Exposure, Disclosure

I’d spoofed him. Now I had to maintain the pretense.
Pharmacia
I wended down the crowded sidewalk to Bonito’s swap meet. Traffic stuttered beside me on Alvarado, horns honking, tail pipes spewing, motorists cursing. Joggers still outnumbered hookers and drug dealers across the street in MacArthur Park, but as the sun sank the low-life population would rise. I needed to leave this nasty neighborhood before nightfall.
Inside Bonito’s the tables were piled high with merchandise that had a rumpled, picked-over look. I found a jumbled stack of garments and accessories of dubious provenance labeled with slight variations on brand names: Kelvin Cline camisoles, tank tops, and jeans, Juicy Culture sweat suits and T-shirts, and Vicky’s Secrets miniskirts, sundresses, panties and bras and Jimmy Shoes wedges, pumps and sandals. For a fraction of retail, I abandoned authenticity and bought knock-offs.
I needed to pee (Spiro does that) and I didn’t want to stain my mother’s clothes with sex residues so I ducked into a filthy ladies’ room. I carefully disassembled my tuck, peed and water bottle douched, and re-taped my cock-cocoon. I replaced my mom’s dress and lace panties with panties emblazoned "Hot Stuff.” I pulled on a short, ripped denim skirt, black fishnet stockings, a skin-tight leotard and towering espadrille wedges.
A Latina T-girl approached the Pharmacia’s counter. Her 38 D boobs overflowed her tight tank top, her butt bulged with injected silicone, and her eye-catching bleached blonde hair mismatched her Morena complexion.
Her eyes met mine, flashing mutual recognition. We’d clocked each other. I looked around nervously. Had anyone else noticed our non-verbal exchange? The crowd bustled by, oblivious. The pharmacist handed her a bag. When she was out of the pharmacist’s sight, she motioned me.
“You spying me, bitch?”
“Trying to learn-”
“The “T”?”
“How you get hormones, look like you.”
She squeezed her boobs together.
“Don’t get these with ‘mones, they’re implants?”
“I can barely afford hormones.”
“Used a credit card. Doubled my price and volume, paid for themselves.”
“Don’t have any credit.”
More customers had gathered at the pharmacy counter now.