Author's disclaimer: PetFly and UPN own Jim, Blair, and "The Sentinel", the lucky bastards. "Man, I Feel Like a Woman" is the title to a song owned by Shania Twain, the title of which I cribbed shamelessly and without permission for this story. Regan Monroe is my character, and I use her at large and in various other predicaments. No money is being made off of this, not no way, not no how (dammit to all sheep-pissed hells!).

Author's notes: First off, I'm posting this as a special present to myself, because dammit, it's my birthday, and being 22 -- which is a transition age between legal drinking and the beginning of adulthood -- I had to do SOMETHING to make it stand out! That being said, thank you to all of my wonderful friends who mailed me today to wish me happy. I haven't sniffled so happily in a long time. I was way overdue; thanks.

Also, Regan Monroe is a character I created in a story I wrote which got published in Angel On My Mind 3, by AngelWingsPress. If you would like to know Regan's bio, e-mail me and I'll send it to you. Otherwise, the best you can hope for is buying the zine, which is probably a GOOD thing. (is it just me, or can anyone else hearing Bast yelling, "PROBABLY?!")

Blair paced nervously in the living room, throwing anxious glances at the front door as he did so. "Come on, come on!" he muttered under his breath. "Hurry up, will you?!"

Just then, a firm knock was sounded out on the door and he jumped slightly, then closed his eyes. "Thank God!" he breathed, then went to open the door.

"All right, I'm here. Now what's the emergency that Jim can't ... help ... with..." Regan Monroe said as she entered the apartment, only to come to a complete stop and fall totally silent as she gazed at her best friend.

Blair glared back at her, put his hands on his suddenly well rounded hips, and waited.

Clear green eyes, now sparkling with a devilish mirth, slowly roved over the young man who was now actually a young woman. Blair stood before her in a stylish black dress, the cut of it helping to disguise the fact that he wasn't actually a female. Although, the shaved chest and arm hair, the prominent fake boobs that no one could tell were fake if they didn't know Blair was really a "he" in disguise, and the rounded padding on his hips helped a hell of a lot more. The sheath of the skirt went down to his ankles and his feet were encased in two-inch sensible black pumps. His fingernails had been filed and rounded, and nail polish had been applied. Someone had done a damn fine job on his make-up and his hair looked better than ever. If she didn't know what Blair really was, she would've thought Blair Sandburg was a very beautiful, if large-boned, young woman.

"B, are you havin' some sort of identity crisis or what?" Regan asked as a grin started forming.

"No, actually," Jim replied as he came down the stairs from the loft bedroom dressed in his bathrobe, grinning at her. "He's undercover. He's my 'date' for a club stakeout."

"So what's wrong that you can't help?" she asked, her grin fully formed now, her green eyes nearly blazing with laughter.

"Because he's part of the problem!" Blair hissed, joining the conversation at last.

"Now, baby-doll, don't be like that..." Jim began, his grin totally shit-eating.

"If you call me that one more time..." the younger man growled threateningly, his blue eyes darkened to near black with heated anger.

"You'll what? Slap me with your purse?" the older lover taunted.

Blair bared his teeth in a patently false smile. "Why, no, sweetums. I'll make you live the sex life of a monk 'til Christmas!"

That shut Jim up and wiped the smile off his face immediately. However, his amusement was still quite clear in his blue eyes.

"Regan, help," Sandburg implored, turning to her with a high-octane puppy dog gaze.

She slowly walked around him to go stand next to Jim and shrugged helplessly. "Sweetings, I don't know what y'all want me to do to help. I mean, you look good. You'll easily fool anyone who doesn't know you very well or is just a passing acquaintance."

"You really think so?" he asked, almost pathetic in his need for reassurance.

Regan nodded earnestly. "Yup." Then her grin turned evil and she said in a deep Southern accent, "Why, sugar, ya're purtier'n a blue tick hound. Hell, ah'd date ya m'self!"

Then both she and Jim cracked up, bent double and howling with laughter as Blair turned five different shades of red. As Jim fell backwards onto the sofa, pulling Regan down beside him when it seemed her legs were about to give out, Blair whirled around and began stomping all around the apartment, his hands waving angrily in the air as he let loose a tirade of expletives, curses, and dire threats upon the two of them.

"That..." Jim gasped, pointing as Blair stalked past them back and forth a few times, "that ... is the ... problem!"

Regan didn't bother to reply - she didn't have the breath to do so - but she wiped the tears from her eyes and followed Blair's movements. Finally, she understood. While Blair may be "talking the talk," he most definitely was not "walking the walk." Getting herself under control, she cleared her throat and sat up. "B? Sugar, calm down. I'm sorry, it's not all that funny, I guess. I see what the problem is."

Coming to a stop in front of the balcony doors, Blair closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he was calm enough, he turned to look at them. "Regan, how do I fix it?"

"Well, speaking from my life of experience as a woman - and I've got a lot of it - most of us females don't stomp around like a big ol' mule," she replied, getting to her feet to go stand next to her friend, taking off her jacket and tossing it onto the couch. "You've seen how women walk, right?"

Blair gave her an incredulous "no, really?" look and nodded.

"So you know what to do. First thing is, you got to lose that ball-swinging swagger o' yours and walk like you got ball bearings for hips, instead."

At that, Jim dove face first into the couch cushions to muffle his raucous laughter. Even Blair started giggling on that one.

Regan grinned. "Calm down, Jim, before you blow an artery. You're never goin' to pull off your stakeout if'n ya cain't keep a straight face an' you know it. So pay attention, 'cause you're going to have to help Blair practice."

They waited a few minutes until Jim was sitting up again and watching them, gasping softly as he wiped away his laughter tears. When he was ready, Regan began her "training."

"Okay, first we need to establish the why's an' wherefores of all this. Blair, I'm pretty sure you'll agree with this. Nature designed men and women differently, right? Split up the genders so that men would be designated the hunter-gatherers/protectors o' the 'tribe', true? Which would mean that women would be the breeders and nurturers of the hominid genus."

Blair nodded, smiling. "That's right."

"Good. So, this is what we have. Men are the protectors, so their strength, their center, so to speak, is concentrated mainly in the torso region. This is where you guys center your balance of movement from. When you start walking, you start with your arms first; they swing out, then the spine picks up the action and your hips and legs and feet then get into gear and follow the leader. Us women, on the other hand, being the breeders and nurturers, our strength and center of balance, of movement, is located further down. Mainly, our hips. It's why ours are built they way they are. When we start walking, we walk hips first, followed by legs, feet, and arms. So, men and women walk differently. Blair, you need to stop walkin' like a man-mule and start goin' with the motion o' the ocean. In other words, you gotta let your hips do the walkin' for you."

"So how do I do that, O Wise Woman? I don't know how," Blair said, exasperated.

"Do what women have been doin' for centuries: fake it!" she sassed, grinning. "Now, you stand there for a moment and watch me walk. I'm going to go through different paces and believe me, you need to see 'em 'cause the hips don't move the same at each speed. Once you've seen the example, you're going to try it yourself. Jim, you watch too, that way you can coach Blair when he tries. Being a Sentinel, you'll probably be able to accurately judge to the least degree his hips should be tilted."

Jim grimaced at her, flapping his hand in a dismissive "get on with it" gesture. He wasn't thrilled with her knowing he was a Sentinel, but so far, she'd proven her trust-worthiness on that score. According to Blair, she'd known for months and hadn't even told him until two months ago, during that fiasco up in Cascade Mountain.

Regan grinned. She knew it bothered him, but every once in a while, she liked to rile him up. Kept him from getting complacent around her. Every time she did it, he retorted he had enough to deal with just having the authentic Sandburg around; he didn't need to deal with his "twin", too. "Well, pay attention, will you? Because once he's got the walk down, you're going to have to practice walking with each other, or you won't look natural together."

"Fuck this," Jim growled, slightly annoyed at the difficulty this assignment was taking on.

"Roger that," Blair agreed whole-heartedly.

Regan giggled. When she calmed down again, she said, "All right, watch closely." And with that, she walked slowly up and down the length of the apartment in front of the balcony doors.

The men watched as her hips tilted and twisted unconsciously, leading the legs and feet in the direction the body was supposed to go. The pace was slow, languorous; the movement of her hips and the swaying of her torso sensual. The two men still had a healthy appreciation of the female form, even if they were desperately in love and lust with each other, so they found themselves getting mildly excited as they watched her move.

When she came to a halt in front of Blair again, she said, "Your turn. Walk slowly and remember to let your hips do the leading. Take your first step by letting your feet move you forward first, not your upper body."

Blair sighed, then took a deep breath, centered himself, and then started walking. He started jerkily, at first, but by the time he made it to the other end of the apartment and turned to head back, his body clearly started to get the idea after a few helpful suggestions from his partner. His hips began to move unconsciously, tilting and twisting, leading the legs and feet in the direction his body was supposed to go, his torso swaying sensually.

From the corner of her eyes, Regan saw Jim sit upright suddenly as his gaze fixed intently on his lover. She stifled her grin when she noticed him dropping his hands to his lap to hide his groin from view as he bit down on his bottom lip.

Blair practiced that pace for a few moments and then she pronounced it good enough. He stood next to her again and waited for the next demonstration.

"Okay, this is 'casual stride'. Watch an' learn, short-sheet," she stated, then took off, moving faster but not hurriedly. This was simply a calm, confident stride that wasn't sensual so much as efficient.

Blair practiced this, and the next, which was a fast stride after she demonstrated. He wanted to try to run, but she had a few things to say to that. "If you have to be running anywhere, running is running no matter what gender you are. But if you are running, then one: in a skirt, you can't run worth shit because you're hampered, either by a chance of your undergarments showing - which would be a bad thing in your case, B - or if you're in a sheath skirt, which would restrict movement. Two, if you have to run, you don't do it in heels. If you're in a situation that requires running and you're in heels, just take 'em off and go, unless you'd fancy a matching set of broken ankles."

"But I've got great balance! I could probably-" Blair began, but was cut off by a reply from his lover.

"Think again, Chief," the Sentinel growled, and Regan hid her smile and giggle behind her hand.

"Oh, for- fine. Don't run in heels. What about trotting?" the Guide asked.

"Yeah, but just remember: Those who trot in heels like horse, sound like horse trotting. In other words, don't do it when you don't wanna be noticed 'cause it will draw attention."

"Now, hold on, this sounds interesting," Jim broke in, grinning. "After all, if you trot like a horse, it may be just the ticket for me to get a rein on you in a roundabout way."

"Hasn't worked on me so far, why do you think it'd work then?"

"Guys, guys!" Regan called out. "Leave me outta your farm animal fantasies, please!"

"Oh, c'mon, Reg! Where's your spirit of adventure?" Blair teased.

"Backing the law against bestiality. There are just some places my imagination was not meant to go, and this is one of 'em. You oughtta know better, Supercop; I'm surprised at you," she said to Jim, grinning teasingly.

"I have plenty of common sense. I just choose to ignore it on occasion," the older man replied affably.

"Maybe you guys should take a vacation from each other, Jim. You're starting to sound a lot like Blair."

"And this is bad, how?"

"Because if you become Blair, then you have no more need for the real Blair," she shot back.

Jim growled at that and vaulted off the couch. He stalked over to stand beside his lover, pulling the younger man into his arms protectively and possessively. "I always have a need for Blair. Always. Got that, Monroe?"

Blair smiled slightly and turned in Jim's arms to begin lightly stroking the side of Jim's face. "Calm down, big guy. Regan was just joshin' with ya."

"No, I wasn't!" she sang out gleefully.

"Shut up, Reggie!" Blair hissed when Jim growled again.

She laughed and then said, "Well, as long as I've got you two lovebirds together, why don't you two try practicing walking together?"

They agreed and spent the next half-hour practicing together, working through the paces. By the time they had slowed down to the slow, casual stroll again, they were confident of their ability to walk together in harmony while Blair was disguised.

"Thanks for coming over to help out, Regan," Jim said as he helped her into her jacket. "We really appreciate it." He was about to add more, but his attention was caught by his lover, who was solo practicing the slow, sensual stroll up and down the apartment.

Regan grinned, noting his preoccupation, and replied, "No problem. But try not to stain the dress, will you? I might wanna borrow it at some point."

"Sure, fine, uh-huh," he replied distractedly, beginning to tremble with the strain of holding himself back in her presence, his hungry gaze eating up his partner's sensual form as the scent of Blair and his arousal wafted through the air to him. When Blair turned and walked again in their direction, this time he locked amused, lusty blue eyes with the Sentinel and a tiny "come hither" smile shaped his mouth.

Regan laughed herself silly as she simply opened the door, locked it, then pulled it shut tightly behind her, making her way out to her jeep.

Sensing that the third presence was gone from his domicile, the Sentinel, focused on one idea only, whirled and ran to the desk in the new office that used to be Blair's bedroom. He yanked open one of the drawers, grabbed up a tube of lubricant, then stalked full steam back into the living room.

Blair was facing away from his lover, slowly walking toward the far end of the loft, his hips tilting and twisting, when he found himself grabbed, whirled around, and yanked hard into the older man's arms. His mouth was taken in a hot, hungry, desperate kiss that he welcomed and gave back as good as he got, and then he was pushed face down on the floor as the skirt was rucked up to his waist, his underwear yanked down around his ankles. He felt Jim hot and close behind him, the robe open, and then felt lube-covered fingers sliding firmly into his ass. Moaning, he pushed back against those twisting, stroking fingers. "Ohhh, God! Yeah! Yeah, lover, oh yeah! Jim, do it, please! Put it in, put it in, please, put it in now! I need you, want you, now, now, now, please!"

Jim shuddered hard and growled as his mate's pleas registered in his fevered mind. He slicked his cock with lube and then tossed the tube away. He positioned himself against Blair and, grasping the younger man's hips, he pushed in hard, seating himself to the hilt in one firm stroke.

They both cried out in pleasure as they joined together.

Neither of them could last long. Jim set a fast, hard rhythm and Blair reached down to stroke himself in counterpoint to the thrusts hammering into him from behind. Jim's grip tightened as he neared climax and then he leaned forward suddenly, dislodging Blair's hand from his cock. Taking the straining erection in his own hand, he pumped once, from tip to base, squeezing firmly.

Wailing like a banshee, Blair came, spurting his seed all over the floor beneath him.

That was all it took for Jim. Rearing back, he threw all his weight into the connection between their bodies, thrusting in hard and deep, and snarled deep in his throat as he pumped into his lover in completion.

They collapsed on their sides, panting and sated.

Finally, having caught his breath, Jim smiled and pressed a kiss behind Blair's ear. "Ready to knock 'em dead, lover?" he asked softly.

"Yeah, sure, why not? You've already wiped me out," the smaller man replied, grinning lazily.

"I have no plans whatsoever to knock you dead. I do, however, have many, many fantasies that all have one goal in common, and that is to love you out of your mind."

"Well, you're certainly on the right track. Speaking of being on track, let's hurry up and finish getting ready, so we can get this stakeout over with, okay? Then I can go back to being your regular old male Blair."

Jim rolled so that he straddled his lover on hands and knees and grinned down at him. "Chief, lemme tell you something: no matter what you tart yourself up to look like, you're still my Blair and you always will be." With that, he dropped a quick, loving kiss on Blair's lips and then levered himself up to disappear into the bathroom for a quick shower.

Smiling, Blair stretched and then carefully got to his feet, ready as always to be Guide to his Sentinel.

Finis