You meant it for evil - 01 by Maeryn Lamonte Ken is having a hard time finding a girlfriend and his friends are tired of trying to help him only to see their best efforts end in disaster. They’ve decided it’s time for him to solve his own problems so, at their urging and against his better judgement, he goes to a new singles club where he meets a mysterious and astonishingly beautiful woman. Perhaps there’s a reason why a beautiful girl is sitting alone in a singles bar. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to her warning…

This was not going to work.

I mean don’t get me wrong, the idea had merits, not least of which was the good intentions that gave it birth. But it wasn’t going to work.

Phil had been my best mate for most of the past five years. A bit of an eye for the ladies, but now happily involved and about to become engaged, or so he had recently confided to me. The last few months whenever we’d gone out it had been with his significant other, Sharon. She’d done her best to introduce me to one or another of her friends, but none of those attempts had ended well, and we were all getting frustrated with my continued role as third wheel.

I had become too much of a liability to Sharon’s social life as each disaster, subsequently discussed amongst her friends, made it progressively harder for her to persuade anyone else to give me a spin, so she and Phil had decided that I was to find my own girlfriend by my own merits. At their suggestion and combined urging I had agreed to try flying solo tonight at the latest and hottest place in Soho: a singles club named, rather unpromisingly, the ‘Meet Market.’

Twenty quid handed over at the door gave me free passage into a dimly lit bar with loud, pulsating music and swirling, flashing lights. I hated it already, and was sure I’d hate it even more when I found out what the bar prices were.

I stood at the entrance and surveyed the scene. Even at this early hour it seemed that most of the eligible clientele had paired off and were either gyrating on the dance floor or sitting in loud groups, pouring drinks down each other’s throats. By contrast, the solitary figures of the homely and hopeful sat scattered around smaller tables near the entrance, awaiting the arrival of the more desperate or less discerning.

I felt a twinge of compassion mixed with guilt. Secretly I was all too familiar with that quiet desperate hope of being able to transform an ugly duckling body with the swan’s feathers of a new and beautiful dress. I wanted them to find their Prince Charmings because no-one deserves to be rejected for something they cannot help or change in themselves, but I was not prepared to take on that role myself so moved further into the room, avoiding eye contact.

And then there she was; long, wavy strawberry blonde hair cascading down the back of a short but elegant green dress, slender and with exquisite long legs. I couldn’t understand why she was sitting alone at the bar in a place like this and, cautious of unexpected surprises, I approached her.

She turned as I settled onto the stool next to her, and I felt the breath go out of me. Small, slightly upturned nose, high cheekbones, large green eyes; how could she possibly be on her own?

Somehow I managed to cage the panic welling up inside of me, I mean so what If she blew me off? I had to at least try. I leaned towards her and raised my voice above the music.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Hardly original I know.

She gave me an appraising look. Not so much a once over as a deep gaze into my eyes. There was an odd sadness in hers which left me wanting to help somehow.

“I should warn you,” she yelled back, “I only make out with girls.”

It was a surprise but I managed to hide my response.

“If that’s your preference, why aren’t you at the Kitty-Kat Klub round the corner?”

She shook her head and went back to nursing the remains of her drink. Well as odd a comeback as it had been, it wasn’t exactly a rejection, and no-one else in the bar seemed remotely as interesting. Even if this didn’t go anywhere, we could at least enjoy each other’s company for a while.

The barkeeper approached and I ordered a beer and another of whatever she was drinking. She looked up at me quizzically.

I leaned over to her and spoke into her ear.

“This is my first time. Here I mean, in this club. How about you?”

Quizzical turned to incredulous.

“Seriously? You buy me a drink then ask, ‘Do you come here often?’”

I shrugged.

“Original never works for me. I was going for open and earnest.”

She was polite enough to laugh and that was sufficient encouragement for me to press on.

“My name’s Ken.”

“So?”

“So that’s usually an invitation for you to tell me your name.”

“I don’t think so Ken, but thanks for the drink.”

She turned her back on me which hurt. Ordinarily I would have slunk of then with my tail between my legs, but something took over. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, maybe a new determination not to allow this evening to turn into the usual Friday night fiasco, but I reached over and touched her on the shoulder.

She turned to me impatiently and cocked an eyebrow.

“Look I get it, I’m not your type, but you’re not going to meet any girls here. You’re much more likely to get hit on by one drunken bore after another, so why don’t we just find a quiet corner somewhere we can actually hear ourselves think, and see if we can’t have an enjoyable conversation. No expectations, no strings attached. You never know, we might both end up having a good time. I’ll even buy the drinks.”

The last was probably a bit much, but she sighed and shrugged then nodded, almost reluctantly, and we took our drinks and went off in search of a refuge from the noise.

The rest of the evening passed in a bubble of suspended time. We talked much and drank little, somewhat to the bartender’s disgust and my wallet’s relief. Before long she was actually laughing at my jokes and smiling. Everything seemed to be going so well then a clock tower somewhere must have struck midnight or something. She excused herself to go freshen up, and I watched her pick her way across the dance floor towards the rest rooms, then right past and out the entrance.

For a moment I couldn’t believe it. Had I said something or maybe farted without realising? I jumped to my feet and ran after her; there was no way I was letting her get away if I could help it. I caught her at the door checking out her coat and moved up beside her.

“Hey did I miss something? Unless I totally misread things, we were getting on pretty well. I haven’t enjoyed an evening with someone like this in, well let’s just say the best part of forever, and it seems to me that you weren’t having such a bad time either.”

She wouldn’t look at me but walked out into the night as soon as the attendant had passed her things to her. I offered my own ticket and pointed at my overcoat, then headed out after her. She hadn’t gone more than a fifty yards and a short sprint had me beside her.

“At least let me walk you home.”

At my touch she stopped and rounded on me, looking into my eyes with a strangely conflicted expression.

“I have to warn you, I only make out with girls.”

I really didn’t understand.

“Yeah, you said that once already this evening but like I said, all I wanted was to offer you a little company. There was no reason to walk out on me without an explanation, especially when things were going so well between us.”

Her shoulders sagged and she looked at me with something close to exasperation. There was that sadness in her eyes again, a sort of regret.

“I don’t live that far away, just a half mile or so.”

It was all the invitation I needed and we walked along the glistening, damp streets, continuing our conversation in the cool quiet of the London evening.

She stopped outside a block of flats, looked up at it then back at me.

“Well, this is me…”

I didn’t want the evening to end, but I’d offered to accompany her home, nothing more. Anything else now would be stalkerish.

“I guess I should let you go in then, I’m… I’m a little further on.”

I pointed a thumb in a direction that was more or less back the way we’d come. She laughed and I took courage in her smiling face.

“Listen, I had a great time tonight. I know I’m not what you’re looking for in a partner, but I was wondering if maybe I might fit into the category of friend? You know, if ever you want someone to share breakfast with, or lunch or dinner, or if ever you have need of a pretend boyfriend to go to some family party or something…”

I trailed off as became aware of how much I was rambling. Fortunately for me she was still smiling.

“You know a friend does sound good right now, nothing more mind. I hope I’m not going to regret this, but would you like to come up for a coffee?”

“Really?”

My face was a study of amazement, so much so that she laughed again.

“Come on before I change my mind, but I have to warn you…”

“I know, you only make out with girls.”

A sadness rose at the back of her eyes and for a moment she really did look as though she would change her mind, so I placed my hand on her back and guided her towards the door.

-oOo-

Her apartment was large for a single bedroom and well appointed. She headed for the kitchen and started rattling around, putting a couple of mugs and a cafetiere onto a tray and setting the kettle heating. I looked around at her furnishings, trying to dig a little deeper into her life. Oddly there were no photographs anywhere. Instead a wide assortment of ornaments and paintings from around the world created their own unusual balance; mysterious but elegant.

“How do you take it?”

“White no sugar please. People say I’m sweet enough.”

It was an old joke, one I think my Mum heard from her grandmother, but the classics have their place.

I was examining a small but expensive music centre when she came back into the room carrying two steaming mugs.

“See anything you like?”

I looked up at her and an immediate answer sprang to mind. I managed not to say anything; too cliché, and not appropriate given our peculiar relationship.

“I mean music-wise.”

To be honest I hadn’t recognised a lot of it, but I pulled down an easy listening compilation CD that was heavy on saxophone and offered it to her. She smiled as she took it.

“Good choice, one of my favourites.”

She slid the disk into the machine then went to sit on the sofa as the strains of Judy Tzuke’s Stay With Me ‘Til Dawn filled the room.

I joined her on the sofa, but at the opposite end. The room seemed to be closing in around us, the atmosphere too charged for further conversation, and I was filled with a confusion of emotions. The words of the song were tempting me down a route I knew wouldn’t be welcomed, but I was finding it oddly difficult to resist.

She half-turned towards me and sipped at her drink. I put mine down and took hers from her hands. It was like I was on some sort of autopilot, standing to one side watching myself do things that I ordinarily wouldn’t dare, knowing this wasn’t what she wanted not what I intended, but unable to stop myself even so.

“Don’t.”

I managed to regain control and stopped, but her breath was deep and excited as though she were anticipating something. I moved closer to her.

She stood up and walked to the window.

“This was a mistake,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

I stood up and walked over to her, put my hands on her shoulders and murmured softly in her ear.

“Do you want me to go?”

She turned to me, head down, unable to answer. Eventually she shook her head, just a fraction but enough.

“Then what?”

“I have to warn you that I only make out with girls.”

The words were an almost unintelligible mumble. I cupped her chin in my hands and lifted it towards me.

“That’s not what your body is saying.”

She was quivering but otherwise making no move at all. She didn’t push me away, nor did she resist as I turned her face towards mine.

But it wasn’t me doing this. I never would have had the courage to act so boldly without being sure of what she wanted, and I she had been quite clear that this wasn’t it. Was it? I could have stopped myself, but she wasn’t resisting or protesting. Was there really any harm in this?

Our lips met, softly, gently caressing. She responded slowly to my kiss, her lips and tongue moving to match mine. It was the gentlest of touches, but electric in a way a kiss has never been for me.

The strangest sensation passed through me, a tingling sweetness that seemed to settle between my legs and oddly on my chest. The room started to spin and I pulled away, disoriented.

“What the hell?”

“I’m sorry. I never wanted this to happen to you.”

Somehow she seemed to be growing. I clung to her as the room continued to whirl, but somehow I was reaching up to her shoulders rather than down.

“I did try to warn you, over and over again, but you wouldn’t listen.”

I registered a deep regret in her words as my clothes loosened. My belt was no longer tight enough and both my trousers and pants fell to my ankles. My shirt seemed somehow longer, falling to mid -thigh.

“You see I really do only make out with girls.”

There was a tickle around my neck and I felt a weight of hair hanging down my back.

“And since you insisted on making out with me…”

The bulge that had been growing between my legs suddenly imploded just as my chest bulged out. My legs were suddenly weak and I stepped back out of my trousers and oversized shoes. She held on to me and followed.

“…I have to insist that you be a girl.”

My body was filled with strange new sensations. Not just the void between my legs or the soft mounds on my chest, but a moist warmth spreading out from my middle as I stared up into those impossibly green eyes. She was too beautiful to resist and I surrendered to her tender lips as she bent down to kiss me.

Her hands rose to hold me and caress my breasts, straining against a shirt too tight to hold them. A shock of sensation washed through me and I took another step backwards, then another. She guided me, kissing me and caressing me with every step and I surrendered to her, eager for her to do whatever was coming next.

Somehow there was a bed behind me and she lowered me down onto a soft duvet, her hands moving over my body, eliciting responses that had never been there before. Somewhere in the turmoil of my mind a small voice called out.

“This is wrong. This can’t be happening. I’m a man, I…”

The voice faded, drowned in the flood of new emotions and sensations that consumed me utterly. She began to undo my buttons and I fumbled with hers in return, unsteadily, hungrily. In minutes our clothes were on the floor and she was on top of me, caressing me in places and in ways that I had never suspected could exist. Her gently probing fingers and tongue building up tension upon tension in my new body, sending shivers of cold and floods of warmth coursing through me until, having long past the limit of my endurance, I was overcome by shuddering waves of pleasure charging through me, over and over again.

Eventually we lay quiet; her body spooned gently against my back, the softness of her breasts squashed against me and a gentle hand stroking my narrow waist, brushing long wavy hair off my neck.

My heart had almost slowed to normal when she spoke. There was genuine regret in her tone.

“I tried to warn you.”

The animal passions were subsiding and something of who I had been drifted back to the surface.

“How is this possible?”

“I didn’t want this to happen to you. You were kind to me; you don’t deserve this.”

I wasn’t fully recovered yet, but her words needed a response. I squirmed around until I was facing her.

“What are you doing?”

I still hadn’t fully grasped what had happened, but somehow a secret and impossible wish of mine, something I had carried and denied for so long, had come true. She needed to know.

“Showing you I’m grateful.”

And with that I started to do for her what she had so recently done for me. They say that the best way to learn something is to do it yourself, and for the next half hour I learned all over her body. I must have been doing something right because she started to moan and writhe about under my gentle caress.

She was not passive by any means, and before long we were sharing each other’s bodies in ways that brought us spiralling up into climax after shuddering climax. I lost track of time and even the world around us seemed to withdraw leaving us together in that unimaginably perfect slice of eternity.

Eventually we lay utterly spent and glistening with perspiration. Neither of us had the energy to move or even speak so we lay staring at the ceiling, lost in the memory of what had just shared, until sleep finally took us both.

-oOo-

I awoke in an empty bed. The curtains had been drawn back and bright sunlight was shining in through the window. I turned to the emptiness beside me and stroked the place where she had been, revelling for a dreamy moment in my memories of the previous evening. The movement reminded me of the differences in my body. I looked down at the perfect breasts standing proud on my chest, the smooth, hairless skin that covered my body, the curves around my waist and hips, the cleft between my legs. I let me fingers explore and felt a tingling buzz run through me as the sensation resonated with my memories.

A sudden and urgent need took me and I climbed out of bed in search of a bathroom. Sitting to urinate wasn’t so unusual as it was how I preferred to go in any case, but the sensation was quite different, leaving me with more need to wipe myself dry afterwards. I washed my hands and walked back into the bedroom, luxuriating in the natural sway of my hips and feeling a growing excitement inside me as I pulled open one of the wardrobes in search of a full length mirror.

I was gorgeous. I mean I’d been pretty good looking as a bloke, but the girl looking back out from the mirror was every young man’s wet dream. Long wavy auburn hair hung halfway down my back and framed a slender heart shaped face with high cheekbones and large hazel eyes. My nose was slim and delicate and my mouth neither too small nor too large with plump, sensuous lips. I was shorter than I had been, by about five inches I guessed. I also appeared to be younger, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. Wow, I had gained back about a decade. Beyond that, the curves and proportions of my body were perfect, from the smooth, gentle lines of my hips and legs to the flat stomach, narrow waist and firm, round breasts.

I pinched myself hard enough to bruise and it hurt. This was really me, not a dream at all. How was it possible? How was it that something so incredible, such an impossible dream for so much of my life, should actually happen?

I looked around the room for my clothes, some clothes, any clothes, and caught sight of an envelope on the pillow. It had no name or address on it, but it had been lying next to where I had woken up. I picked it up and flipped it open. There was a single sheet of paper in it, thick good quality writing paper, slightly off-white with a note printed in a cursive script; elegant but impersonal. I sat down to read.

“For every homely girl you ever walked past without giving a thought for her pain. For every lonely girl you ever seduced with insincere words of kindness and the offer of a drink. For every girl who’s vulnerability you exploited to get your own way, then left with no thought to the consequences; her pain, her anguish, her loss when she thought maybe, just maybe you might stay and be kind. For all of these and more here is revenge.

“You like a pretty face and soft curves, then you may have them. Your old life is gone. Who you were is gone and, should you look for it, try to convince your friends, your family that you were once that person, all you will receive for your pains is a lifelong committal to an institution for the mentally disturbed.

“You have no name, no money, no home, no friends, no family, nothing. You may take whatever you want from the wardrobe and dresser, but anything else and the theft will be reported to the police and you will be caught. See how well you survive in a world filled with men just like you were, wanting just one thing from you and all too ready to discard you when they’re done. Your sentence is to give it to them; sooner or later, willingly or not, for free or for a fee. In the end it is the only thing you have to offer, and each time you surrender it you will feel, as so many women have felt, a loss of your self-respect, an erosion of your humanity, a fading of your soul.

“You are no longer welcome here. Remain beyond midday and a security alarm will be triggered. The police will come looking for burglars and will arrest whoever they find. Go. Go lose yourself in the ugly and friendless world men like you were have created for young women like you are and repent without hope of forgiveness for however long you choose to survive.”

The letter chilled me to the bone. This was so different from the way things had felt last night and I couldn’t understand what had changed. Did she really think of me in that way, as a user and abuser of women? Did I really deserve the vitriolic hate poured out in this letter?

I could see how a certain type of man would find these physical changes to be the worst kind of punishment, but to me this was a gift and one I was certain I would never regret receiving.

“Oh well, if you really feel that way about me, I’m sorry.”

I was speaking to an empty room, but I was too busy enjoying the newfound softness of my voice to care.

I wandered naked through the apartment looking for any clue as to who my hostess and benefactress might be; any clues that might help me seek her out and offer my gratitude again. I found nothing, not even my clothes and wallet from the previous evening. A clock in the kitchen put the time at a little after ten. Time was running out and I turned my attention to making myself presentable for the world.

With my clothes gone, I had no money, no keys, nothing. The letter had been clear about what I could take and of the consequences of taking anything more, so I went through the dresser and wardrobe to see what was available to me.

The search was short, unsurprising and of little help. The top drawer of the dresser contained several sets of matching bras and panties in different colours and styles, albeit limited to silky, lacy and frilly. The second drawer held tights of different colours styles and thicknesses and a several camisoles. The bottom drawer was empty.

In the bottom of the wardrobe I found several pairs of shoes and boots, all with uncomfortably high heels. There was a large canvas shoulder bag as well. The hangers were filled with skimpy and revealing tops and some very short skirts. Not a lot to work with.

I showered and washed my hair, unsure of when I would have an opportunity to do it again. In retrospect this turned out to be something of a mistake as it took me over half an hour to dry it and brush it out afterwards.

It took me a while to settle on what to wear. There wasn’t a coat in the wardrobe and, despite the clear sunny weather outside, I knew I wasn’t going to be warm. Bra and knickers were all much of a muchness, so I picked out a matching pair and slipped them on along with one of the camis. I then searched out the thickest pair of tights I could find, black with a diamond pattern down the side, and pulled them up my legs. With a little thoughtful consideration of the available tops, I ended up putting together three that seemed to match and cover my assets reasonably well. They were skin tight so didn’t leave much to the imagination and, despite offering multiple layers, wouldn’t do much to keep out the cold, but they did more or less matched the tights. All of the skirts were short and so revealing as to be indecent, but I needed something down there and eventually settled on an iridescent blue ruched skirt that only just kept me on the right side of the law.

I checked myself out in the mirror and the words cheap and slutty shouted back at me. A few piercings, some Goth makeup, maybe a little bit of ink here and there would finish off the look, but even without them I would fit right in on the back streets of Soho. In exasperation I checked through the wardrobe again, but there wasn’t anything better.

The clock showed twenty to twelve so, with time running out, I stuffed as many of the remaining things into the shoulder bag. All the underwear, three pairs of shoes and as many of the skirts and tops as I could fit in. With minutes to spare, I pulled on a pair of boots, slung the bag over my shoulder and marched out to meet my future.

-oOo-

Outside in the cold, the world suddenly seemed a lot less friendly. I thought longingly of my shared flat in docklands, but there was no way I was going to persuade anyone that I had a right to be there. Too young to be a girlfriend, too slutty to be anything but a prostitute, the best I could hope for was to be arrested and, knowing my flat-mate, I was likely to get far less than the best.

I needed somewhere to sleep and something to eat so set about searching for a phone box with a directory in it. With luck I’d be able to look up the addresses of the local YWCA and maybe one or two churches that ran a soup kitchen or drop in centre for the down-and-out.

Before long I had way too much first-hand knowledge of how inefficient even thick tights are when they are the one and only line of defence against the cold. I sought refuge from the wintery weather in a shopping mall and eventually found what I was looking for. Having memorised a few addresses I headed for a newsagents where I started browsing a London A-Z for locations and routes. It didn’t take long for the shop keeper to approach me.

“Are you going to buy that or are you going stand there and read it all day.”

“What?”

“I know your type and I’d much rather you didn’t hang around in my shop. Now either buy it or put it back on the shelf and leave.”

Despite the way I was dressed, I hadn’t been ready for the man’s attitude and, feeling a little numb with the shock, I put the map book back where I had found I and walked out of the shop. The shopkeeper’s angry mutterings followed me out, but I had most of what I needed to know and set off on my quest.

I headed for the YWCA only to receive the first of a series of disappointments. They were full and turned me away without so much as a suggestion of where I might find lodging for the night. Most of the soup kitchens had closed down due to lack of funding and when I did eventually find one that was still operating, the line of homeless people was so long and intimidating that I turned away without even trying.

By then I’d been walking around for nearly an hour and a half and the combination of cold, hunger and fatigue was taking its toll. Despondency settled in and I sat down where I was, leaning against the window of a shop and careless of how little the skirt was hiding my modesty.

The paving slabs were icy and uncomfortable through the minimal protection of my tights and underwear but for the moment I couldn’t care less. People walked by without noticing or occasionally muttering some comment of disgust and I might have given in completely to my misery had it not been for one of the homeless people walking back warm and fed from the nearby church.

“Oy, that’s my spot.”

He ran towards me and in a panic I struggled to my feet.

“Find your own patch.”

He waved at me violently and I staggered away as he settled down in the place I had just vacated and put his hat down on the pavement in front of him.

I wandered aimlessly for a while, eventually coming across one of London’s many small and hidden parks and made my way in thinking to find a bench and sit a while. The park was empty except for a young man in a business suit munching his way through a sandwich. He checked his watch as I appeared and, with a start, jumped to his feet and hurried off, dropping his half eaten lunch into a bin as he went.

I looked in the bin. I couldn’t be that hungry could I? My stomach growled its answer and, with a quick, shame-faced glance around, I reached in after my prize. I sat down on the recently vacated bench, feeling the warmth of its previous occupant, and brushed a few unidentifiable somethings off the half-sandwich before biting into it.

I wish I could say it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted, but the bread was dry as was the chicken, and the lettuce was limp and bitter. Even so I savoured every mouthful, taking progressively small bites so it would last longer. I had all but finished when I was joined in the park by a middle-aged man. His shirt buttons strained against his bulging belly as he sat down a little too close to me and he turned a lascivious expression in my direction.

“How much?”

Given the way I was dressed I shouldn’t have been shocked, but I couldn’t help showing my revulsion at what he was implying. He must have been twice my age, and I mean my real age, not my apparent seventeen or eighteen. Beyond that the combination of fleshy features and unsuccessful comb-over caused my stomach to lurch unpleasantly. I jumped to my feet and backed away.

“I’m sorry mister, but I think you’ve got the wrong idea.”

His face contorted with anger.

“You filthy slut. What makes my money any worse than the next man’s?”

He lurched to his feet and started following me, the look on his face predatory and dangerous.

“I think you’re mistaken sir, I’m not a… a…”

I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

“What, dressed like that and you expect me to believe you’re some innocent schoolgirl?”

I turned and fled, not daring to slow down or to look behind me until I was back on the crowded streets. When I did look, he was nowhere to be seen. I leaned against a wall and let out a long breath, the jelly in my legs taking a long while to settle. It amazed me that I hadn’t broken an ankle trying to run with three inch heels, but somehow I’d managed it.

As the afternoon wore on, I changed tactics. I made a mental list of things I urgently needed: Something to drink, somewhere to go to the loo, warmer and more decent clothes, shelter. The last I could probably find in a tube station or one of the larger railway stations, but the rest would all need money, which meant a job. I started asking in shops if there was any chance of some casual work and was met with one refusal after another until, with clouds building and the light fading, I finally admitted defeat.

I had more or less resigned myself to spending the night cold, hungry and thirsty when I came across an open air market. In the gathering gloom, the stall holders had decided they would do no further business that day and were closing up. I hunted around until I found a clothing stall and approached the man feeling nervous and vulnerable in the dark.

“Excuse me mister.”

He looked me over making it obvious in his expression what he thought of me.

“What d’ya want sweetheart?”

“I was wondering if I could sell you some clothes. They haven’t been worn.”

He was sceptical.

“I’d ‘a’ thought if you ‘ad any more clothes you’d be wearin’ ‘em.”

“Yeah they’re not too good in the cold.”

I sniffed away a tear. It was a real one, but I figure he’d been played before by someone with more acting ability than honesty. He was still a bit cagey, but at least he was prepared to give me a chance.

“Alright, let’s have a look at what you got.”

So I opened my bag and let him rummage through what amounted to all my worldly possessions.

“Sorry luv, it’s not the sort of thing I usually sell, and I mean it’s all one-offs innit? I mean what if someone wants it in a bigger size? It’s not somefin’ I can shift.”

I stuffed the clothes back in the bag and shrugged it onto my shoulder.

“Oh well, thanks for taking the time to look anyway.”

I turned to go, hiding the tears that were running all too freely down my face, and walked off into the gloom. Everything seemed so hopeless.

I set my mind on finding somewhere to sleep the night. I made my way to one of the main railway stations that was nearby and headed for the toilets. I hadn’t had anything to drink all day which was probably why I hadn’t felt the need before now, but sometime soon I would have to find somewhere to go. Twenty pence to use the facilities. When I read that I couldn’t take it anymore, I just crouched where I was and burst into tears. I couldn’t even afford to go to the toilet in this place.

Fortunately there was an attendant who was kind enough to see past my attire take pity on me. He gave me a coin and let me through. I thanked him through my tears and found my way into a cubical.

Once I’d completed my business I hunted through my bag for some fresh knickers and I also pulled on a second pair of tights, thinner ones, to go underneath the thick black ones I was wearing, then added a few more tops. By this stage I didn’t really care too much what I looked like; I just wanted to be warm.

I took a long drink from a tap at the washbasins, trying my hardest not to dwell on how unhygienic that was, then waited a few minutes until the water had passed through and I needed to go again.

I splashed water in my face to try and reduce the puffiness in my eyes, then spent a long time with the hand dryer, blowing warm air over different bits of my body to warm up as best I could before the attendant came looking for me and told me I had to leave.

I thanked him again and went off in search of a reasonably warm place to sleep, or at least to rest; I was too cold and hungry to sleep.

I found a sheltered corner and was settling down for the night when one of the station guards found me and told me to move on. I didn’t really have a choice and before long I was out in the cold again. The clouds had decided to do their bit and even though it was only a light drizzle, I was wet enough to feel it by the time I found shelter in a shop doorway. Earlier someone had used it as a urinal which was probably why it wasn’t already occupied. I chose not to sit down but I leaned against the door instead and waited out the rain in the stench.

How far can you fall in just one day? Less than eight hours ago I had woken up feeling wonderful and looking forward to a miraculous new life, the one I’d always wanted to live. Now it had taken me just that long to realise how alone and powerless I was. The letter’s prediction was coming true, I could feel myself giving into inevitability.

The rain let up a little and I couldn’t stand the stench any longer. I left the shelter of the doorway and wandered listlessly down the darkened street.

I hadn’t been walking long when a car slowly drew alongside me. Silver grey, a mid-range BMW and quite new; I guess no sense in wondering what this guy wanted. I closed my eyes and squeezed out a tear. And why not? I had to eat, to buy warmer, smarter clothes. If this guy was prepared to pay me enough to do that, what was the harm of letting him poke about for a few minutes?

Somewhere deep inside I felt a part of me die.

“Hello sweet-cheeks. How about a little bit of action?”

-oOo-

To be continued...