Some Enchanted Girlfriend by Donna Lamb 2. Getting Up I came to under a blanket with a cool cloth on my eyes. My head didn't hurt quite so much so I tried to sit up. The mirror on the dresser showed my round little chin, turned-up nose and bright blue eyes. "That's me?" I squeaked.

I thought I might faint again so I lay back down. I could hear someone moving around in another room somewhere but I seemed to be alone in the bedroom. I used my hands under the blanket to explore. I cupped my breasts in my palms; they were bigger than that by quite a bit. My waist tapered down then widened back out to some substantial feeling hips.

“Holy shit,” I whispered.

I felt a moist little slit in my groin, a bit further back than I expected, surrounded by soft folds and tender places. My arms and legs were smooth and soft and my butt felt like I had two spongy half cushions under my skin. My face felt smooth, too, and lots of curly, pale blonde hair covered the top of my head and tickled my shoulders and back.

I sat up and looked in the dresser mirror again. "That girl is me?" I said in my squeaky voice. I frowned, even though it hurt. I didn't remember being a girl, in fact, I distinctly remembered being a guy. A guy who had to shave every morning, who worried that maybe he should start taking Rogaine, who could write his name in the snow....

"My name?" I said aloud. What the heck was my name? "Ow!" Frowning to concentrate still hurt. "I've had bad hangovers before but...." It wasn't funny. I tried to lie still until the pain stopped.

Had I had bad hangovers before? Sure. Back in college, when we initiated the new guy into.... We all got drunk and puked and.... What was his name? What was my name? Heck, what was the college's name? The more I tried to remember the hazier it seemed to get; I couldn't think of any names at all except a fat guy named Bluto–or was that a character in a movie?

But I'd definitely been a guy.

Harry the Giant came back into the room, this time wearing baggy men’s underpants. Boxers, I mean. Nothing baggy about him at all. When he walked through the doorway, the dark wavy hair on his head apparently brushed the frame at the top. The curly dark stuff all over the rest of him somehow emphasized his muscles. I did keep noticing his muscles; they looked–heroic.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“Maybe. Is your name Harry? Harry the Hero?” I think I smiled at him.

He laughed. “You’re still funny.” He scratched the pelt on his stomach and grinned at me. “No, my name is Tim. But you can call me – Tim.”

“Ho, ho,” I said. Sitting there, I realized that I had no clothes on. I followed his gaze, looking down at my chest. I glanced back up at him and he met my eyes, grinning a bit. “Uh, have you seen my clothes?”

“I was going to ask you that,” he said. “You didn’t arrive here naked last night, did you?”

“Damfino,” I said. Feeling a bit exposed, I pulled the sheet up to my neck and glared at him. “All joking aside, could you please get my clothes?”

“Honest,” he said. “I’ve looked all over the apartment.” He mimed looking around. “Do you remember what you were wearing?”

I snorted. “No, I don’t remember... lots of things I don’t remember. What the....” I trailed off, not wanting to say that I remembered having been a guy. That would sound loony. I’d looked in the mirror and if a tiny blonde with big tits and reddish pussy hair had claimed to be a guy, I wouldn’t have believed her either.

That bothered me, too. The hair on my head was almost platinum and I had red curls downstairs. Wtf? I felt pretty sure that my hair should be brown in both places.

I looked up again to see him frowning at me with a scary intensity. I heard a growl. “Don’t eat me!” I said. Well, it was the first thing that occurred to me.

“Huh?” he said, glancing down at his own middle.

“You look–and sound!–like a hungry ogre,” I said. “I duwanna be breakfast.”

He grinned. “Too late, I think we both had breakfast earlier. Though my stomach disagrees.”

I didn’t want to think about that, either, especially after I glanced toward the sausage he kept in his boxers. I didn’t mean to look, it just happened. I’d seen it before. I think I groaned.

“No,” Tim said. “I was just trying to remember your name. I don’t usually go to bed with a girl without knowing her name. What’s wrong?”

I put one hand across my chest and the other in my lap. “I’m sitting here naked and I don’t remember my name, either,” I said. Okay, I sort of blubbered that line. The sudden tears caught me by surprise.

“Oh, no, hey,” he said, reaching for me. “You don’t need to cry. It’ll be okay, you’ll remember soon. Jeez, how much did we drink?”

“Why ask me? I don’t know that either,” I wailed. I tried to dodge him but he folded me up in his hairy arms and pushed my head on his shoulder. I would have felt more comforted if I hadn’t known just where his sausage was.

God, he felt strong, though. I could squirm but I knew I couldn’t budge him, his muscles felt like warm steel. And squirming might cause the sausage to, um, similarly harden.

Too late. I felt the hot, rubbery heat of his dick against my leg. And a hotter, fuzzy damp feeling in a place where I shouldn’t have a place. My body wanted to tell me it felt nice but my brain kept trying to hit the panic button.

I wanted to run away, screaming but I couldn’t. So I did the next best thing, I cried some more. He patted me and said the sort of things men say when they are holding a naked crying woman in their lap. I stopped after a bit but I had to resist feeling around to see just where the wooden sausage had gone.

Maybe my reluctant interest in Topic S communicated itself to Tim. "Mmm?" he murmured into my hair.

I clenched my jaw in order not to make some sort of affirmative noise because I knew exactly what would happen if I did. And I knew it too would feel nice.

“Mmm?” he said again, rubbing my soft, tender cheek with his day-old stubbly one.

I felt my nipples crinkle up from the chills running up and down my spine. I had to get away before I said yes but trying to squirm loose still seemed like a bad idea because I could already feel Mr. Stiffy against my leg. “N-n-no?” I managed to say and pushed against him with hardly enough strength to move a lace curtain, let alone a brick wall like Hairy Tim Whosis.

He sighed and held me away from him to look me in the eye. “Better?” he asked.

Had I only imagined the invitation I thought he had made? “Better,” I agreed but it still didn’t feel safe to nod or say yes. One little mistake here and I knew I would end up on my back with my legs spread.

And the worst thing was it didn’t actually sound that bad.

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