............I raised my hand to instinctively brush my longer hair out of my face and of course the image in the mirror copied my actions. I moved my fingers gently over my face, feeling the unfamiliar contours of my new, cute appearance. “Cute,” I said to myself, “not a bad thing to be and definitely a lot better than being overweight and lacking in the looks department.”   Mollies' Revenge Sequel 1 by Alys

I opened my eyes and looked around my bedroom.

My bed felt warm and comforting.

I looked at the shadows of the world outside moving gently on my ceiling.

I felt really content even though I wasn’t sure why.

The phone rang.

I considered answering then decided I needed at least another ten minutes of comfort.

I turned over on my left side away from the unwanted sound.

My chest wobbled much more than usual.

I moved my right hand and touched my much breasts. I noticed something strange about them.

How could they be so big?

Then I remembered and sat up quickly in bed, causing some more rapid, unplanned and slightly painful movement in the chest area.

Some ten minutes later, after the drama of waking up, I was sitting in at the kitchen/lounge table, well the only table, in the tiny flat. I took another sip of my black coffee and wrapped the over large dressing gown tighter around me.

I went over the events of the previous evening in my mind. There was a sort of sense to most of it but then after the painful confrontation with the trans-phobic gang all I could recall was being in a semi dream like state as the thugs ran away and then being given a lift home by two middle aged policemen. I hazily remembered walking up to the three flights of stairs from the entrance to my flat and feeling relieved to have avoided seeing the warden as I came in.

I strained to remember other details. One thing that really stood out from the encounter with the police was one of them telling me I was ‘pretty’.

“Well let’s see,” I said to myself, finishing my coffee and standing up.

I walked the few steps into the bathroom and turned on the light. The face staring back at me was compellingly familiar. My sister five years ago before she had her kids and put on weight. I stood and looked at this strangeness, thinking that I might have made a mistake and been looking at some video or film. I raised my hand to instinctively brush my longer hair out of my face and of course the image in the mirror copied my actions.

I moved my fingers gently over my face, feeling the unfamiliar contours of my new, cute appearance.

“Cute,” I said to myself, “not a bad thing to be and definitely a lot better than being overweight and lacking in the looks department.”

The scraggly look of my hair annoyed me so I picked up my brush and spent the next few minutes trying to get it into some semblance of order. Finally I prepared myself for the complete inspection of my new body.

“Well here goes nothing,” I exclaimed as I dropped my dressing gown to the floor to stand naked in front of my mirror.

I gasped and my hand flew to my mouth as the full reality of my supernatural transformation was framed in the glass. The overall effect, combined with an attractive face and long ash brown hair, was very pleasing. I moved my hands to hold my boobs. Their size was so alien. I wondered how big they were. Eighteen months of hormones had given me thirty eight A, well not quite A but I always told myself that I had reached that psychologically important measurement. My new breasts seemed much, much bigger, especially because of having what looked like a normal girl’s narrower chest.

I began to pose in different positions to gain a better idea of how I looked from all possible angles. From the position of everything in the bathroom it was clear that my suspicions of having lost quite a bit of height were justified. I looked like I might be between about five foot five and five foot seven.

Suddenly there was an urgent knocking on the door.

The shock of the interruption immobilised me. I stood still and held my breath.

The knocking stopped.

I relaxed and resumed normal breathing. Hoping that whoever was wanting to see me had given up and gone. I picked up my dressing gown and started to make my way back to my bedroom in search of something that might fit me.

My mobile rang.

I picked it up and looked at the caller.

It was Liz.

I was just about to answer the phone when a thought suddenly struck me. How could I tell her what had happened to me since I couldn’t even explain it to myself. I put it down and waited.

The ringing stopped and the display indicated four missed calls from Liz and six text messages. There was also a text from Fiona.

I was about to read them when the banging resumed on the door.

“Mollie, are you OK?” shouted my ex-lover.

I walked towards the door, not knowing what to do.

“Mollie, please I just want to make sure you’re OK, I’m so sorry about last night, please let me. I know you’re there I heard your phone ringing.”

I made a sudden decision and quickly unlatched the door before stepping backing back into the living room, out of view of the entrance.

Liz, looking as beautiful as ever in her self designed outfit, walked briskly into my flat, “You OK hun, sorry to have to leave you in the club......who are you?”

She stood in the corridor and stared at me for a few seconds before gaining her composure, “Who are you? Where’s Mollie?”

There was a silence that persisted for a few seconds before I gained the courage to reply, “I’m Mollie.”

“Oh, I see, you’re Mollie too.”

“No, I’m Mollie, there’s only one of me.”

Liz looked at me in obvious confusion. Then she smiled as the only non-supernatural explanation for the presence of a complete stranger in her friend’s flat came to mind.

“Oh, OK, so Michael must have brought you here, is he here at the moment, I’m a really good friend,” Liz responded using my male name.

“Liz, I’m your Mollie and Michael too.”

Liz stared at me for a few seconds and then her smile disappeared and she began to look a little angry, “Look hun, I don’t know what your game is, or if you’re on it, but I want to know where my friend is and I want to know now!”

I hesitated for a few seconds, thinking whether I should lie and tell Liz that Mollie/Michael had gone out for a while. I dismissed that option almost as immediately as it had crossed my mind. There was no way she was going to buy me leaving a strange woman alone in my flat.

I steeled myself for a lengthy battle to overcome her inevitable scepticism.

“Liz can you sit down please,” I said calmly, “and I’ll explain.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” she said warily.

“Please there’s nothing to be alarmed about. Michael, or Mollie as you know her is perfectly safe and is very happy.”

She sat down uneasily on the edge of the armchair. I sat opposite her on the sofa and began to recount the events of the previous evening.

A quarter of an hour later, after a cup of coffee and some chocolate chip biscuits, Liz was still favouring complete disbelief over acceptance.

“The problem with your story, Mollie, or whoever you are is that you could have been told all of it,” she countered to the latest retelling of my account of Halloween in the city centre.

“OK, ask me some questions that there is no way I could have been told the answers to,” I said, feeling increasingly frustrated, “the more intimate the better.”

“Fine. Where and when did we meet?” she asked.

“Cineworld Cardiff, BiCardiff social, Saturday the twentieth of November, three years ago,” I responded confidently.

“Which you could have learned. So what did we do that night?”

“We chatted and had some drinks.”

“What were you wearing?”

“Jeans, t-shirt and I think I was wearing my leather jacket and you were in your favourite hoodie and cargos.”

“When did we first have sex?”

“Two weeks later, in my room in the hall. You wanted to be bottoms all night but I persuaded you to take turns, you weren’t very happy about it though.”

“Oh shit, Mollie I’m beginning to believe you now.” responded Liz as she seemed to drop her hostility to me and relax back in her chair.

It took only a few more questions for Liz to finally accept the truth of my strange transformation. She moved over from the chair and put her arms around me.

“Mollie, I’m so sorry for everything. I shouldn’t have been so selfish. It must have been so horrible for you.”

I kissed her gently on the cheek, “Liz, It’s OK, don’t beat yourself up about this. Look how it’s turned out for me and there are no bruises, not even a scratch. I feel really good, whatever those Mollies did to change me to this they also seemed to have improved my health.”

Liz relaxed and we sat for a few minutes with her head on my shoulder and me caressing her hair. It felt so good to be close to her again.

“Mollie, what are you going to do?” she asked gently.

“What about Liz?”

“Your family, you going to tell them.”

I laughed harshly, “You must be joking, they’ll be the last to know. I’m an evil pervert in the eyes of their church and their beloved Pastor John. Imagine what they’ll think of me when they find out I’m a product of witchcraft, which is what they’ll consider it.”

“Yep, you’ll be lucky if they burn you at the stake,” responded Liz, “what about Uni?”

“Shit what time is it?”

Liz looked at her elegant wristwatch, “Just after ten thirty.”

“Sugar, Liz can you do me a favour. Can you ring in the office, you know the research office and say, I dunno, can you think of an excuse which doesn’t sound as fantastic as what’s happened”

My best friend paused and then smiled, “You ever heard the phrase ‘being economical with the truth’. I’ve got it covered, why don’t you have a shower while I sort out a few things.”

Three hours later I waved goodbye to Liz as she sped away after dropping me outside my block of student flats. I picked up the four larger carrier bags of best quality clothes from her wardrobe. She had assured me that they were things she no longer wore but I had noticed that some of the items still had their shop labels on. I wondered whether she was trying to assuage her guilt.

As I walked, with a little difficulty, up the stairs it struck me that it was lucky that we were more or less the same size now. There was no way I could have afforded even a quarter of the clothes she had donated to me on my studentship salary. The only I thing had needed to buy was some new bras. We had laughed our heads off when we realised that I was now bigger than her even with her implants.

I opened the door and walked into my flat. I gratefully put the bags down in the middle of the room while I went to make myself a coffee. Suddenly my life seemed to be on the up. Liz had got me a couple of weeks off while she had arranged an almost immediate appointment with her private doctor. She had also promised a job modelling for her department if by some unforeseen problem I was unable to continue my research.

I picked the Guardian out of the shopping bags and began to read it as I sipped my black coffee.

Suddenly there was a knock.

I heard a familiar voice, muffled by the door, “Michael we know you’re there, let us in please. Pastor John is here. He wants to help you from the path of evil you’re on.”

It was my Mother!