A Breeches Play
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, CrossDressing, Fiction, Slow,
Desc: Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Sandy is tired of being the object of come-ons or derision at every gaming table. So this year at her annual trip to BigCon, she decides to attend incognito. Unfortunately her disguise ends up getting her more attention than she had planned for.
"Aaaand with that PPC blast, I get to roll on your Center Torso." Sandy grinned, shaking a six-sided die in her hand at the level of her shoulder.
"Pfft ... cheater." Came the answering grunt from the well fed gamer in the black "Dark Side of the Moon" t-shirt.
"Do you just want to concede then?" Sandy glanced around the table at the five faces of her fellow players. It had been a good game tonight, with the exception of this one particular fellow, who couldn't seem to understand the difference between reality and space opera.
"Inner sphere stravog..." came the answering insult, which pretty much answered the question. Sandy shrugged her shoulders, rolling the die onto the felt of the gaming table with a backwards spin of her hand.
"Engine. That's the third." She grinned again, at the darkening features of her opponent.
"I'm not going to talk to you anymore." He glowered, pushing his glasses down to stare over them at her. "You totally cheated."
"Because I didn't line my 'mechs up and play shoving match?" Sandy boggled at the reaction. It was just a game; one that she happened to be pretty good at, in her opinion. You played, you shook hands afterwords and you set up for the next one.
"You have no honor," he sulked again. "In a fair fight I totally would have won with my Clan warriors."
"Or, in other words, shoving match. I have jump jets; I'm going to use them." Sandy began to pick up her miniatures: Small, old, metal and well loved. Here and there was a fleck of paint missing, but it just added to the mystique of her battle machines. They looked like they had been in a scrape or two, which is exactly the way she liked it.
"You shot me in the back." He complained. What was his name, what was his name? Sandy ran a finger through her brown hair, pushing back a strand that had fallen to lie across her cheek. Mike? Mack?
"Because your armor is weaker there. Kinda the idea." Mitch? Maybe? She wasn't sure. All she was sure of was this guy showed up to her table and constantly argued about the rules. He wanted to play level three rules when they were playing level two, but only the rules that had to do with new and deadlier weapons, of course. He wanted his experimental house rules when they were playing level three. And god forbid you ever tried to play with the most basic set of rules whenever he showed up because he would complain that you couldn't play the Clans.
"I demand she's out of the game." Miles spoke angrily, THAT was his name Sandy remembered, addressing the other four people who were standing around the gaming table in the back of the game store.
"Dude, she won." That would be Kevin. The tall, slightly overweight, man moved up beside Sandy and she was happy to see her long term friend was at least going to stand up for her.
"Sure, if you want to play in a game where honor counts for nothing." Miles argued, paying no attention to the fact that Sandy had finished cleaning up her miniatures, and was now staring at his, which remained on the table. She wanted to get at least one more game in tonight, and touching another gamer's stuff was usually considered pretty rude. Of course, not cleaning up your stuff was also very rude, but Miles didn't seem to feel the pressure of the gamer etiquette.
"Dude, she's playing Periphery. She's already at a disadvantage." Kevin responded to the challenge with gusto. For a moment, Sandy was delighted to see someone on her side of the argument, before a flash of anger crossed her cheeks. This was her fight, not his, and she didn't need him to come in and try to play peacemaker with a guy who was trying to show that he had a big dick.
"So she gets to cheat, is that what you're saying?" Miles doubled down, appealing to the other players at the table, who were beginning to edge away. This was infuriating to Sandy. To have this fatbeard smearing her because he...
"No, SHE would just like to play the damn game, Miles. Mind getting your figs?" Sandy gestured at the table, and noticed that Miles did not even move or acknowledge her response.
"You guys don't get to give her special treatment just because she's a girl." Miles complained loudly, and one of the others at the table responded by heading towards the soda machine in the corner. "It's always like this. She just bats her eyes at you and suddenly the rules change for her."
"Dude. Just ... Dude." Kevin rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling. Miles glowered at Kevin with crossed arms and a tapping foot. The sound of the patter on the linoleum floor echoed in the silence of the room. Sandy wished that he would at least acknowledge her presence, but he already seemed to have changed the target of his argument.
Sandy sighed, wishing the moment to be over. The game was already over. It happened far too often in her campaigns. She'd start the campaign, and the local gamers would fall over themselves to join a game run by a real LIVE girl. Then the flirtations would begin. Every character she portrayed would be targeted for come ons of the most obvious variety. Half of them seemed to be culled from the lists of worst pick-up lines imaginable. Unless she was playing a guy of course, in which case there would be falsetto jokes. Then the hostility would begin when she made it clear she wasn't interested in role-playing play by play sex scenes, or describing how large the princess' chest was. Nothing overt at first, just muttering, then outright violence against some priestess she was playing because "the character was a bitch". It would almost always culminate in something like tonight, and Sandy was already anticipating the complaints of "she doesn't know how to play." No wait, those had already come. Now was on to the "Let's form our OWN game."
She glanced over at Kevin, who had made no further comments. The silence from the other players just confirmed her suspicions. Nobody was going to be enjoying the rest of the game tonight. The atmosphere had changed. Instead of smiles, the rest of any time spent gaming would be tainted with resentment. With a sigh, she popped open a small plastic case which sat on the table, and placed each of her miniatures into its foam shrouded position.
"Hey, Sand! You don't have to..."
Sandy snapped her case shut, ignoring whoever it was that had made the placating gesture. This pattern had played out too many times for her to bother fighting it.
"Great. So who wants to play a real game here?" Miles voice echoed through the back room as Sandy slipped several large paperback books into her satchel. Case, Check. Books, Check. Fortunately, they hadn't been using her maps so she wouldn't have to tell Miles to move his damn mini's again. Not that he listened. Everything was in place for a graceful exit.
The murmurs of assent were the worst part, and as she stood at the doorframe to the back room of the games store, she noted how everyone seemed to be getting back to the game without so much as a glance in her direction. Even Kevin only tossed a quick apologetic shrug of the shoulders. Way to ruin the illusion of actually caring about her.
Sandy didn't really expect much from him, though. As long as she could remember, she had been the one standing up for herself. From the first gaming sessions she had been to, in which her characters always seemed to run into rust monsters if she was wearing metal armor, or lecherous nobles with only one thing on their minds if she had been playing a diplomatic character, she had been used to being seen as a girl first and a player second. The constant questions about whether her boyfriend was going to be showing up, or if she was dating anyone, were frustrating to say the least.
She knew she was an anomaly. Women generally didn't want to play games involving complicated hit tables, fantasy monsters, or giant mecha strolling across battlefields. It had been a constant source of ribbing among her few friends throughout her school days, and now that she was living on her own, a source of amusement for her room-mate. Gaming had been a great escape for Sandy, ever since she had realized that she really didn't like playing fashion model, the live action role playing game, otherwise known as the high school popularity contest. With her mousy brown hair and slim figure, she hadn't been the type that could win at that game without extensive preparation; time she would much rather spend creating a cool character or an expansive and original game world for her friends. Or those that she hoped would be her friends. Gaming had its malcontents, sexists and just general jerks as well. Sandy was just sick of running into them at every gaming table.
The front glass door had a slight frosting of moisture on it as she pushed her way out into the chill of the night. One block down and she'd be at her car. The way was well lighted at least, but Sandy still already had her keys out and ready. No sense tempting fate, even though the area was relatively safe. She stepped along the concrete path, finally making it to her turquoise pod of a car. It had been a gift from her parents in exchange for perfect grades her senior year of high school. Not that those grades had translated into anything special in college or afterwords.
Sandy worked as an administrative assistant. She used that term because it was what was on the help wanted ad she had answered. She thought of it as a secretary job. She filed, took memos, answered phones, and kept schedules. The fancy title seemed to be an excuse to give her fewer perks and keep paying her by the hour rather than the salary she felt she deserved after three years. Sometimes she felt that she was just bitter, because so many of her gaming associates didn't even have jobs, or were stuck working in retail.
It was only a quick drive back to the small apartment complex she called home. Onto the expressway, off of the expressway, down a street past the quickie mart where she spent far too much money on a weekly basis and finally to right in front of the wrought iron gate that separated the apartments from the general populace. The gate crawled open as it always did, and Sandy took the opportunity to note that the pool which she had paid extra for was still closed. The management had a million excuses for why that was, but god forbid she even try one of them right back at them if she was even a buck short or a day late on the rent.
Around one more concrete wall, and she parked her little car into the slot marked "EL". There was really no rhyme or reason to the numbering system, other than making it difficult to determine which apartment had which car. It wasn't hard for Sandy to tell though. The jerk who played his stereo too loud was three up from her, the family with the kids who didn't understand the concept of not peeking in windows was two down, and the guy who never picked up after his dog was right across from her. Simple, basic, and yet another thing she had to deal with in her daily routine.
It wasn't as late as she usually got home, and she noted the light and sound of the large television in her front room from the sidewalk. She hoped that Megan, her roommate, wasn't watching some inane chick flick again. Not that Sandy hated chick flicks, but rather she hated bad chick flicks, which seemed to be Megan's exclusive selections. Boy meets girl, fall in love, have some cliché misunderstanding which is resolved when they finally talk to each other. Lather, rinse, repeat. Sandy would prefer if there was a dragon involved. At least that would give a more plausible explanation for the time spent apart, rather than the idea that nobody is able to communicate.
"What's on?" Sandy asked, pushing the slightly stuck door of the apartment open. Megan lounged on the aged couch set opposite the TV, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, her attention fully on the screen.
"You wouldn't like it. There's no lasers." Megan replied with a smirk, looking over at Sandy.
Sandy closed the door with a quick slam of her shoulder against it. The trick to the door was to lift slightly, but that required extra force to be applied against the top of the door.
"Yeah, well, game night was a bust." Sandy shrugged, slinging her bag over a hook near the door. "Why do the fatbeards always come to my table?"
"Because you play 'I love the Eighties?" Megan suggested.
That wasn't completely fair. Yes, Sandy knew she was a bit of a retro gamer, but she had a very good reason. The vast majority of innovation in gaming had occurred prior to Hasbro taking over Dungeons and Dragons, in her opinion. Yes, the artwork was cheesy, and she freely admitted the classic poster of "The Black Widow" on her door had a great deal of the James Cameron action girl feel, but it was light-years better than the current crop of games with their "Supermodel contortionist" heroines.
"No, it's because that's all the players there are anymore." Sandy complained.
"So, find a new hobby." Megan shrugged. "Or find some new players."
"I'm tired of finding new players only to have the same thing happen." Sandy knew she was venting, and the bored look on Megan's face made her contemplate stopping, but she pressed on regardless. "Hell, I go to a convention and it's the same damn thing. Everybody assumes I'm there with a boyfriend or a booth babe, even though I look nothing like a..."
"I know. I got it. They suck. Maybe it's time you choose a hobby that doesn't have a large number of social misfits." Megan offered the sane and logical solution. Sandy was sick of hearing it however. Yes, the logical thing to do was just to give up. However logical it was, it wasn't fair. It was HER hobby too.
"So, what, hang out at some club and play the Kardashian RPG? No thanks." Sandy smirked. She glanced at the screen, and noted that it was an upscale bar scene with everyone laughing and smiling in that perfect way that people only do in bad television.
"Suit yourself. Just stop complaining about it, please. You're the one who chooses to be there." Megan rolled her eyes and refocused her attention on the television.
With no real reason to stay in the main room, Sandy crossed past the small kitchen alcove, to the short hallway which led to her room. She pushed open the door at the far left, festooned with her classic poster, which had inspired the earlier joke. She momentarily contemplated the bare midriffed woman on it, complete with the torn leather jacket that screamed eighties cool. It was still better than the current crop of gaming posters because at least there was no cleavage, and the pose was humanly possible, although admittedly your hand would get tired holding a weapon like that.
For a moment, Sandy contemplated canceling her upcoming trip to Bigcon. She really didn't fit in with the current scene, and while there was a retro gaming contingent there, it seemed to be getting smaller every year. Although it was her one big vacation, the last time had really soured her on the experience. Add to that tonight...
She flipped on the overhead light, taking in the sight of her room. Vintage posters of old RPG's met her gaze as they always did. Occasionally there would be the visage of a newer item, like the updated middle earth map over her desk, but for the most part the room was a shrine to an imaginary time which was no longer in chic. A time when Ripley and Sarah Conner had been the standard for female characters, not the fake competence of the feminine warrior who still needs to be rescued by the big tough manly male, who so often turned out to be a father figure.
Her eyes lit on her desk, and took in the shape of the convention badge which lay there. Only two weeks away, and yet she still wasn't sure if she was going. She could always sell it online, of course, and recoup some of what she'd paid. It wasn't mandatory that she go to the con, after all. Even though they were going to have several events that she wanted to see, and it was always a gas to hang out at the comic artists panel...
She sighed again. She wanted to go. She had to admit that to herself. Sharing a room was fun, and she already had the reservation with her online group. This year, however, she was with a new group that she hadn't stayed with before, which was always a bit of a scary experience. She didn't even really know much about them, since she had made the arrangements based solely on handles. It always went fine until one or two of the guys hit the bar and then hit on her. Last year, she had slept in the bathroom with the door locked after a particularly aggressive come-on. Online, she was just one of the guys, with her fairly gender neutral handle of Sand. In person, she became an available female.
"I just wish, they'd treat me like they do when they think I'm a guy." Sandy mused to the wall. That was the main problem. Going to the convention meant stripping away all the facades, just like gaming in person did. She was no longer Sand, kickass Merc Leader under contract to the Magistry of Canopus, or Sand, 14th level Bard who can con her way past any guard who was ever born. Instead she was just Sandy, girl who is probably here with her boyfriend or trying to find a boyfriend, or any of a dozen other reasons to be at the con, none of which have to do with actually playing games.
She flopped down on her bed, pulling a dog eared game manual onto her stomach. If only...
A ghost of an idea flitted across her mind. It would be so great if she could just go in character. People went in Cosplay all the time, but that was a section of the con she never bothered with because she had no interest in looking like an anime character. If only she could go as one of her characters.
The idea solidified, as the image of Sand, her merc leader, came to mind. He was essentially just a masculinized version of her, after all. He was slim, like her. Her hair was longer than his of course, but that was just a haircut away.
Nobody she was going to be staying with knew she was a girl yet. She had deliberately been sticking to her handle in the arrangements online. Sandy knew a couple friends in the local theater, and she could always ask them for tips on how she could pull off more of an illusion. Gamers were all sorts of body types, after all, and nobody would look more IN place than a skinny gamer geek who just happened to be in costume...
She dropped the manual onto the floor, and headed to the desk. She pulled a sheet of paper off of her printer and hastily started to scribble some notes. First, she'd need to have the Sand costume set and ready. Leather jacket, t-shirt, trim the hair...
Momentarily she glanced at her chest slightly self-consciously. Better look up how to do a binding, even though she wouldn't need much of one, thank god. If she had been one of those busty girls like her room-mate she never could pull it off without some serious discomfort. But of course since she was sharing a room, she'd have to find the time to take care of it every morning as well. Mental note then: Sand is fastidious. Make a show of staying as clean as possible, admittedly a rarity at a convention.
The ideas were coming faster now. She'd need at least three non-costume outfits. Thinking of typical gamer fashion, she'd need to pick up a few t-shirts, and a couple pairs of jeans. Maybe one or two club wear shirts if she decided to hit the bars afterwords, as was tradition at the cons.
Could she do this? She momentarily tried to mentally imagine herself at the convention, only this time without the stares, or the come ons. She imagined herself just, blending in. The idea was very appealing. This time she could just enjoy the convention. She could enjoy her vacation without having to be thought of as something other than just another gamer.
She already had the leather jacket, she reflected, her mind spinning back to the task at hand. It seemed right, somehow. For a moment, she wondered if other women had tried this before at the cons. She certainly had never heard about it. It might be fun after all. Maybe take a camera and post a blog afterwords regarding how she had fooled them all.
The smile on her face broadened as she made a note to call her friend at the theater tomorrow. Thick soled boots. Remember to look a bit taller than you are. More ideas flitted across her mind now, and she jotted down each of them. Two weeks, plenty of time to prepare and to plan and practice.
It was going to be a hell of a lot of fun.