After a traumatic first working day in the body of Lucy Maya, I had braced myself for them all to be that way. But they were not. A fortnight into the life and job, I was beginning to settle in a little more comfortably. Although in my more relaxed times I was still capable of making large "un-Lucy like" mistakes which raised the occasional eyebrow.

In one particularly surreal moment, I told a male co-worker something going wrong was no different than when I "took a hit" as a line backer. It was a phrase quite ingrained in Craig Morton's phraseology, but patently crazy in Lucy's. If I did not have the luxury of falling back onto the excuse of diminished memory and quirks caused by a week of being in a coma, there was no way possible I would be able to pull this off.

Over those next two weeks I forged a stronger relationship with my teenaged neighbor Janet along with her mother Betty. Janet was a sixteen-year-old whom Lucy had been trying to instill a philosophy based upon Lucy's view of the world. This philosophy could be loosely described as Sexual Feminism. This philosophy can only be described as by using the body to gain attention, then using the brain and personality to maximize the situation. I suspected it would give even the most flexibly modern feminist more than a little heartburn.

In addition to this, I was able to discern Lucy had been sleeping quite often, unbeknownst to Janet, with Janet's mother. This woman who quite recently, accepted that she was a lesbian. Whether Lucy was a lesbian, or was using Betty for some other means (perhaps to allow her free access to schooling the daughter in Lucy's ways.) was unknown to me at this point. Whatever the motives, I suspected Betty still carried something for Lucy, still believing over time it could be rekindled.

That aside, what forging a friendship with mother and daughter allowed me to do was gain more insight into Lucy. I would spend hours hearing Lucy's world philosophy regurgitated back to me from the daughter.

I learned much about how Lucy handled personal situations from the mother. After hanging out with them, I would go back to my apartment to write copious notes in the growing collection of notebooks bearing the facts and rumors of Lucy's life.

Alex and I had started these notebooks when he pretended to be my psychologist, calling everyone in Lucy address book. According to our story it was to "re-establish" the bits and pieces of my missing memory lost in the coma. Several weeks and many re-reads later, the notebooks were turning out to be a valuable, if not incomplete, tool.

With all of this at my fingertips, especially the mother/daughter input, I realized Lucy took very little crap from anyone. This knowledge, combined with a growing confidence in my role as Lucy, allowed me to fend off the hazards of the work place more easily by simply being in the character that was expected of me.

Kirk Baron, who I was now convinced had with Lucy slept to gain the job. This helped to register my growing confidence, scaling back, but did not cease his sexually predatory behavior of me. He was a slick operator with a moral compass stuck on "Kirk".

I suspected much of his attitude toward me stemmed from the fact that Lucy may have been a morally rudderless operator as well. Simply detecting the change in me, feeling the more straightforward motivations toward the work place in the post coma Lucy made me less of a threat to him.

He knew how to handle challenging bright newcomers, who played by the standard rules, they could be suppressed. It was challenging bright newcomers, who played by his off the book rules, which frightened him. Merely, scaling back or not, I am quite certain that he still carried something up his sleeve.

However, not everything was getting easier. After going into the fatal car accident as Craig Morton, and coming out of a coma trapped in the body of Lucy Maya, Alex had been overwhelming understanding and helpful.

After revealing the truth to him, I suspected that he would not be able to handle my new female form... or even the fact that I was not dead. Only for the first few days he had been more flexible of mind and understanding than I could have hoped for.

Simply without being able to put my finger on it, I felt something had been altered between us since the revelation. I had spoken to my brother on the phone a handful of times. Each conversation we had was becoming more terse and infrequent, with the last being over four days ago. We had not been out of touch that long since before our parents died. I needed to sort this out.

I picked up the phone on my desk, now covered completely in neat stacks of paper, dialing it. I put my stockinged feet up on the desk, glancing over them at the painting on the wall. I purchased the painting on a whim last week because the saleswoman assured me it looked decidedly feminine yet professional. I wasn't particularly fond of its abstractness, but it was titled "Mother Nature Arises". The title seemed better suited to Lucy's aggressive womanhood than the 1972 Miami Dolphins print that hung in my office when I was Craig.

The phone rang several times more than it should have, indicating to me that Alex had turned his answering machine off. After allowing it to ring fifteen or twenty more times, he finally picked up.

"Hello?" He sounded resigned.

"Alex, it's me." I never identified myself as Craig when I spoke to him from the office phone.

"Yeah, hey there. What's going on?"

"Well, per your instructions, I'm checking in just to let you know what's going on. Remember a couple of weeks back when you didn't want to let a day go by without hearing from me? Well you're pretty hard to reach for the man who uttered those words," I was taking full advantage of a brothers' ability to be roughly honest with one another.

"It's my son and work. You know. I just don't seem to have the time. It's nothing to get worked up about. Just circumstance," Alex replied.

I knew him well enough to know he was circling around the truth.

"Alex, listen, I'm not thinking so. There's something up. When ... the unique ... circumstances surrounding my coming out of a coma pops up, I would think anyone aware of it would be very interested in my progress. Especially someone close. Besides, you took your answering machine off-line Alex. You're avoiding someone, since I haven't talked to you in days. I have to assume that someone is me."

There was a pause, and finally "Look. I'll drive into town. Meet me for lunch at Darwin's Cafe. Make it a late lunch, say, two o'clock so we can talk without the crowds."

The Darwin Cafe. Looking at the decor, I could imagine people who thought evolution is a crock would hate this place intensely with its heavy "Evolution of the Species" motif. It may have the best sandwiches in the city, but I was quite certain they had no plans to make this place a restaurant chain in some parts of the country.

I sipped my Diet Coke, not because I particularly enjoyed the completely artificial tasting liquid, but because buried in the notebook on Lucy's life, were several notations that she was an infamous Diet Coke drinker consuming close to a six pack a day. Like the abstract print, which hung in my office, it was just another form of being in what I thought was character.

Alex walked in (spotting me immediately) sitting down. He was obviously troubled, even as he tried to disguise it. An astronomical ten years difference between us or not, you have gut feelings about your only sibling. His nervous running of his hand through his hair did not help his cause.

As we opened every face to face conversation, we small talked about his son, ex-wife, and the job, before I cut to the chase.

"Listen, I don't want to be out of the office too long, so I'm going to ask you straight out. Why are you avoiding me?"

He finished the beer in front of him, quickly ordering another via long distance hand signal to the waiter. It must be, I thought, nice to work from home, drinking when and as much as you please. He received the second beer, gathered himself, and began talking, forming his sentences carefully, and speaking in low tones.

"Let's say that one can get used to the idea of his brother showing up from the dead. Let's also say one can get used to the idea that he turns up by jumping into the body of a woman who was alive. This, I might add, are monster steps all by themselves. But I seemed to have pulled off with my sanity in check."

I nodded in agreement, as he continued.

"It turns out there are other factors to consider. People like to talk, so be it," he waved his hands dismissively, "But when the older brother of the deceased, steps in out of nowhere and is seen with her all over the place. He's staying at her place, she staying at his, it creates questions that are very difficult for the older brother to answer.

Sure, you were ... Lucy was ... close to my brother and the last person to see her alive. Sure it would be natural for me to help you out considering your condition. However, it gets to the point where tongues start to wag. Especially since I'm paying a hell of a lot of attention to a woman Craig had only known for half a year. My ex even called me about it."

"Your ex? Really? I don't get it. Who they hell cares enough to watch what the hell we're doing?"

"Keep in mind Craig," Alex explained, "Lucy Maya was the focus of quite a bit of local media when she pulled out of her coma. Whether you accepted the invitations to interview or not. Therefore, while you ... as Lucy ... are no Madonna, you're not perfectly anonymous as you would like to believe. The odd person here and there notice us."

I was growing angry. If he was telling me that he was avoiding me because of a handful of ill-conceived rumors, I was going to blow my top.

"Alex, you better have a stronger reason than this crap."

"Listen," Alex said, "I know this whole thing is very hard on you, but it is also hard on me. Can you imagine what it is like to be romantically linked to your brother?"

He shifted in his seat and downed the rest of his beer. He sounded a little bitter now, "Well, I'll tell you. All of it swirls around in my subconscious, until finally the other week it gave me a pretty nasty dream. A dream where I was ... banging the hell out of Lucy. Do you know what woke me up?" the question was never intended to be answered, "Lucy opened her mouth and out came your voice. I woke up, running straight to the bathroom to throw up."

He sat back, looking me straight in the eyes.

"I don't put much credence into dreams, despite the fact that you feel there may be a connection to Lucy through yours. I may on one level be attracted to Lucy Maya's body, however I have no illusions that I carry a conscious desire to bang her while you're in it.

You have to understand how uncomfortable I am. I have spent my life looking at women who look like you do now. It's just like I get that queasy shock when I look at the ass of a nice looking girl and she turns around. She turns out to be a very young kid dressed way too mature. Well that's what you're doing to me."

He pulled out his wallet and threw a couple of fives on the table.

"Listen, there will come a point in time where I grow used to your appearance, just as if you were a sister. The shock and the crazy dreams will go away. However, you can't expect that after a just a few weeks. It's just too much too soon. Believe me, I've tried very hard." He stood. "So keep in touch, let me know of anything that goes wrong of course.

I'm not abandoning you, you'll always be my brother. It's just until the rumors die down. I have to get my mind around to accept your appearance. Let's just keep a little distance. I wish I could be there for you bro', you know I love you, but I just can't. Not yet at least."

He turned abruptly and was gone.

It was strange, in some ways Betty, Janet and I were becoming a little hybrid family. I invited Betty and Janet over for meals when I grilled on the large balcony. They would invite me over for dinner on the days I didn't cook.

For someone as private as Craig Morton, it seemed incredibly strange to be breaking bread with newly made friends so often. On the other hand, to Lucy, it may have not been strange. I only had a sketchy but increasing working knowledge of the depths of the friendship Lucy had with these two, separately, as a mother and daughter unit.

Tonight we were sitting in their quite large apartment, enjoying a particularly well made lasagna. I talked about work in general terms, as did Betty. Janet went on at length about a history teacher that she absolutely didn't like. She labeled him several things that were so unknown to my twenty-five year olds vocabulary, that if it weren't for context, I wouldn't even be sure if they were bad or not.

She wrapped up her tale of school with what she thought was a minor observation.

"When I got home, those weirdoes were knocking on your door again."

My head snapped in the direction of Janet more sharply than I had intended.

"At my door again? What weirdoes would that be Janet?"

This was a secure building requiring a key or a "buzz up" from a resident. No one should be able to just arrive at your door. I was hoping Janet was about to tell me a story about a strange salesman. Betty, as an adult, more clearly registered my discomfort and was watching me carefully.

"Oh, right, I forgot to tell you the first two times. A bus driver and a priest, reverend, or whatever were knocking on your door a couple of times last week. I'm not sure what they wanted."

"What time was this?" I asked.

"Oh, I guess four o'clock the first time, maybe eight at night the second. Today it was around five."

"Why would a bus driver, and a priest be at your apartment door?" Betty asked, "It's like the beginning of a bad joke: A priest, a bus driver and a soldier all go to a woman's apartment one day..."

She was making a joke, but Betty, like her daughter, was sharp. Even as she couched it in humor, she knew there was something off about the visit and my reaction to it.

"The bus driver's name is Arnie and he was the one who hit us." I said honestly before speculating, "I figure the clergy is his friend, maybe he wants to find out if I was closer to God, or something, while in my coma. I get a lot of that."

This would be a benign observation if it weren't for the threats that Arnie had made when he correctly assessed that the "spirit" occupying this body was not Lucy's. He further speculated that I had "slipped past the eyes of God", and he therefore, would have to "make it right". Perhaps he had an old fashioned exorcism in mind.

Janet was mildly interested in the explanation, this didn't satisfy Betty, "Why are they coming up without phoning first? How are they getting in the building? Have they tried to contact you before? I don't mean to pry."

Whether she was doing because she a protective former lover, or out of concern, I was quite certain that she fully meant to pry,.

"It's interesting, that's all. We're all concerned about building security."

I put large piece of lasagna in my mouth to give me a moment to think as I chewed. I decided on the partial truth.

"The bus driver came by before. He is, to put it mildly, a little stressed out at being instrument of Craig's death. Regardless of whether it was his fault or not. He sat in the hospital room every day reading to me. He believed the sound of his voice would bring me out of the coma." I shrugged.

Janet regained interest in the conversation.

"Maybe it did. Who knows? Yet, because I came out of the coma with a damaged memory, he is under the impression that I am possessed or something."

"Possessed? Really by whom?" Janet asked beating her mother by a second to the question.

"I'm not sure. The devil. A ghost of some kind."

I took a breath, if they run into Arnie in the hallway, or he knocked on their door, I wanted to prepare them. I meant it to come out more flippantly but I failed, regretting it the moment I said it, "Craig Morton, maybe."

Both women looked at me great interest for a moment taking in the madness of these claims. I could see them dismiss the idea for being as completely ludicrous as it sounded, but the seed was planted.

I phoned the moment I returned to my apartment.

"Alex, it's Lucy. It's Craig, I mean. Listen, I realize your taking some time off from me, but something very interesting popped up today," I told him the story of the bus driver Arnie and the priest hanging around my apartment.

"Exorcism maybe?" he asked humorously although he still sounded a bit high strung as he did this afternoon.

"You know, I honestly thought about that, but I am not willing to jump to that conclusion. It is pretty crazy stuff after all."

"Any more crazy than your existence?" he asked rhetorically, "I think its time to reassess what we define as 'crazy'." He launched into his big brotherly advice, "Listen I think you should confront this Arnie on neutral ground. That way he can't do anything rash. I don't take him for a fly off the handle guy, but you do represent a major breach in his belief system. A breach he created by the way. Who knows how people handle having their religious reality challenged."

"No telling. So you're thinking I can talk him into being reasonable? Suck him into the big lie."

Despite his inability to see me, I shrugged, "It's worth the piece of mind. Are you coming with me?"

"We talked about that before. I'm not going to be able to do it. Not yet anyway. If you want to run over strategies leading up to meeting him, I'll be here for you by phone. I'll put my machine back on, in fact."

He yawned. He was finished. As good as his word in Darwin Cafe this afternoon, he was leaving me on my own. He ended the conversation with a simple "Good luck."

Alex was right. I should try to straighten Arnie out, or more accurately, drive him away from the truth. At the very least, I could gauge where he was mentally. I had to see if he presented a danger to me or just a nuisance. In any case, I wasn't going to do that now. As Alex alluded, I would need a strategy at the very least. I would call him, but not quite yet.

The next morning Kirk Baron was waiting for me in my office sitting on my desk. He was holding a framed picture of Lucy's mother in his hand that I had brought in from home. The photograph was one of the many props I used to be "in character".

He looked up as I walked in, indicating for me to close the door behind me. He started speaking while he again stared at the picture in his hand.

"It must be strange to have these pictures on your desk, not having a clue as to who they are. I mean, somewhere, intellectually, you understand that this one is your mother, and this one over here," he pointed to the picture of the gray haired man near the printer, "is your father, but they don't create anything in you emotionally do they?"

"I don't remember them, really. I keep them on my desk hoping something will spark my memory, things will start coming back."

This came out well practiced and smooth. Over the past few weeks, I had used similar lines hundreds of times.

"So what do you remember exactly? Stop me if this is getting personal, but do you remember any of your childhood? Your teen years, college, anything?"

What was he up to?

"No, not my childhood or my teen years. Nothing."

"But you do remember some things don't you?" He was obviously setting up a pattern of logic to circle in around a point. I needed to answer carefully.

"Well, certainly I can walk and talk. I remember how to drive a car, things like that. Only, the brain is a strange complex organ. It seems like I remember mechanical basics, tying shoes, driving, etc. Although I am missing many pieces of my narrative history, so to speak."

"It sure is one complex organ, that brain. During our interview I noted you were a sociology major. We talked about it a bit. Do you recall anything about your sociology studies?" He finally put the picture of Lucy's mother back on the desk. He was watching me now.

"No, not at all. It's missing as well."

"Really nothing at all? Indulge me. I know its a tough situation, however I find this situation fascinating," his eyes glimmered with snake like malevolent mischief, "How did you even know to come to work when you woke up?"

"I've had tons of conversation with people who informed me I had a new job. I saw the letter of offer in with the rest of my mail. There was plenty of information to clue me in."

"So getting here wasn't so hard, then. How about performance? I guess what I'm asking is, how you do this job at all? You're very good at it you know. Your team really respects you. You are up on demographic trends, the latest surveys and consumer polls roll right off of your tongue. On this account you know exactly what the competitors are up to."

With growing alarm, I knew exactly where he was leading this conversation. Kirk Baron was deviously intelligent.

He continued, "I've been thinking about it. How is it a person who needed to find their letter of offer to even know they had a job, quote regularly and quite accurately from trade magazines that came out around the same time she was interviewing? How does a person who doesn't remember anything from her sociology classes three years ago, remember how the Ford Motor people handled their advertising buys five years ago?"

He had me dead to rights, but there wasn't a chance I was going to let him know it. "Again," I said as testily as I could within the parameters of work place etiquette, "my memory isn't missing completely but it is spotty. And by spotty, I mean huge holes."

"Perhaps. But laid out as I have done it seems very suspicious. Like someone faked this to get out of a certain work arrangement," he said, alluding to the fact that he thought we would be sleeping together once I came to work here.

I laughed, and said exactly what I was thinking, "Wow, now that's an ego. Do you really believe that I would go through this elaborate and painful ruse, to renege on some underhanded deal we had? I don't think so."

"Well that's good to hear. Then you are probably okay that I got human resources to approve a therapist to help you pull some of those memories back. Oh, a hypno-therapist, by the way. I know how expensive they are. I also realized our health plan doesn't cover it, but you have such potential, having been through so much, I thought it was a good idea," he paused dramatically to let the next part sink in, "Unless of course you have objections. It is not my place to recommend what an employee should do regarding their health. Nevertheless, a hypno-therapist would do wonders for anyone in your situation. That is except for someone who was faking it, of course. I'll let you think about it. Let me know what you're going to do. I need to give human resources the final sign off."

With that, he left my office very pleased with himself even as I cursed my carelessness. Without realizing it I had painted myself into a corner, and he quickly figured it out. In order to do my job, I needed to be on top of what was current in the field, the history of the client, as well as a host of other things. These things were blatantly inconsistent with the pattern of my alleged memory loss.

Kirk knows that I am not going to let myself be put under by a hypno-therapist to roam about my subconscious, especially since he is fairly certain I am faking it. My denial of the therapist will probably not directly challenge my job, but he will take this as his cue to put the pressure back on.

But what I didn't find out until much later, was Kirk began applying the pressure the moment he left the office. Quietly he insinuated to the ever-hungry rumor mill, what was probably the truth, that I had slept my way into the position. He changed it from himself to an unnamed "big wig". He also raised questions as to why, by my own admission, I wasn't seeing a physician or therapist.

This was a strange behavior for someone who doesn't even remember her parents. He then subversively pointed out the convenient gaps in my memory of my past, versus my full memory of the business. He also let the grapevine know that there was a therapist at my disposal, wondering to anyone who cared whether I would use the help. If not, why not?

This time, he left an envelope was taped to my door. Perhaps they had given up taking me by surprise. I walked into my apartment, slung my briefcase onto the couch opening the envelope. The letter was in script, its handwriting as simple as its message:

It is imperative that we see you. Please call.
Arnie"

Underneath his name was his phone number. I assumed by "we" he was referring to the clergy who seemed to be in his company much of late. Well, Alex and I had decided that confronting him was the best way to handle this. I expected it to be more on my timetable. I looked at the note again. Its lack of emotion or descriptiveness was a bit unnerving. It spelled trouble to me in a way I couldn't define.

If I didn't want an off balance chance encounter with Arnie one day when I opened my door to find him standing there. I should call meet with him, getting it over with. After reading this letter bearing all the charm of a ransom note, I was quite certain that it was going to be a very neutral, very public, place.

I walked over to the phone and dialed. It wasn't Arnie's number, which I tapped out onto the keypad. It was Janet's private line.

"Janet speaking."

"Hey kid. It's Lucy. I'm stressed as hell right now. Tell me, what is it I did to relax?" I did want some ideas on how to unwind, but mostly, I wanted to talk to someone.

"You run, you know. Miles actually. You always say that alleviates your stress." she noted, "You also like to shop ... and ... well ... you did promise a certain someone that you would go shopping with them for some ... stuff."

I grimaced. I had been trying to back away from Lucy's promise to help Janet endow herself through padded means, since I first learned of it. But Lucy was apparently more convincing than I was.

I sighed the sigh of the defeated, "Put your mom on the phone. I'm not doing this unless she goes - "

I didn't have a chance to finish. Janet emitted a high pitch squeal, and the next thing I heard was her calling for her mom.

I smiled humorously fully grasping the irony of my taking a girl shopping so she could be womanly. Like me.

Craig Morton hated malls with a resolute passion. Lucy, by all accounts, could spend hours, not to mention great amounts of money, in several malls over the span of days.

Pulling into the parking lot, I felt the ambivalence of Betty in the passenger seat, and the excitement of Janet in the back seat. I wondered with grim humor if facing Arnie or any of the other obstacles of being Lucy could be any worse than this.

The only upside was that now that I had "lost my memory" I didn't have to play the expert. My memory loss did not pull me out of the frank discussions of women's breasts, which, as the man I was internally, made me somewhat uncomfortable. Janet had worn a very tight top, so she could see how her soon to be artificially enhanced breasts looked under even the most form fitting clothes.

The advertising executive in me marveled as we all automatically chose the Victoria Secrets store, chiefly because they had branded the image so well into our brains. Once in, Janet paraded in and out of the changing rooms. She had with her various types of padded, water and gel filled bras, with and without even more added volume from silicone breast enhancers.

I made non-committal comments; mostly telling Janet that something "looked okay" and not to "go too big" which she informed me flew in the face of my previous philosophy. Betty stood close by, she was even more non-vocal about the situation than I.

However, after a short while, to my complete discomfort, I found that I could not turn my male brain off. It was becoming difficult for me, as this nubile hard-bodied young lady came out of the dressing room practically shoved her large, rounded breasts in my face. I felt a certain warmness begin to gather in my pubic area. It was, unquestionably, arousal. I felt my face begin to go red. I was going to excuse myself for a moment when Betty seemed to pick up on my vibe.

She leaned into my ear and asked quietly, "Is that what you like? Large breasted girls?"

This shook me up to the very core of my being.

"Look, it was your daughters idea - "

Betty cut me off in hushed tones, "I didn't mean it to sound that way. I'm not talking about Janet; I'm talking about me. Is that what I should do, get myself a pair of nice big artificial tits to turn you on?"

I could feel her hot breath on my ear, with myself growing warmer, growing moist, in my vaginal area. This was an area that I took great pains to perform basic hygiene on to prevent problems, but otherwise tried to ignore.

It was the single part of Lucy's body that I could not fathom, I was oddly afraid of this area. Breasts albeit were strange, but they were after all external and a more far rounded, much heavier version of something that already existed on men. Quite simply everything to do with the area below, from its mysterious flaps, to its unknown insides brought anxiety upon me. Now, for the first time in the weeks I have occupied this body, the unmistakable feeling of arousal was taking over.

Directly across the mall, I saw a shoe store. Betty smiled slyly as I stumbled over my words claiming I was going to look for some shoes to buy. She was not going to push the issue. Just being able to fluster me with sexual energy after all these weeks was a small victory. It was a sign to her, that she may be able to, over time, win me back.

With her daughter in the changing booth, with no one around, she gently kissed my cheek and whispered, "It's okay, I understand you need to go. This is a bit much for you. Besides, I think I'm going to shop some too." She walked over to the changing door to check on her daughter and I walked out of the store.

I just needed a bit of space, and time to come to terms with this feeling in my body and Betty's direct flirtation. As I said I would, I walked directly across the mall, pretending to look at the various shoe styles in the store window. I wandered back and forth in the mall, looking in store windows but seeing nothing, as my mind whirled. My feeling of arousal finally subsided. I felt as normal as I could be as a male locked into the body of a female. Nevertheless, mentally I was still a bit jumpy.

I eventually wandered across from Victoria Secret where I was greeted by mom and daughter, wearing their brand new purchases. Their old bras stuffed into their bags and their "new" breasts pressing tightly against their tops as if screaming to get out. They did, despite the mental roadblocks I tried to put up, look very good.

"What do you think? And Mom too! Who would have thought? She's not usually the dress up type." asked Janet, moving about side to side so I could get a good look at her mounds.

"Looks great ladies," I answered honestly.

Betty, who had been watching my eyes the entire time said, "Good. Now its your turn to buy something. And since we're in front of one of your favorite types of stores..."

I sat on the bed unable to sleep. The image of the two women stuck in my head, as did the feeling of the uncharacteristic hug that Betty gave me. She made sure her padded breasts pressed firmly against mine as she quickly, ran her hand lightly across my ass. I recognized that move from my old days as Craig Morton. The motions were just enough to get her point across, at the same time subtle enough to leave no doubt in my mind.

I stared at the top drawer of the nightstand for several minutes. I had spent the past few weeks getting into the role of Lucy. I was trying to understand what made her tick. I dug into her past, quizzing her acquaintances, this was merely all intellectual.

Simultaneously, I had studiously avoided the physical aspects of her womanhood. I did this mostly because it more than anything else reminded me of how upside down my world had become. I was beginning to understand that part of my avoidance was out of fear. What if I like it? What did that say about me? Occupying the body was one thing; comfortably occupying the body with all of its physical aspects was losing Craig Morton to the female form I've become.

After today, after those feelings of arousal in the store, I had to know about those feelings could achieve. Reaching into the nightstand drawer, I pulled out her vibrator. With a quick twist, it hummed heavily in my hand.

I closed my eyes, settled on the bed, hiked the bottom of my nightdress to my stomach thinking about Betty. I tried my best to push out the thoughts of her daughter, which fought their way in.

This morning, Janet seemed genuinely excited to go to school with her new sexier look. She took Lucy's advice from some week's back, buying a series of bras to mimic real growth. Janet's cleavage was larger, but not outrageously, so (definitely not as much as I saw it was going to be in few months). God help this girl, if she sprouts on her own, only her genes know.

She was only in the apartment briefly this morning. Her job was more to oversee and touch me up. I was becoming more adept at applying my own makeup. I was not quite ready to handle all the nuances of application, especially enough to look as though I was wearing no make up at all, but it was coming.

Once Janet left, I finished dressing, picking up the paper that Arnie had written his note on from the desk in my bedroom. Although I picked up the paper, my thoughts wandered to Betty. I was speculating how much more complex this situation was going to be with her coming on to me.

What about my fantasizing about her last night? Were those thoughts pure sexual fantasy or was something developing? It became particularly touchy because of my dual role as her daughter's buddy. How did Lucy do it?

Kirk had his keen observations about my faked memory loss. Those thoughts also drifted through my mind. He was unquestionably up to something; there was no doubt he was going to make my life much harder than he already had. I could almost feel the noose tighten around my neck in the work world.

This was all getting to be too much. Just being trapped in Lucy's body, operating it without a manual was difficult enough. It was time for me to untangle some of the complexities knotting itself around my life. It was time for me to be a bit more proactive instead of being knocked around by circumstances beyond my control.

I took the paper into the kitchen and dialed the number written on it.

"Hello?" His quiet Southern voice sounded of sleep.

"Hello Arnie? This is Lucy. Lucy Maya, I received your note. We have to talk."