I’ll never understand women, even if now I am one. Especially now. Some Enchanted Girlfriend by Donna Lamb 3. Kissing Up

Tim let me go and I managed to move away instead of...well, I’m not sure what my new libido had in mind exactly but I felt the eagerness to experiment. He looked at me curiously before moving to one of the chairs; not the heavy straight chair at the dresser but the office style at the desk in the corner.

As soon as he moved away, I felt like I had missed a chance I should have taken. But he looked at me again and grinned and I knew suddenly that he would be back in a heartbeat if I said or did the right thing. Or the wrong thing, depending on how you looked at it.

So, of course, I went all reluctant again. I’ll never understand women, even if now I am one. Maybe especially now.

But how? How had it happened? And would I ever get a chance to think about it with Tim, huge and hairy and reeking of hormones, in the room? Distracting just to watch him sit down and boot up his computer.

He got his calendar program up and running, and grinned at me. “Good news. It really is Sunday. I don’t have to be at work till Monday.

“Um,” I said, trying for terse intelligence.

He yawned, scratching at the fur on his chest. “Wanna go back to bed? It’s only six-thirty.” He turned the computer off without shutting it down. It surprised me that I knew what a bad idea that was.

“I’m in bed,” I said, stalling.

“You’re on the bed,” he said. “I meant, go back to sleep.”

Sleep, sure.

He’d loaned me one of his t-shirts, a black one with a funky looking silver “11” on the back. It fit like a nightgown, falling over my knees where I sat in the middle of the sheets. I pulled a pillow into my lap and held it so it hid the bumpy parts of my chest. “Uh-uh,” I said. “I’m not going back to sleep until I know who I am and where my clothes are.”

My clothes?

I glanced again toward the dresser. What kind of clothes would a cupcake like the one I saw in the mirror wear? Something pink and revealing, I felt sure. I made a face and then quickly made a different one; the first face had looked entirely too pouty. And too cute, much too cute, sheesh.

He grinned at me then sighed and ran a hand through his short, curly black hair. “Seems a shame to waste a Sunday morning not sleeping in.” He stretched and yawned, almost clobbering the ceiling with a casual fist and causing palpitations in my chest.

I took a deep breath, I needed it.

“Tim,” I said. “If I knew who I was – if I had any damned clothes! – I’d be out of here and you could sleep all day!” Okay, maybe the pouty look would work. “Could you please get dressed and get out of here, so I can think?” I tried to give him puppy dog eyes.

He frowned. “You can’t think while I’m here?” He flexed a wrist, just a wrist! And a muscle as big as my thigh in his forearm bulged like a submarine coming up to look around.

I shook my head. It was true. Something about having a hunky young giant in the room made it hard to think, and hard to think about why it made it hard to think. And I didn’t want to think about if it made it hard for him to think with me in the room.

We’d both taken aspirin and drank tall glasses of water or that last thought would have made my head hurt again.

I took another deep breath and tried not to look at him. “If I can just think for a bit, I can maybe remember who I am and call home for someone to come get me?” I said.

I didn’t really have much hope of that because I did remember being a guy and what the hell could I remember that would explain how I came to be a girl? Well, if it could happen, it must have some sort of explanation, I supposed. Other than the obvious one that I had gone stark, staring, bonkerino.

He frowned at me again. “I don’t want you to leave.... If I go out, you’re going to be here when I get back?”

I rolled my eyes, hugging the pillow to me. “Where am I going to go with no clothes on?”

He grinned at that. “How the hell did we get you in here without your clothes? You didn’t just magically appear, did you?”

Maybe I did just magically appear. It made as much sense as anything I could think of. I shook my head. “Just go, okay? Go get some breakfast and when something opens, see if you can buy me some clothes.”

“You’re not hungry?”

“You can bring me a donut.”

“What kind of clothes? And I don’t know your sizes.”

“I don’t either!”

He almost laughed. I wanted to hit him but I didn’t think I’d do any damage with the pillow, or anything else in the room for that matter. Nothing less than a sledgehammer seemed likely to dent his pelt.

“Please,” I said in my squeaky voice, trying the puppy dog eyes again.

He sighed. “Okay, okay.” He got up and moved around the room, getting dressed. He pulled some blue shorts out of a drawer in the highboy and put them on, one leg at a time without sitting down. A red t-shirt advertising some pizza place with a gold logo came out of another drawer and he put that on, too.

He sat back down at the computer desk to put on some crosstrainers without socks and I had to take a deep breath. Watching him get dressed had been having the oddest effect on me, like I wanted to take his clothes back off again.

Of course, in his red, blue and yellow, he looked like a comic book superhero, spoiled only slightly by the wads of hair sticking out of the gaps at neck, thigh and upper arm. The furriness made me think of the guy with the knives in the back of his hands but my Harry the Hero was too cheerful for a mopey mutant. And too tall for that particular one, jeez, he was tall. Sitting down, I decided he must be nearly as tall as me standing up.

Which explained why the bed was so high off the floor. And he had the surface of his desk set where it would be above my waist, everything built to the scale of his largeness. I’m short, now. He must be six-foot-six or more and at least a foot taller than me.

He saw me looking at him and grinned again. “Think I should shave?” he asked. He rubbed a big hairy hand across his face making a noise like harvesting corn.

I shook my head. When he’d held me in his lap earlier, I’d felt his stubbly cheek against my face and the memory sent chills down my spine. “Just go, okay?” I said.

“Okay,” he agreed. He stood up, towering over me, hesitating.

Oh, shit, I thought. He’s going to bend down and kiss me. I can’t get away, I can’t stop him, what do I do?

He did bend down and I felt myself rise up on my knees to meet him. His lips felt warm and dry against mine and just the tip of our tongues touched. My nipples crinkled again and I pulled the pillow tighter against my chest as I sank back down on the bed.

“I could go with you if there was anything for me to wear besides this t-shirt,” I said. Part of me definitely didn’t want him to go but it was a part I had never had before I woke up next to him less than an hour before.

“Sorry,” he said. He leaned more forward, resting his knuckles on the bed like some hairy, horny apeman. He wanted another kiss and I wanted to give him one–wtf!–but I pushed myself away.

“Just go,” I said. “You...we...you’ll never get out of here!”

He straightened up, laughing. He put keys, a wallet and a phone into a black hipbag around his waist, then paused at the door to baby-wave at me. “You like scones? There’s a Starbucks down the block.”

“Yeah, okay,” I squeaked.

He left the bedroom and I heard him go out the apartment door and pause to check the locks.

I sighed in relief, though part of me felt grumpy at not going with him. “Why couldn’t one of his other girlfriends have left something wearable behind?” I complained out loud.

Then pulled the pillow up and hid my face in it. What was I saying? Other girlfriends?

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