THE ROLE OF A LIFETIME
Fiction by Cynthia V. Hart

David shivered. The old mansion could get drafty at night. He had to jump a little to lay down on the bed, as it was slightly higher than modern beds. Looking up, all he could see was the canopy and the curtains almost walled off the room. It was as if he was in a whole other world, insulated from the one he knew. The mattress was so soft, so comfortable, he felt himself relaxing immediately. Had it really been only a week since he got that letter from the law firm representing her estate? Imagine—his dull, drab old Aunt Frances, the secret love child of one of Hollywood’s most glamorous and tragic silver-screen sex goddesses. It still was hard to believe he was any relation to the legendary Ginger Garrison. And with her and Aunt Frances both gone, the magnificent old mansion in L.A.’s tony Holmby Hills neighborhood was all his now -- every stick of furniture and stitch of clothing in the place. The fancy cars in the garage and the paintings on the walls. He would think about how to pay the inheritance taxes on all of it tomorrow.

Flying out here from Vermont had really taken it out of him. The butler had installed him in another room, but when he’d been told this was her room as they passed, he couldn’t resist sneaking a peek inside. He closed the door quietly so as not to alert anyone to his presence. He took in the opulence of the room, like the rest of the house only more so: the huge dresser and dressing-room-style lighted vanity, a closet and wardrobe, the lavishly appointed bathroom...and a big four-poster bed with gauzy curtains that seemed to draw the eye to it. He struggled with temptation, gave in at last and opened a drawer or two. The topmost ones were full of lingerie, the old-fashioned kind from the mid-century period of their owner’s heyday: panties both brief and less so, stiff, lacy underwire bras, stiffer girdles, garter belts, waist cinchers, and silky hose galore. He let his hands savor the texture of the garments before carefully placing them back where found, then toyed with the impressive arsenal of makeup on the vanity: blush, mascara, rouge, scented powders, nail polishes and lipsticks in dozens of shades. Thoughts that made him blush beet-red went through his head.

Finally, he wandered over to the bed and sat on its old-style high mattress experimentally. It gave beneath him, with a lush softness one would expect in a home whose occupant could afford the very best of everything. Surely it couldn’t do any harm just to lay down for a bit... he thought. He sank down and down into a trancelike state of half-sleep. Presently he heard something...a whisper or a rustle of drapery, he couldn’t be sure which. No, it was definitely a whisper: ...Hi there, sailor!.. He looked around, but saw no one through the curtains.

Relax... the whisper came again. Lay back...get comfortable. He started to get a bit nervous. But the whispering voice seemed so seductive, so enticing that his nervousness couldn’t go much further than mild unease. Take all those clothes off, honey. You must be sweltering.

Take his clothes off? Well, he was going to sleep...it did seem natural enough. He pulled off his shoes and socks, unbuttoned his shirt, loosened his belt and pants, slid them off and was down to his shorts. Take it all off, the voice hissed. With a swallow, he took off his shorts and lay naked on the bed. He didn’t feel the chill he had expected. In fact, he could swear he felt someone’s warm breath on his neck. And though he still saw no one but himself, he was starting to feel...something...touching him, caressing him.

So handsome, the voice whispered. Young and smooth...just the way I like ’em.

Suddenly something in his brain clicked into place and he recognized the voice. He had to be hallucinating. It couldn’t be her; she was decades dead. But the soft soprano was unmistakable, even at a whisper. “Is someone there?” he asked aloud, still not allowing himself to think the obvious.

Nobody here but us ghosts, darling, said the voice. Now he felt a chill...right up his spine. “G...Ginger?”

Right the first time, the voice replied. What did you expect? This is my bedroom, after all. Or was, at least.

“I-I-I’m sorry,” he stammered in fear. “I didn’t mean to...to invade your privacy. I’ll go—”

Shhh. Slow down, honey, the sibilant whisper came. Who said you had to leave? I’m not mad. I won’t hurt you...I promise. Quite the opposite, in fact; I want to make you feel good. He felt as if hands were running up and down the length of his body, lingering at his crotch. Real good... He felt himself stiffening. Don’t be afraid. What could a harmless little old thing like me do to a big boy like you, anyhow? Besides, you're my grand-nephew; I don't kick out family.

He felt a soft touch on his cock where no hands were visible. My, what a big boy, the voice said teasingly. Then as it went hard and lengthened, he felt something else, warm and moist, engulfing it. Moving up and down on it and drawing it upward...as if it were being sucked by an invisible mouth. He felt himself responding, his eyelids fluttering, his breath coming in rapid gasps, his hips starting to move upward. He thought he saw a lithe young woman in an old-fashioned garter belt, seamed stockings and high heels—and nothing else—kneeling over him, blonde curls bobbing up and down.

One advantage to being a ghost is you can talk with your mouth full, the voice said with a giggle. It was stronger now, less whispery. His thrusts were faster and stronger now as he surrendered to the sensual apparition. Come for me, baby, she said in his head. Come for Auntie Ginger. Come in my mouth if you want to...and I know you want to.

He felt himself spurting, gushing...Oh, God, I've ruined the bedspread! he thought. But when his head cleared and his breathing slowed at last, he looked down and saw not a trace of any stain on the soft quilted material, anywhere. He felt like he had sprayed a gallon of semen -- but where it all had gone to, he could not for the life of him guess. Then suddenly, he realized where it must have gone...but that couldn't be! There were no such things as ghosts in the real world, let alone ones that could swallow anything...or were there?

He felt her presence as if she were lying on top of him. Did you like that?

“Y-yes,” he husked, his voice shaky.

Ha! Thought you would, the voice said with palpable satisfaction. Even after all these years, I can still suck like an Electrolux. And suddenly there she was, big as life and twice as beautiful, straddling him -- blue eyes and pearly white teeth sparkling, full, pouty lips in deep wine-red lipstick shining softly, porcelain skin glinting in the soft light. She wore the same insouciant expression as in those old films he’d watched in her screening room downstairs, her breasts large and heaving and glistening with sweat, pencil-eraser-sized nipples erect. He couldn’t believe what was apparently happening. “Miss Garrison?” he said.

“Oh, come on, champ,” she replied, grinning. “After a blowjob like that, we ought to at least be on a first-name basis, don't you think?” She chucked him under the chin affectionately. “What’s your name, sweetheart? Mine’s Ginger...but I guess you know that.”

“David,” he managed to get out. “David Lindsay.”

“Nice to meet you, Dave,” Ginger said. "Do you mind if I call you Davey? I always did like giving my lovers pet names." She raised both creamy-skinned arms high, piling her golden hair up on top of her head and thrusting her large breasts up and out. "Like what you see?" she asked, still grinning. David nodded dumbly.

“If you liked that...then you’ll love this.” And she promptly sat on his cock, guiding it gently into her and burying it up to the root in her moist wetness, gasping a little as she did so. “Tight enough for you?” she asked, putting her arms around his neck. He nodded, scarcely believing he could be feeling anything from what was clearly a ghost. But he could feel her warm skin on his own, not cold or corpselike in the least...and he could also feel himself already getting hard again, when he had always needed at least 15 minutes to do so after an orgasm. "How...how can you do this?" he asked. "I thought ghosts were—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," replied Ginger. "People have a lot of misconceptions about ghosts; so did I, before I became one." She favored him with that dazzling smile that had lit up screens, news photos, magazine covers and theater-lobby posters for decades. "We can be solid when we want to...and do lots of other things, too. Especially with a living person around who's willing to work with us...and I figure you're willing. You are, aren't you?" He could only nod as she appeared to take in a long, deep breath, making her chest rise and swell appealingly. "You were probably expecting me to be all cold and clammy and zombie-looking, right? C'mon, see for yourself." She gently took a hand of his in each of hers and raised them to her ample breasts, placing each hand so it was filled with breast flesh. "There now, does that feel cold to you?" Ginger asked teasingly. David could only shake his head in the negative. "Squeeze 'em if you want, but not too hard," cooed the platinum-tressed icon riding his cock. He did so and felt her sharp intake of breath. "Oh, yeah," she gasped, "that's just perfect!"

“God, it’s been so long...I love how your big cock feels inside me.” She placed her hands over his, still on her breasts, and her heavy-lashed, dark-blue-shadowed eyelids closed in ecstasy as she pinched and played with her roseate nipples. “Give it to me, Davey,” she crooned. “Gimme it all! Pack my pussy with meat! Stuff me full...” Her hands ran over his bare chest now, breasts and platinum curls bouncing as she matched his thrusts, reaching down to stimulate her engorged clitoris with a manicured finger. His own hands roamed over her torso, her hips, her thighs and as far down her long legs as he could reach.

“Play with my tits some more, baby,” she moaned, pulling his hands up again and replacing hers with them. “Pinch my nipples--I love that.” He did as she bid, loving the way her big, soft breasts felt in his hands. “Oh, God...yes...YES!!” she gasped, moaning and crying out as she peaked. He felt his own orgasm erupting again, and they climaxed as one. They both gasped for breath for a few moments, then she lay down atop him and kissed him softly. “Wow,” she breathed. “I’d almost forgotten...how wonderful a man could feel. You know, you're the first man who didn't work for me to be in this bedroom in over forty years? Thank you.” Her smile was beatific. All he could do in between rasping breaths was mumble, “You’re welcome.”

“Well, at least you like girls,” Ginger said, sliding off David and turning on her side next to him, resting her head on one elbow. “The way you were pawing through my lingerie and playing with stuff on my vanity, I was beginning to wonder.” Her smile was teasing now. He started, but she laid a delicate hand on his chest. “Shhh. Take it easy, it’s okay. I don’t mind, honest and truly I don’t. What were you thinking about?”

He hesitated. “Come on,” she prodded. “We’re all alone here. You can tell me. I promise, I won’t tell a soul.” She smiled a faintly impish smile and put her hand on her bare left breast. “Cross my heart and hope to—oh, wait, I died already, didn’t I?” She giggled and tousled his hair.

“Well...” he began. “I guess I was...enjoying the old-style undies you have. I’ve always liked them better than the stuff they make today. And I was sort of wondering...what it must have been like.”

“What what must have been like?”

“To...to be you. To be a beautiful Hollywood starlet in the golden age.”

She smiled slyly. “Well, believe you me, it wasn’t all sequins and champagne.” She sighed. “I had to take a whole lotta crap from a whole lotta men--co-stars, directors, producers, studio big-shots, you name it. I don't even wanna think about all the ugly, flabby losers I had to fuck to get where I am--er, was. Those days are gone. Things are different now...but I bet I could still bring ’em in. A cute face and a great pair of...legs always sells, no matter what the era.” She winked, then looked at him seriously. “Do you believe I’m for real, Davey?”

“How can I not? Geez, you only just gave me the best sex of my life!”

She grinned. “That was the best of your life?! Oh, you poor deprived thing! Don’t tell me you’re a virgin?”

David blushed. “Um...yeah,” he admitted at last.

Ginger grinned. “Calm down, hon, there’s no shame in it. Everybody’s gotta start somewhere; I was a virgin when I first got out here from Omaha, if you can believe it...but not for long." She grinned lasciviously. "Besides, I always did like being a guy’s first. It’s really sweet.” She kissed him on the nose. “You ain’t seen nothing yet! Buddy boy, there’s a whole lot more where that came from...if you play your cards right.” She leaned closer, and he could smell her perfume mixed with her perspiration. “So you like the idea of being a girl, huh? I used to know a guy like you,” she mused thoughtfully. “He was this low-rent director. Sweet guy...even if he did have a funny thing for angora sweaters.”

“Ed Wood?” asked David.

Her face lit up with surprise. “Yeah! That’s the guy. You know him?”

“No, I’ve just seen a couple of his movies.”

“Shoulda figured,” she said with a grin. She lowered her ringlet-framed face to his. “Tell you what—how's about we make us a little deal? I’ve always wondered how the other half lives myself. You let me sort of rent space in that cute bod of yours—it’s just about the right size anyhow—and we’ll take this town by storm!”

He gulped. “What...what do you mean?”

“I mean, you let me in and show me what being a guy is like...” She walked fingers over his chest. “...and I’ll let you have your fantasy.” She tapped his nose playfully. “You can be me...or as close as anyone else could be. There is only one Ginger Garrison, after all...but with my help, you can be almost as hot as I was! I'll even let you go first, as a show of good faith.”

He stared. “I...I could be you? That’s impossible! I don’t have—”

She laid a pair of fingers with long red nails over his lips. “Shhh. You may not have it now...but you will. Let me prove it to you.” She lay against him, her huge erect nipples and heavy breasts pressing against his chest, and kissed him again, sliding her tongue around his. "Relax and lie back, honey. Close your eyes," she whispered. He did so...and suddenly she was gone -- and he felt something peculiar inside. His whole body tingled and again he heard her voice in his head. A loose fit, but it’ll do. She chuckled throatily. Don’t worry, sweetie. I promised not to hurt you, remember? You trust old Auntie, don't you? Let’s see what we can do with this... Just relax and let Mama take over.

Suddenly he felt his muscles tightening, his flesh tingling and stretching and shifting in places all over as a red haze fell over his closed eyes and a strange warmth spread throughout his body. He felt himself shrinking slightly and strange sensations in his face, chest, genitals, hips and feet. He felt his hair growing longer on either side of his face, then opened his eyes and watched it change from dark brown to light, then to summery blonde and finally to platinum curls. Just like hers... he thought. His face was changing, too, as he felt but could not yet see, the features smoothing out and jawline narrowing, the lips becoming fuller, even his dark brown eyes becoming light blue. Finally the warmth subsided and he looked up, then down at himself...and stared goggle-eyed at what he saw.

Much, much better, he heard her say. His hands were smaller and delicate with long pink nails. His skin was still pale but now also fair and incredibly soft. His hips had broadened, his large, ungainly feet were now small and dainty, and his legs...they were exquisite, creamy and soft and hairless as his arms and chest. Speaking of which...he now also had breasts, D cups at least. And below his waist, a blonde bush where his cock had been. Well, what’re you waiting for? Go on, have a look—you’ll never believe it. He hesitated, afraid of what he would see...and of how much he would love it.

Gingerly (no pun intended) David stepped off the bed, lowering himself to the floor. He took oddly mincing steps to the full-length mirror and looked at the reflection. Astounded, he put a hand to his mouth...and in the mirror, saw none other than Ginger Garrison, spectacularly nude, put a hand to her own bee-stung, ruby-glossed lips. He’d become an absolutely perfect copy of her, down to the dimple in the small of her back that he saw as he turned around for a rear view.

Almost unconsciously, he preened and posed in sultry magazine-model fashion, admiring the new curves he saw reflected. He cupped a large breast in each hand and squeezed gently, fingers lightly rubbing the erect nipples. He gasped as they proved highly sensitive. He lifted them slightly off the smooth, feminine ribcage of his new body, feeling the weight and heft of them with growing pleasure, admiring the way they hung off the chest, the way the tops swelled with each deep breath, the way the dusky areolae crinkled as the nipples hardened and engorged. Nice knockers, eh, keed? Ginger's voice came again with a throaty giggle.

“You’re...you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

No, you are, she said, giggling again. It’s still your body, after all...only now it looks just like mine. Not bad, huh? Ginger’s voice in his head crowed. You gave me a decent canvas, I gotta admit. It’s almost like I never hit that tree on the way home from Lawford’s. Damn that poncy Brit anyway; never could resist going to those parties of his.

“Tree?” he said, blinking. Then he remembered: the huge oak tree that her hot-pink Cadillac convertible had hit head-on at 50 miles per hour after swerving off Mulholland Drive at 2:44 in the morning on Sunday, June 19th, 1966. The tragic collision that had cut her young life and meteoric career short over two decades before he was even born. “Oh,” he mumbled, still staring at the unbelievable image in the mirror and at the equally unbelievable body he could see on himself. He ran hands over it—her hands—playing with her soft breasts and teasing her pubic hair, feeling the smooth legs...and what was no longer dangling between them. A trembling hand slid up to feel the wrinkled, warm, slightly moist lips in amazement. He slipped a finger up in between them...and gasped again in near ecstasy. So this is what it feels like from the other end, he thought. Then another, more alarming thought hit him. “Oh, God. Am I—”

Don’t worry, it ain’t permanent, she said before he finished the thought. You can still walk out of here the way you came in..if you want to. I promise. But for right now, just relax and enjoy it, will ya? You have any idea how many guys have wanted to feel up the bod you get to wear now? A few girls, too. He could see her grinning in the mirror. Go on, try on some of the stuff; it’s yours now, after all. You got your wish: you’re me—Ginger Garrison, the one and only.

David/Ginger—they seemed to be one entity now—trembled as s/he stepped over to the chest of drawers and pulled one open. A stiff underwire bra in 1960s missile-nose-cone styling was the first thing their hands found, and they put arms through it, settled their breasts in the lacy cups (of course, it was a perfect fit) and hooked it in back expertly. They noted idly that the label on the back read “36 DD.” They turned and posed in the smaller vanity mirror.

We’ll have to give you a new name, her voice said. They’ll never believe old Ginger could still look this good after 40 years and a car wreck. I know! You’ll be my daughter. No—grand-daughter. Like that Barrymore kid—damn, but she turned out to be a hot little number! Now what’s a good new first name? Hmmm...Has to be a G name so we don’t have to pay a fortune for new monograms on everything. David hardly paid attention as he surveyed the treasure trove that was Ginger’s drawers. They slid on a pair of old-fashioned panties, low in the thigh and high on the waist, which also fit like a second skin. Ah-ah-ah! Garter belt first, hon. Can’t get those off otherwise. Obediently he took them off, then pulled out a garter belt much like the one he had seen her ghostly form wearing and a pair of sheer nylon stockings with back-seams.

He sat before the vanity and rolled the hose up perfect legs, hooking them to the garters front and back. Standing up to put on the panties again, he admired the dark blonde triangle of hair framed by the garters. Greta? Nahh...been done. Then back on went the panties, followed by a search through the closet for a pair of high-heeled, maribou-trim sandals. David smiled at their reflection as they posed. Anyone coming in now would think a miracle had happened and Ginger herself raised from the dead. Grace? He heard a snort. Nobody’d buy that name on any grandkid of mine—nobody who really knew me, anyhow. They sat down at her vanity and Ginger coached him in how to put on makeup: base, blush, mascara, eyebrows tweezed to a high arch, eye shadow, lipstick applied in a perfect bow. Geraldine? Ugh! Sounds like my old-maid aunt. Opening a drawer, they somehow knew just where to find a pair of diamond earrings and a light pearl necklace to accentuate the deep cleavage, and put them on. I’ve got it! Giselle. Giselle Garrison. Whaddaya think?

“Nice,” David murmured softly. “But as soon as I open my mouth they’ll know.”

Wanna bet? Try it. Go on, say your new name. He shrugged and said out loud, “Hi, I’m Giselle Garrison.” Her red, full, pouty lips gaped and the smoky-mascara-highlighted eyes widened. The voice that came out of the new mouth was so like Ginger’s it was uncanny, a soft and lilting soprano rather than David’s young-male baritone. Like it? Ginger said. I can change more than just the outside. Trust me, kiddo, no one will have the faintest suspicion you’re anything but 100% natural-born woman...if you do what I tell you. I’ll teach you how to move and walk and dance...how to use what we’ve got—the works. And when we change back, you show me how to be a guy. Whaddaya say? Do we have a deal?

“Deal,” he whispered in Giselle’s voice as he looked at his—no, her glorious new body in the mirror, made up and ready to dress for a night on the town. He was a she now, and no mistake.

Hot damn! Ginger exulted. Then let’s celebrate. Come on, I’ll pick us out something hot to wear and we’ll go find us a jumpin’ joint somewhere.

“Go out?! I can’t...” she began.

Sure, you can—you’re like my twin sister now. I promise, nobody will guess anything’s not kosher, as long as you listen to me and do exactly what I tell you. C'mon, sweetie, it’ll be fun. We can put one over on the whole world.

David/Giselle searched the hanging clothes in the walk-in closet and found a shimmery little blue number cut up to here and down to there. Aha! Just the thing, Ginger’s voice said triumphantly. Giselle unzipped it and stepped into it carefully, pulling it up over her new, curvaceous anatomy and tugging it into place here and there. She reached back and fumbled for the zipper, then found it and hauled it up to the top. She enjoyed the sudden compression as the garment became oh-so-tight. She looked in the mirror and surveyed the tantalizing result with satisfaction. A pair of matching pumps with heels at least four inches high were in the closet, and a pair of opera-length satin gloves from another drawer went over her arms. The final finishing touch was a diamond bracelet from the jewelry drawer over one slim gloved wrist. At last, her look was complete. She could not remember ever feeling so alluring.

What’d I tell you? C’mon, let’s blow this joint. I got 12 cars in the garage, and if that sleazy excuse for a lawyer of mine followed my will like he was supposed to, they’re all gassed up and ready to roll. Look out, Tinseltown—Ginger’s back!

Giselle, thought the newly transformed David tartly.

Yeah, yeah, sure. “Jizz” for short, huh? Giselle could hear her ghostly dopplegänger's throaty chuckle. If you like, you can even go ahead and call yourself Ginger when we’re alone. You are, after all. Giselle could almost see Ginger grin in her mind, and her own identical bee-stung red lips and immaculate white teeth formed a matching grin in the mirror. Yeah, that’s it—Giselle Ginger Garrison. You can say your mama gave you the middle name in memory of me.

She slipped on a luxuriant fur jacket and smiled that famous, sex-charged smile again. Somehow Giselle knew she would have no trouble at all raising the money to pay the taxes on her inheritance. She only had to wonder whether it would be earned before cameras, under hot lights...or on her back in the dark, on the casting couch of some director or producer. Knowing Ginger’s reputation, probably both. She stepped to the door, the legs and feet somehow walking with the smoothness of experience in the high heels, feeling her hips rock and sway sensually as she did so. She opened it a crack to see that the coast was clear, and slipped out into the hall, savoring the click of her high heels on its tile floor. Time to introduce the newly created “granddaughter” of Ginger Garrison to the world!

END