as I extended my