On Her Own Petard
by Ceri

Stevie started her blog to share discreetly her secret identity with the world, never guessing just how successful it would be.

 

Stevie arranged herself in Penny’s arms, taking great care not to disturb the sleeping blonde. With a minimum of wriggling, she brought their faces level and her bottom directly under Penny’s hand. Seven days had done nothing to diminish the pleasure she had derived from the head of HR’s first attentions to that part of her anatomy, and she was determined to revisit them. However, while pushing out her bottom, Stevie’s nose bobbed forward and brushed against Penny’s. As her companion’s eyes fluttered open, Stevie pressed her lips to the older woman’s by way of a ‘good morning’; only when the tip of Stevie’s tongue nudged its way into her mouth, did Penny break their kiss. “Don’t do that sweetie,” she pleaded.

Stevie gently bit Penny’s bottom lip, before transferring the kiss to her partner’s cheek. “Sorry,” she whispered, but unwilling to surrender the initiative, added, “have you ever been in love, Penny?” To lend the question more significance, she pressed her body even closer.

“Love is a lot like Blackpool,” Penny opined, “the lights are very beautiful, but you wouldn’t want live there.” Stevie expected that sort of cynical expression from Ms Hawker, but not from her Penny. Nevertheless, Stevie tried a sidestep of her own, and asked if Penny knew where her hand was; her reward was a blush, and a tender pat on the behind.

The alarm clock quashed any hope Stevie had of further contact. Slithering across Penny, she switched it off with a sharp smack, before flopping back onto the mattress. “Can’t we stay here for a bit longer?”

“You have an appointment first thing, remember?” Penny said, hauled off the duvet, and dispatched the teenager to her own room to get ready for work.

Tall Paul had offered to help with a video clip for Stevie’s blog, and after Ms Hawker had given the project her approval, had arranged to shoot it first thing that morning. Stevie doubted that the gangling IT worker had any directorial skills, but he was more than competent with technology, and she had worked out what to say when she was alone in her room the previous evening. Even if the video was a failure, that morning’s meeting fitted in nicely with her own plans for Tall Paul, and with those in mind she turned to her meagre wardrobe.

“Oh, I didn’t realise it was that short - are you sure you want to wear it to work?” Stevie’s ever-improving confidence impressed Penny, but she was not sure that the ‘new girl’ was ready for the constraints a short skirt imposed in an office - especially when her desk lacked a modesty panel. “Your new black shorts are very smart, why not try them?”
Stevie, however, would not budge from her teen stubbornness, but conceded that she would need to wear tights rather than stockings, if only for the sake of the senior managers’ blood pressure. Hosiery was, of course, the only thing they had forgotten to buy at the supermarket, and for want of a new pair, Penny directed her to take the pair drying in the bathroom, if her ‘big old hips’ had not irreparably stretched them.

The only other person whose clothes Stevie had worn had been her mother and that had ended when she began to buy her own. When she had worn her mum’s clothes, Stevie had always been at pains not to think about their previous occupant, but she could not help thinking, as she rolled Penny’s tights up her legs, about the previous journeys they had made. Despite her protestations to the contrary, Penny was less than a size larger that Stevie and the tights fitted quite snugly.
Although there was no one present, Stevie blushed as she straightened her hair in the mirror, after splashing a little water on her face. Casting around for anything that might drive away the thoughts making her cheeks burn, Stevie noticed that there was no condensation evident in the room. She had heard Penny showering a few minutes earlier and there was only conclusion she could draw; her own lengthy shower had deprived her host of hot water. There was no time to fret about it, since Penny was rushing her along from the other side of the door.

*****

“Can we have lunch together?” Stevie used a toe to stop the lift door closing between her and Penny.

“Sorry, honey, I have interviews all day, but I’ll pop in if I’m passing.” The head of HR allowed a warm smile to peep through her professional veneer; Stevie’s disappointment was palpable, and Penny had to fight to prevent her own from reflecting it. “Perhaps Miss Hanford, or one of your old colleagues in Accounts, can fill in.” The younger woman nodded, and dipped back into the car to kiss her friend’s cheek in parting.

Stevie had perfected her feminine walk early on, taking any opportunity her parents’ absence afforded. Moderated by the fear of it becoming such second nature, that Steve would unwittingly begin swinging his hips, it involved only a gentle swaying, and a modest reduction in stride. Her attempts therefore, to exaggerate and appear more seductive that morning, resulted in a rather ungainly wobble which she abandoned a metre or so short of her office. Instead, she chose to announce her arrival with a small cough, and struck a suggestive pose in the doorway.

Tall Paul had arrived more than an hour earlier, weighed down by practically every piece of video equipment he could find, and a nagging doubt in his abilities. His father was an accomplished amateur filmmaker, and Paul liked to think the years of parental direction inflicted upon him, gave him a modicum of knowledge. He had also spent the evening before poring over his father’s many books, but stopped short of watching any of their home movies; it was difficult to simultaneously study and cringe. Crawling around connecting cables, he was oblivious to Stevie’s approach until her coughed alert.

“Where do you want me?” she asked, while his eyes were travelling between her ankles and thighs. Still on all fours, Paul suggested she sit at her desk, but she dismissed this saying, “You’ll make me look like the Queen at Christmas.”

Several comments about her always being his queen sprang to mind, none of which the gauche technophile dared to utter, and he returned to those things he knew how to connect. When he looked up again Stevie was dangling her wonderful legs from the desk’s front, apparently unconcerned that the young man could see all the way up what there was of her skirt. After his third and most audible gulp, Stevie crossed one knee over the other, and teased her skirt’s hem down an inch or so. “Shall we start?” she asked.

Steve had made a presentation to camera at least once during each school year, but it was never something he was comfortable doing. Always wary of an incriminating slip, Steve guarded his words, and before an acute, unfailing witness, his speech dribbled out. Freed from his handicap, Stevie should have been able to speak with something approaching her everyday articulacy, but they had to endure ten minutes of corpsing before she was able to address the camera properly.

“Hi everyone, and welcome to the first entry in my video blog. I’m sorry to start with bad news; while I was at work yesterday, my parents removed all my belongings from the flat: clothes, make-up, my computer - everything. Fortunately, I had left some things in a friend’s home over the weekend, and we managed to pick up a few essentials at the supermarket, so I don’t have to walk around naked. Ooh, Paul almost passed out then. Come and say ‘hello’ Paul. No? He’s red as a beetroot, bless him.” Stevie motioned for him to stop the camera.

“Is that it?” Paul asked, still struggling with the image of a naked Stevie.

“Just a bit more, give me a minute to get ready.” Stevie sipped from the glass of water Tall Paul had brought during her last laughing fit. “OK, I think I’m ready.” She set the glass down beside her on the desk, and at his signal launched hesitantly into the second part of her prepared speech.

“This bit’s for my Mum and Dad, though I don’t know if they’ll see it, they’re not great with computers. Perhaps someone will show them. I just want to tell you both that I still love you, but you can’t get rid of me by stealing my clothes. I’ve always been here, I was simply too afraid to say. You didn’t bring me up to be a coward, and I wish you could have found out about me any other way than you did.

“What hurts is that you took my memories away from me. Every item of clothing held an association for me: the first things I bought myself; my first night in the flat; the suit from first day in work; and worst of all, the outfit I wore on the weekend.

“Everyone was upset on Sunday night; there was a lot of shouting, and a lot of name calling. That wasn’t fair Mum, she’s my best friend, and you shouldn’t have said those things. Anyway, I couldn’t stay in the flat after this, so I’ve moved in with my friend, but you know how to get hold of me. I promise to pick up the phone this time.”

“I’m so sorry, Stevie, I never thought anything like this would happen.” Paul stopped the camera, hovering between it and her. Providing comfort was not his forte; operating an IT helpline was no preparation for the position he found himself in. He was as likely to know the correct course of action, as a Samaritan presented with a defective server. After some prevarication, he offered to fetch another glass of water.

Shaking her head, Stevie pinched the bridge of her nose between a thumb and forefinger, to trap the gathering tears. It would be much easier to dislike Paul if he was not so persistently nice.

Belinda’s introduction to the scene occurred at the instant Tall Paul’s head struck the underside of Stevie’s desk. The knot of cables he clutched explained what he had been doing under there, but the reason for his alarm was not immediately apparent. However, if the office junior hoped her bringing her knees back together would go unnoticed, she was soon disabused. Still dressed in her topcoat, Miss Hanford took the telephone from her own desk and dialled; “Hello, this is Mr Thornwell’s office. I’d like you to replace the desk you provided last week, or at least fit it with a modesty panel." She specified a lunchtime deadline, and left her extension number, all the while fixing Stevie with a deeply reproachful look. Belinda tolerated flirting, but drew a line at indecent exposure.

Her modesty regained, Stevie applied herself to sorting the documents stacked on her desk. Like many of the tasks that had been handed down to the office junior, it appeared to be make work designed to keep her occupied. The latest batch of filing seemed particularly pointless; she was sure they were stored electronically on Accounts’ central database. Without access to these’ records, however, she could not put her case to Miss Hanford, and kept her counsel.
Lunchtime loomed, and it seemed likely to be lonely, since Belinda’s frosty attitude had yet to thaw. Remembering Penny’s parting comments, she asked her superior if she could make a telephone call.

*****

“I’m so jealous of your legs - I could never wear a skirt like that.” Stacey slid her tray onto the table beside Stevie’s. As ever, the staff restaurant was all but deserted, and the two girls had their pick of tables. Taking one by the window, they eat rapidly, catching up on gossip between mouthfuls. Stevie’s elevation to the eighth floor offered a wealth of insights on many senior staff members, although she was careful not to say anything traceable back to her. Her friend, she knew, would not intentionally divulge confidences, but if recent events had taught Stevie anything, it was that the most innocuous comment could return to haunt its originator. For her part, she was happy to listen to reports on her former colleagues.

“A few of the girls are going out after work on Friday, you should come along,” Stacy said, emphasising the invitation with her fork, “Remember it’s casual Friday, so don’t glam up and put the rest of us to shame.” Given the current paucity of her wardrobe, Stevie felt she had to demur, and when pressed by her companion, explained how her parents had stolen her belongings.

“I still have three days I suppose I can buy something...” Stevie allowed her voice to trail away. A few pounds remained in her current account, but her credit cards were all in Steve’s name. No doubt, Penny would offer to help, but Stevie was already uncomfortable about how much she had imposed on her friend.

“If you weren’t such a skinny bitch I’d lend you something of mine.” Stacey laughed, her fork poised expectantly over Stevie’s plate, “Are you going to finish that?”

While waiting for the lift Stevie passed Stacy a wrinkled post-it note, on which she had scrawled half a dozen document reference numbers, and asked to have them checked on the accounting system. When asked why, her shrug was enough to convince Stacy that she was entering into a conspiracy. “Planning on sticking it to old Posner eh?” Stacy winked as she tucked the scrap of yellow paper into her own bag. Eliciting no response from Stevie, she added, “Well I hope you are, he’s started wearing deodorant and I swear it makes him smell even worse.”

*****

Bob Thornwell may have had his name on the door, but Belinda always considered the office her domain: its desks, drawers and cabinets were hers to rule, as were its inhabitants: from office junior to senior manager - she was their queen. Never once, had anyone managed to make her feel the intruder in the way that Ms Hawker, and Stevie had.

The head of HR had arrived a few minutes after lunch, made some small excuse for her presence, and perched on Stevie’s desk. The two of them had then proceeded to chat about nothing in particular, but with an intensity that excluded everything around them. Stevie beamed at the older woman with an expression that bordered on beatific, watching her speak more than listening. Penny’s attention wandered no farther, except that she touched the teenager every few seconds: a pat on the shoulder, brushing a hair from her eyes, or lightly drawing her fingers across Stevie’s cheek.

As appalling as the scene appeared to her, its intimacy touched Belinda and she gave into the desire to leave them alone. A personal assistant had many duties, but chaperone was not among hers, neither was gooseberry. An announcement seemed redundant, since they were patently oblivious to her person, so with all the dignity she could muster, Belinda sought a voluntary exile in the bathroom.

“Did you really make Paul blush?” Penny asked amused by the colour that crept into Stevie’s face too. “I told him he could cut that bit out; it didn’t work so well with what you said afterwards anyway.” Her young friend had a lot to learn about hiding her emotions, especially from the camera. Penny, however, was grateful that she had viewed the video alone; its combination of pathos and quiet defiance had left her in tears. “I’ve asked him to come along to our meeting this afternoon to show us how to upload it to your blog.”

“Oh, I thought that was our time.” Stevie had been looking forward to their four thirty appointment all day, and could not hide her disappointment.

“We’ve all evening together at home.” Penny tweaked the tip of the girl’s nose, coaxing a smile from her. Penny’s house had never been a home, she realised, until Stevie set foot in it. Everything good in the head of HR’s life seemed to be a result of Stevie’s misfortunes, and the guilt was overwhelming.

*****

“Hi Paul, is Pen... is Ms Hawker not here?” Stevie stood in the doorway clutching her bag and coat. Transfixed, Paul did his best to mumble that she had stepped out to make some telephone calls, and invited her to sit. “Are you working on my video?” Stevie said, flopping into the chair beside him, and tugging vainly at her skirt’s hem.

“I’ve finished editing it — you can see it if you like.” Technical matters were safe ground for the young man from IT, although he could only maintain a semblance of volubility by not looking at her. He turned his laptop so she could see its screen, where Stevie was making her plea to camera.

“I sound a bit squeaky,” she said, “But it’s lovely, thank you.” Gratitude came with a peck on the cheek that sent Paul’s heart racing.

“It was nothing,” he croaked, painfully aware that she had scooted her chair closer to his.

“No, you’re really clever,” Stevie insisted, and gave him an encouraging smile that sent the blood rushing through his ears. “Can you show me how to upload it now?”

“OK. It’s quite easy really, you just...” Paul’s demonstration took a few minutes, during which Stevie edged ever closer. His blood now pounded toward an altogether more embarrassing destination, and he fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat.

“You really did do me a huge favour by outing me,” Stevie breathed in his ear, “I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you.” Paul felt her knee pressing against his, and saw her thigh invitingly within reach. As if reading his mind she shifted in her chair, pushing her whole leg farther forward.

Women never came onto Paul, not even when hopelessly drunk at Christmas parties, but here was a girl he could only ever have dreamed of meeting apparently throwing herself at him. Closing his eyes, he let his hand fall tentatively onto her thigh, and braced his body for the inevitable slap.

“That wasn’t so hard was it?” Stevie gently gripped his wrist, and started it in a slow, stroking motion. “Why do you fancy girls like me Paul?” she asked sweetly. Caught up by the sensations of nylon, and warm flesh running beneath his fingers, it took several seconds for him to frame an answer.

“Trannies still dress like women should,” Paul said in a voice barely louder than a whisper, “More feminine than real girls like, and you really know how to please a man cos you’ve got...”

“Cocks?” Stevie had no idea that she could arch an eyebrow that high, but Paul was too fixated on her thigh to notice. Her next question had his full attention however, “How do you feel about blow jobs?”

Paul’s head snapped up amazed to hear such a filthy expression emerge from his angel’s lips. Nevertheless, the offer was on the table and he felt compelled to answer before she withdrew it. “Um they’re great, wonderful, fantastic, brilliant, um yes please.”

Stevie pushed her seat back from the desk, her legs opening as far as its arm rests allowed. “Down you go then, and try not to rip my tights.”

“I thought you meant...” Paul snapped his computer closed, rising from his seat as he did so. “I’d better get back to IT,” he stammered, “Lots to do, you know, busy, busy, busy.” With the laptop placed strategically over his crotch, he hurried out of the interview room in a peculiar hobbling gait.

Penny stood outside the door quietly burning. Quite why she felt such anger was easier to explain than to admit. Forward as Stevie had been with Penny, the teenager had never acted so provocatively; while she had held back the girl’s most affectionate advances, it hurt Penny to see them directed at another. Jealousy had not troubled the head of HR for years, but she could overcome it by maintaining a professional manner.

Stevie sat doubled in the chair, her head almost between her widely spread knees. A casual observer might suppose that she was weeping, but as Penny drew nearer, she saw that Stevie was laughing. Despite a growing conviction that she had completely misread what had happened, Penny pressed ahead. Slamming the door brought the teenager’s head upright, and under Ms Hawker’s cold scrutiny, she pulled down her skirt’s hem over her panties.

“Asking a co-worker to perform oral sex is a serious disciplinary matter.” Penny had begun the sentence in her most formidable tone, but was almost giggling by its end. “You devious, manipulative little sauce, you had that all planned didn’t you? If I could I’d give you a job in HR.” She dropped into the seat Tall Paul had vacated, adding, “Why?”

“He was the one who outed me,” Stevie said, with a shrug, “and it wasn’t all planned; I thought it would take longer, but then you weren’t here...” Her voice trailed away, bemused by Penny’s expression, which merged astonishment with admiration in equal parts, and another, impenetrable emotion. “Anyway, you’re the boss of HR, so why can’t you give me a job?”

“Because if you worked for me,” Penny took Stevie’s head between her hands, “You wonderful girl, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” The kiss was unexpected, and without precedent; it was as passionate as all Penny’s previous kisses had been chaste, and left Stevie dizzied.

“Wuh?” Stevie’s tongue had been wrestled into submission, and no longer answered. Physically, as well as emotionally spent, she slumped back in her chair.

“Tell you later,” Penny said briskly, “now if you’ve finished with the computer let’s go buy you a new frock for Friday.”

*****

“How did you know about Friday?” Penny’s had wrapped an arm around Stevie’s waist, and she drew her closer to answer.

“I know everything,” Penny said affecting a mysterious air, “and I met Stacy in the lift earlier.”

“We’ve left it a bit late haven’t we?” Most of the shopping centre’s stores were closing up for the night, including the department store they were heading for.

“I phoned ahead, and shops will always stay open for celebrities.” Ashley, the assistant who they had met on their precious visit, positively gushed when Penny called, and ran to find a manager, who was very accommodating. Stevie’s name not only opened doors, apparently, it kept them from closing.

“I’ve put some things I think you’ll like in the fitting room. You are a size eight aren’t you, Stevie?” Ashley raised her voice to compete with the vacuum cleaners’ hum, and chose to ignore Penny’s muttered comment. “You know how cramped it is in there Penny, so it’s probably best if only Stevie and me go in.” Another muttered comment escaped her lips, but Penny acquiesced and leafed through the nearest sale rack, although thermal underwear — even at sale prices — was the last thing on her mind.

“I’ll be back out to model them for you.” Stevie waited for an acknowledging smile and disappeared behind the curtains. Ashley’s ‘some things’ turned out to be an understatement of the highest order, and Stevie wondered if there were any clothes left at all outside.

“Penny said you needed a smart suit for work.” Ashley said holding up a hanger, so climb out of that huge skirt you’re wearing and try these.” Stevie had only ever undressed in front of Penny, but the young assistant’s joke helped her past her shyness. “Pretty knickers,” Ashley added as her pampered customer changed.

Once out of her heels Stevie became very conscious of the difference in their heights with Ashley looming over her. To Stevie’s surprise, her downward glance revealed that the assistant was wearing flat shoes. “Five feet, eleven and a half inches,” Ashley volunteered after following the direction of her gaze.

Penny approved most of Ashley’s choices, and as each outfit made its way through the curtains she cooed over Stevie, who was obviously in her element. She might never get the chance to wear some of the new clothes, but Penny felt she had to make up the loss of the girl’s wardrobe. Part of her admitted that she was enjoying the process; like most little girls Penny had played with dolls, and never had one as pretty as Stevie.

“How about this for Friday?” Ashley held up a simple black-and-white checked dress. “It’s not too dressy, but smart enough to wear out in the evening. You’ll look smashing in it, I promise.”

“It is lovely.” Stevie pirouetted in the narrow mirror, “But look at the price, it’s much too expensive.” She continued to turn slowly, admiring her reflection - the dress was perfect.

“Penny is going to love you in that.” Ashley patted down the dress over Stevie’s slim hips. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you and Penny together?” The heavy emphasis Ashley placed on the last word brought Stevie out of her reverie, and she took a step back.

“Sort of, I don’t know, we live together, and we’ve kissed...” the memory of that afternoon’s kiss was fresh enough to make her catch her breath, “Anyway I’m not really looking for anyone right now, sorry.” Stevie hoped her rather inept attempt at diplomacy would let the young woman down easily.

“Someone’s getting a bit too big for her boobs, I was asking about Penny.” As pleased as she was to meet someone who was almost famous, Stevie’s attractive friend excited her more. Although Ashley had accepted her sexuality while still in her teens, she had never found a satisfactory partner among girls her own age; they expected a tall girl to domineer, and Ashley had no interest in that. Older lesbians she met she found rather grim, whereas Penny was attractive, assertive and obviously enjoyed younger company.

“I’m in love with her,” Stevie blurted.

“I know you are, precious.” Ashley patted the blushing girl’s cheek, and in a whisper asked, “Is she a good kisser.” Stevie did not answer - at least not verbally - her expression however spoke volumes.

*****

“You and Ashley took ages trying that last dress, what were you two up to?” Penny asked when they made it to the car. There had been no opportunity for conversation during the walk back, as both women struggled under the sheer weight of their purchases.

Stevie was still rearranging her skirt after getting in the car; she was sure footage from the overhead security camera would fast become a staff favourite. “Nothing,” she answered, “Ashley just wanted to know if we were a couple.”

“Oh well, I’m just going to have to get used to people hitting on my girlfriend.” Penny ended with a sigh of mock resignation.

“It isn’t me she fancies.” Stevie enjoyed Penny’s reaction for a few seconds, and then the full impact of what the older woman had said sank in. “You just called me your... does that mean you’re my...”

Penny slowly nodded, smiled and pressed her hand to Stevie’s cheek. “That is, if you want me.”

“Oh yes!” Stevie almost shouted, before dissolving into a fit of giggles. Minutes passed while she recovered enough composure when to add, for a mystified Penny’s benefit, “Sorry, it’s just that Mum’s gone on for years about me getting a girlfriend."

“Oh God, she’ll...“ Her mobile chimed midsentence cutting off whatever she intended to say. Flipping it open automatically, she found a short text message from her assistant.

“U CN TV NEWS?”

*****

Phil hoped his first day’s unscheduled leave would not set a pattern for the whole week. His mates were all in work, there was nothing on the television worth a damn, and the unseasonably wet April kept him from the public golf course. After a few hours of home improvement shows and Australian soaps, he tried something from his DVD collection.

‘Die Hard’ had been his favourite film for years, he had watched it countless times, but it simply made him feel old now. In the twenty first century, John McClane would face censure for innumerable health and safety breaches, and then a protracted course of counselling. Disgusted, Phil braved the rain for his local pub, with every intention of getting rat-arsed drunk.

The knot of diehard smokers clustered under the Rose and Crown’s eaves was another regrettable sign of the times. Once, cigarette smoke would have bound everyone inside in the same half-choked bonhomie, its absence, however, drove customers apart. Phil sidled along the bar to escape a particularly noxious smelling pensioner, only to meet another’s wet dog. After an hour’s solitary drinking, he found the company of a few reasonably deodorised alcoholics in the snug, and joined them to argue the toss.

Annette — whiskey and pep — introduced Stevie to their musings. Staring contentedly down her blouse, Phil took several minutes to catch up with the change in topic, at which point he duly offered his opinion. In the course of one afternoon, the small company of worthy drinkers had consigned all criminals to the gibbet, all immigrants to their home countries and the nation’s remaining youth to military service; yet on the subject of Stevie they were surprisingly laissez faire.

Stevie was not doing any harm argued Annette, a view seconded by Mary - port and lemon — who also invoked Lady Di’s eternal memory. Tim — vodka and Irn Bru — told Phil quite forcefully that he was living in the past, while Vic — anything off the top shelf — accused Phil of greater perversion for staring at his wife’s cleavage all afternoon. As the conversation grew increasingly heated, more customers joined in until Phil found his was the only dissenting voice. At the landlord’s suggestion, he left the Rose and Crown, and wandered off in search of a fast food vendor born in the United Kingdom.

Clutching a kebab so tightly that a small river of grease ran off one elbow, Phil weaved his way home, to the relatively minor disappointments of the early evening news. By the time he had taken a beer from the fridge, and tracked down the remote control, the headlines had given way to a local report. Entirely focussed on the foam spilling over from the can, he recognised the local shopping centre before registering the anchor’s, “...at the centre of an internet phenomenon.” A lengthy vox pop followed a montage of Stevie’s photographs, and the participants’ universal approval for Phil’s despised co-worker proved the final insult.

“The week has just got a damn sight longer,” he told the smoking ruins of his television.

*****

“Cheer up, it was only the regional news, and everyone was very nice.” Penny wrapped an arm around Stevie’s shoulders. With growing media attention, she wondered if the blog was getting out of hand, yet should they stop updating it that would itself cause comments. “At least if your Mum sees it, she’ll know how positively people think about you.”

“It’s not that, I just wish they would stop calling me a transsexual.” Stevie laid her head on Penny’s shoulder. “I like being me, but I don’t think I want to go that far; it’s like everyone wants me to have a sex change operation.”

Yet again Stevie had made Penny feel unqualified to comment. In her understanding, the girl seemed a textbook case of transsexualism, and the ultimate outcome of beginning that journey was reassignment surgery. Perhaps Stevie only needed more time to shake off the inhibitions her secret life had imposed, to accept what she really desired, but Penny knew that she was by no means an expert, and resolved to consult those who were. “Nobody’s going to make you do anything you don’t want to anymore,” Penny said, patting Stevie’s knee with her free hand.

“Not even you?” Stevie asked then pressed her lips to Penny’s before the older woman had any chance to answer. The kiss seemed to last forever for both of them, and yet was over all too briefly. As Penny sat back, her pulse racing, Stevie fired more questions at her, “So what changed? Why did you suddenly kiss me?”

“Hardly sudden,” was Penny’s retort, “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I found you curled up like a kitten in my bed on Sunday morning. You’ve been through so much in the last week, I thought you were vulnerable, and didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

“So you showed me your fanny instead?”

“That was when I thought you wanted one,” Penny spluttered.

“I never said I didn’t.”

“But you just said...” Penny fixed Stevie with a stare, a smile slowly creeping over her face. “I only found out about this side of you, when I heard you torturing poor Tall Paul — he deserves an apology by the way you minx — and there didn’t seem to be a good reason any more not to kiss you.”

“So what happens next?” Stevie wormed her way back into Penny’s embrace.

“The washing up.”

*****

“Oh my, don’t you look sweet in your jimjams.” Belinda clapped her hands together in an excited show of glee. Bob cut a tragic figure in blue and white striped flannel, he felt like a convalescent not someone about to jump into bed with his fiancée.

“I have a feeling that this will be the only time I’ll wear the trousers in our marriage.” Bob’s tone spoke of resignation, but his assistant had smoothly run his professional life through two decades, and he doubted she would try to change him overmuch. “They make me look like my Dad,” he added, trying not to sound petulant.

“Nonsense, get into bed you big baby.” Belinda turned back the covers. “Remember it’s my house and my rules.”
Bob thought briefly of promoting the advantages of his, much larger, home, but Belinda’s actions had revealed she was wearing a particularly diaphanous negligee. Blessing drawstrings and his Scouts honed knot tying skills, he leapt onto the bed, and reached for her.

“Not so fast mister,” Belinda said, easily slipping out of reach, “Have you sorted out my new job yet?” After a few minutes of his dissembling, she lost patience, and very shortly added, “At this rate Ms Hawker and Stevie will be married before we are.”

“You’re not still going on about that are you Bel?” Bob gratefully took the opportunity to change the subject. “I’ve told you, there’s nothing sinister in it.”

“God Bob you’re so blind sometimes; they dote on each other so much, it’s painful to watch.”

“Good for Penny, I still feel bad about her you know.”

“Of course you do you old softie.” Bob so carefully hid his tender side in work that she often had to remind herself of it. “It’s a true love match I’m sure, and good for both of them, but if you don’t sort things out soon — with Stevie’s parents too - you’ll be walking your new niece up the aisle, before walking me down it.”
Bachelorhood’s advantages came flooding back in to Bob’s mind, not that he would ever dare to voice them; instead he contented himself with a meek, “Yes dear.”

*****

“Shouldn’t we do — you know - stuff?” Stevie asked after putting down her book on the nightstand.

“We could I suppose,” Penny answered hesitantly, “What stuff do you normally do?” Stevie’s blush answered the question even before she stammered out that this would be a first opportunity. Resisting an urge to smother the teenager in kisses, Penny suggested that they waited a few days for things to settle down. “My first time was rubbish,” she added gently, “I want yours to be perfect.” Drawing Stevie closer, she planted a kiss on the girl’s forehead. “And I’ve never been anyone’s first before,” she whispered.

“OK, if you think that’s best.” Stevie tried to hide the disappointment in her voice as she nestled closer.

“I don’t want us to do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” Penny continued, while trying to ignore that her hand was now resting where Stevie had placed it, on the precocious nymph’s delightful bottom. “It doesn’t do to rush these things you know. I want to make it something you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”

“Penny,” Stevie interrupted, her hazel eyes fixed on her new lover’s, “Can’t you just shut up and kiss...” Sometimes being pushy has its reward.