A Fresh Start
 © NickB 2006 — All right reserved.

After a split with is girlfriend, a young man is changed. Will this give him the fresh start he needs?

Chapter One : Introduction, June 1993

I can’t do this without going right back to the beginning, but I’ll try and make it as brief as possible.

I was born Paul Hammond, I’m thirty-two years and I’m what you might call a ‘rocker’. I know it’s probably not fashionable to say so, but I was into Whitesnake, Foreigner, UFO, Zep, Black Sabbath, Michael Schenker and practically anything else you could bang yer ’ead to.

I had motorbikes from the age of sixteen and by the next year had graduated from a moped (God, did I actually used to ride one of those?), to a Honda CB 125 cause it was cheap.

My hair, much to mother’s disgust was (I’m sorry to say — well no I’m not actually. It was right for the time, however embarrassing it may be now) a mullet. Of course I didn’t call it that and the term hadn’t even been coined then. I modelled mine on that of David Bowie — my hero — so it was long and feathered at the back, short and spiky on top.

I frequented a club in Brighton called the Hungry Years. Actually, its full title was the Hungry Years Gathering Place and it was where all the bikers and rockers hung out. It was right across the road from the Palace Pier and made for a nice ride there and a nice ride back.

It was also where I met Trisha.

She was a biker babe, long curly or unruly hair, hippy-style skirts, a biker jacket and that constant smell of patchouli.

I liked it anyway.

I was heading towards being twenty-one when I met her and my bike had graduated to a Suzuki GS1000. It was a rat with a cut-down registration plate (making it difficult for the cops to ID you) and went like pooh off a stick. It was my pride and joy. Me and the bike were well known in the club and it was almost like a second home, but things move on.

Ten years later, found me something of an old ‘fuddy-duddy’. Gone was the bike and gone were the trips to the Hungry Years. That was okay, because they had long since ceased to play the old rock standards I so got off on like ‘Can’t get enough of your love’ by Bad Company, ‘Doctor, Doctor’ by UFO, ‘Runnin’ with the devil’ from the excellent Van Halen and many more. By then it was thrash metal and well, I think my head had had enough of being thrown around indiscriminately, my face being whipped by what was now a full head of hair that almost reached my arse.

As a youngster, I was always head and shoulders above everyone else. I left school in ’77 at just under six feet tall and weighing in at a princely 154 pound (that’s eleven stone in English) and by now, I was six feet three and only half a stone heavier (or 161 pounds). I looked like a golf club without my clothes. It was only the leathers that gave me any ‘shape’ whatsoever and despite having done many jobs labouring or ‘lifting heavy things’, I never seemed to get any better definition.

Trisha and I had moved in together shortly after we met and although we never married, we stayed together because we wanted to. I was attracted to her looks, her smell and intrigued I think, by her interest in Wicca. My interest petered out over the years, but hers never did. For the most part though, we were like two peas in a pod, but as I said earlier, things move on, or change, or something.

I went into computer programming, mainly from a desire to earn better money, but Trisha carried on doing basically semi-skilled tasks, saying that money wasn’t the route to happiness. She may have been right, but I noticed that she didn’t mind the luxuries that my new wage packets were bringing in!

We had a plan and it involved a house in the country with a few acres of land and possibly a couple of horses. We decided that it would be better if we rented a property and saved for our ‘dream’. So we stayed in our rented, two-bed house while I saved my money as far as was possible, trying to keep the dream firmly in sight.

As the years passed, we seemed to slide apart. She finally saw that on my own, there was no way our dream was going to come to fruition, especially since she had now become accustomed to those little luxuries, which were now considerably more numerous.

She got herself into college, ostensibly to get a better paid job and help me to save. During her two-year course however, my wages had to stretch to cover everything and whilst I was scraping some savings together on a regular basis, she still wanted those luxuries.

They had one positive effect though and that was filling me out. I became heavier going up to about fifteen stone (210 pounds) and it suited my frame more, however, I was quite despondent that I never really got a more masculine physique out of it; I just looked ‘thicker’, retaining the slender arms and generally androgynous bodily appearance that I had always found so embarrassing in the past.

Anyway, having successfully completed her college course, Trisha entered the big, wide world of business and better wages. We became happier for a while, feeling more comfortable with ourselves and each other and the lifting of the entire financial burden from my shoulders was a real Godsend.

Unfortunately, as time went on and I don’t know how it came about, we stopped talking to one another about what was on our minds, unless it was to complain about squeezing the toothpaste from the wrong end of the tube or leaving to toilet seat up.

We had little time for each other as work or rather ‘careers’ seemed to be the focus of attention. We spent less time together and towards the end, sex became less and less frequent. I wasn’t surprised as I realised that with both of us so focussed on earning, there was little energy to spend on ‘enjoying’ each other.

Every now and again, I’d mention it and after a long sulk, we might get around to a bit of fun between the sheets but in the end, it just didn’t happen at all. I thought it was all due to us saving for our dream house and dream lifestyle, but I couldn’t be sure and I have to say, it made me surly and oftentimes more than a little short-tempered.

Trisha in the meantime, was rising through the ranks in her job and worked late a lot more often, so I saw even less of the woman I loved. When we did have time together, the atmosphere was frosty and I found myself becoming less interested in what she was up to.

Three months ago, she announced that she couldn’t stand my moodiness any longer and was going back to her mother’s. I was stunned, since I didn’t believe that I was the one to blame. She was the one for whom the job was the focus of importance in her life and I felt that I was the one that had been pushed to the sidelines. She packed up a load of clothes and personal effects and that was the last I saw of her for ages.

I was devastated. I thought that to her, money wasn’t everything, or however it was that she put it. In the end, I just thought ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’.

I had done nothing that I could think of and true, I wasn’t the happiest bloke on the face of the planet thanks to having supported the two of us for so long. I was tired and cranky a lot of the time, but I thought we understood that it was a temporary thing that would ease as we started sharing the responsibilities.

Dianne, Trisha’s mother, was over the moon. She didn’t like me because of my long hair, love of motorcycles and rock music. Despite having it pointed out that my appearance and interests were precisely what Trisha found attractive, she refused to accept me and I guess that could have been part of what parted us.

I did try and make friends with her mum, but I always seemed to end up on the receiving end of one of her mother’s gripes. She had a tongue like a machete and wasn’t afraid to use it. Of course, when we got home, it would always be my fault that any argument or disagreement happened and I’d spend the next few days in the dog house.

As if Trisha’s leaving wasn’t enough to contend with, I finished my contract as a consultant and for the first time in ages, had nothing to move on to. Talk about the shit hitting the fan.

So there I was, on my own in the house, no job and nothing on the horizon. I hadn’t heard from Trisha since the day she left and although I phoned her mother’s on regular occasions, I never had a message returned and what was worse, she never came and picked up the rest of her stuff. I suspect she thought I was too much of a wimp to actually do anything about it.

I became depressed and reclusive.

I had a tidy sum of money saved for what I thought was our dream and so was fairly self-sufficient, but as each week went by and all I seemed to be doing was spending, I became quite paranoid about the finances. As a result, I dropped to under 154 pounds and at nearly six feet three, I probably went back to looking like a golf club! I became slovenly and didn’t much care about anything. I stopped going out and socialising and just faded into the woodwork.

After a couple of months, I managed to pick myself up and with the greatest effort I have ever put into anything, I started looking for work again, I cleaned up, washed up and got the majority of my self confidence back. It didn’t extend to having the courage to go out socially, but at least the house was presentable, I was clean and fairly smart and when I did go out, like to the shops, I didn’t look like some kind of vagabond.
Once I’d picked myself up, I re-evaluated what I wanted from life and what I really wanted was a fresh start, the chance to begin again and not make such an unholy fuck-up of it this time.

They say (whoever they are), that admission is half the battle and I realised that I couldn’t blame Trisha for where I found myself. I could only blame me and after slapping myself on the wrist a few times, admitting that I was at least partially to blame, I got my act together.

I hoped that having dragged myself up from the pit of oblivion, there might be a chance that Trisha and I could get back together. Maybe, just maybe, she would see that I had changed for the better and she and I could carry on, not from where we left off, but from now, with a new direction, new priorities and a new purpose.

I started ringing Trisha at Dianne’s again, but still I got that cold reception and a complete refusal to allow me to even speak to her. I tried a different tack and suggested that if her leaving was a permanent thing, she might want to come and sort through the bits and pieces that she had left behind, or I was going to throw it all out.

I felt quite pleased that I had plucked up the courage to say that, but it made no difference. Trisha never phoned back and for my trouble I got it in the neck from her mum for being such a callous bastard.
Go figure.

It didn’t dampen my spirits as despite Dianne’s negativity, I remained buoyant and was getting better daily.
See, that didn’t take long and it only remains now, for me to bring you up to date to where the real stuff started, the stuff this account is really about.

Chapter Two : Now for the present…

My depression had the effect of making me lose my appetite for anything. I had lost huge amounts of weight and although it meant that shopping was cheaper, it also meant that nothing I owned really fitted anymore. I had dropped from a thirty-eight waist, to a thirty-two and trousers were a definite problem. All of them hung on me like I was a wire coat hanger and without a belt to hold them up there was no way they would stay where they were supposed to.

For the moment though, I didn’t need to go out and buy anything as I had loads of stuff, just that it was a bit big. If I got an interview or something, perhaps then I’d go on a bit of a spending spree and maybe buy a new pair.

I got a proper routine together that started first thing in the morning with a job search. Being a technical person and qualified too, I couldn’t go the normal high street employment agencies; I needed the web-based agencies.

To begin with, I had lots of jobs around the house that I needed to do, mainly cleaning and so on, but they dried up and I was left twiddling my thumbs. It was at this time that I discovered just how mind-numbing daytime television was. I saw a couple of films I had been meaning to catch up with, but at the end of the day, I felt that I had achieved nothing and in order to keep my spirits up, I needed the satisfaction of achievement almost on a daily basis.

I looked at the garden, but that was as far as that got as, although it was summer, we were having what can only be described as a typical English summer — rain, rain and more rain. Oh, occasionally it was interspersed with cloudy, miserably cold weather, but other than that, it rained.

I found myself surfing the internet, mainly due to boredom and so, after my daily job search, I would hit Google and surf. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I kind of got hooked on porn. In my defence, I was a normal, red-blooded male with no girlfriend who hadn’t had sex for lord-alone knew how long, but I went a bit overboard.

I had a dial-up internet account, so surfing during the day, was an expensive pastime. I got the shock of my life when the phone bill came in and it was in three figures! I knew right then that had to do something about it, but it wasn’t so easy to stop.

I tried to find other things to occupy me, but it was all too easy to backslide when I got bored or something went wrong. I would just hit the explorer icon and off I’d go again, thinking “Just a couple of minutes”. It really surprised me how the time flew when I was engrossed in surfing, finding that a couple of minutes would become an hour without even realising it.

I was ‘saved’ by finding literature, though I use the term ‘literature’ loosely.

I discovered ‘adult fiction’. I read a few of the erotic stories and they were alright I suppose, but they tended to come from limited imaginations and tended to follow the same path — good-looking man with big dick (they’re always eight or more inches), meets woman who’s always good looking enough to be a model with big tits (surprisingly, always above a ‘C’ cup) and they bonk like rabbits. That’s about it and after a while I became numb to the eroticism, requiring a little more than poor descriptions of impossible sex acts, between impossibly shallow people.

You can understand how that would get stale after a while (or perhaps you can’t. It did with me). I turned to other forms of adult fiction and wound up more or less by accident, coming across some TG stories — Trans Gender. These involved at the very least, cross dressing and went all the way to sex change.

My goodness! What a revelation that was.

I got really hooked. I even found myself preferring those with little or no sex in, because then the author concentrated on the story and that made it more of an adventure. Plus, I found that few of the authors I read, were unable to convey the sexual tension and then it becomes like a police report!

It’s just personal taste I suppose.

I started downloading these short (and some not so short) stories by the truckload. It was great. Reading broadens the mind and I had no shortage of material. Some of it was amazing.

I especially liked authors like Tanya J. Allan and her stories such as ‘The Candy Cane Club’ and ‘Shit Happens, but so do miracles’, I also liked Angela Rasch and Shannonq for her historical-based stories. One of my particular favourites was Samantha Michelle. These people had engaging styles and a very humorous approach to what could be a very touchy subject.

I would spend all day reading and was getting through stories at a phenomenal rate. Now don’t start getting ideas that suddenly I found my true calling, it’s not like that. I just enjoyed the stories, although in all honesty, I did find myself identifying with a lot of the characters due to the apparent underdevelopment of my own body — except the height that is!

Pretty soon however, the well dried up and I found fewer and fewer stories to read. On this particular day, I actually couldn’t even find one.

I turned to one or two of my favourites, but as soon as I started, I remembered the plot and realised it was too soon to start re-reading these stories as they were much too fresh in my head.

I accessed Google and search and searched through hundreds and hundreds of results, but found that I had either been there or they were pay sites and I wasn’t prepared to go down that route. In the end, I gave up and closed the connection.

“Oh well,” I thought. “It was a nice distraction while it lasted.”

I went off downstairs and made a cuppa. Pouring the milk, I noticed that I would need to get some more shopping soon and since I had nothing to do the rest of the day, it seemed like I good idea to go sooner rather than later.
I was not particularly happy about the prospect of shopping, after all, it wasn’t my favourite pastime, but it was either that, or get used to black tea, black coffee and bowls of dry cornflakes.

I was just heading out of the house, when the phone rang.

“Hi. It’s Mike.”

“Bloody hell mate, I haven’t seen you in ages. How’s it going?”

“Not bad Paul, You?”

“I’m off work at the moment, but it’s looking positive.”

“Listen, I’m in the area on Monday. How about a drink and some pool? It’ll be like old times.”

I tried to put him off, but to no avail. I had known Mike since I was a kid and I just couldn’t bring myself to turn him down, much as I was worried about going out. I agreed to go with him and asked that he ring on Monday, just to confirm.

I put on my long waxed riding coat and headed out to the shops. Trisha had badgered me to spend some of the money I had saved on a car, but I decided against that until I felt that I could afford a decent one and the upkeep that went with it. In truth, I put the dream ahead of what I considered to be a luxury item. It guaranteed exercise anyway, although it was not at all pleasant in the rain.

I arrived at the supermarket and wandered round with a trolley. I didn’t think I had too much to buy, but as I passed shelves, I ended up pulling something off nearly each and every one of them.

I was about to go to the check-out, when I bumped into Trisha.

“Hi Trish.” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Hi Paul. You’ve lost weight.” she replied with about the same amount of enthusiasm.

I ignored the weight observation. “How’re you doing?” I asked.

“You know.” she said depreciatingly with a shrug of the shoulders.

I almost felt like pointing out that there would be no need to ask if I already knew, but restrained myself. “Yeah.” I said instead. “Me too.” The last bit seemed appropriate somehow.

“What you up to?” I asked.

“Just work mainly.” she said. “You?”

“Nothing much.” I answered. “Mainly reading.”

“Oh, anything good?”

“Some of it. Free internet fiction basically. Some of it’s good, some not so. I suppose that’s the thing with freebies.”

We stood face to face for a few moments, neither of us saying anything. “You really do need to come and get the rest of your stuff you know.” I said, taking the opportunity to pass the message directly in case that bitch of a mother of hers, had decided not to tell her.

“Yeah, mum told me you’d called.” So she had been told. That upset me more than perhaps it should, but that was Trisha. She didn’t think it was important, so it wasn’t. It was to me however.

“I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t think it’s good it being there, I mean you left and really, it still feels as if in some ways you’re still there.” I said, trying to be as reasonable about it as I could.

“I’ll try and do something about it soon.” she assured. “You didn’t mean what you said about throwing it out did you?” she was using that “bat-the-eye-lashes-and-he’ll-do-whatever-I-want” thing, but this time I wasn’t going to fall for it.

“I might have to. It can’t stay there indefinitely.”

“That’s cruel. I thought we were friends.”

“I thought so too, but you left me, remember?” I responded, perhaps a little more tersely than I’d intended. I felt that okay, it was harsh, but we were no longer an item and therefore, her expectations of me continuing to do things for her, had to stop.

She didn’t look too pleased with that remark.

“We were friends until one of us decided that the other wasn’t fun anymore and what’s more, ‘friends’ don’t walk out and not return other friend’s phone calls, while still expecting them to help them out.”

“It’s not like that, Paul.”

“Oh? So what is it like?” She was definitely upset with my interpretation of the situation, I could see her redden. She didn’t answer anyway.

“That’s what I thought.” I said with more than a trace of sarcasm. The look she returned this time was particularly venomous.

There didn’t seem any more to say and I left her there, paid for my shopping and struggled home with four heavily packed shopping bags, wondering with each step, how long it would be before the handles snapped. I got to the front door having successfully negotiated the difficult and busy roads without breaking anything other than out in a sweat.

I put the shopping away and had a coffee before I went back upstairs to the computer and the rest of the day passed quite uneventfully.

The next day I awoke feeling groggy and generally bad-tempered. I don’t think I slept particularly well and I was feeling at odds with everything and everyone. Looking over at the wardrobe, Trisha was top of that list.

I went and got breakfast or rather coffee, to be more precise before going through the morning ritual of scanning hundreds of vacancies in search of that one for me. Needle in a haystack, I thought.

On the way back to the computer, I looked in the bedroom and the wardrobe door stood open. I went to shut it and my anger from the shop the day before resurfaced. I could see loads of clothes inside and most of them weren’t mine.

I saw red. In the supermarket, I had no choice but to tell Trisha that I wanted her stuff out. I wanted to move on and her stuff being right under my nose all the time was making that damned near impossible. I was angry too, for what I thought was her unreasonable attitude. She had made no effort to straighten things out and I was fast losing what little respect I had for her.

I started removing the clothes and almost threw them in a pile on the bed. Soon I had emptied the entire cupboard of her clothes and put them in two piles in the spare room. Next I went downstairs and grabbed a bin-liner, went back to the bedroom and emptied the old shoes, boots and trainers into the bag, which I put alongside the two piles of clothes in the spare room.

Finally, I opened drawers in the chest and started on the underwear, t-shirts and other undergarments, which I added to the two piles that were sat in the spare room. I was pretty satisfied with my work and drank the coffee sat at the computer as it booted up.

I fired up explorer and downloaded any emails I may have had, hoping that one might be about I job. Disappointingly, the only mail I ever got was for cut price mortgages from companies that obviously didn’t realise that I wasn’t a resident of the good ol’ US of A (if they were real companies at all), or offers for Viagra at unbeatable prices, fake watches or porn sites.

I went to Google and typed in a search string for free TG stories.

For once, I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that about the third result was a site I didn’t recognise.

“Thank goodness for the internet!” I said and clicked on the link.

The website loaded quickly and I found a list of stories that it had. In amongst the short list of titles, I saw “A Fresh Start”. The synopsis read “Changed by a magical spell, a man finds himself transformed and embarking upon a fresh start…”

“A fresh start eh? Wouldn’t we all like one of those? It might be worth a look.”

I tried not to dwell upon my need for a fresh start, after all, I knew about the reality and there didn’t seem to be too much chance of one from where I sat.

I wasn’t sure either about the subject matter, since many of the stories I had read with regards to magical transformations, had described wizards dishing them out indiscriminately and not being particularly bothered about who they did what with and for what reasons. On the other hand though I thought it might be a story like Bikini Beach. They were quite stringent there and the stories tended to be much lighter and more fun; more like stories of self-discovery with a twist.

I opened Word and then clicked back to the website, clicking control and ‘A’ to select all the text on the page. Then I selected control and ‘C’ to copy it, ending up, clicking Word back to the front and hitting paste. I watched briefly to ensure that the text was copied and then went back to the site. I tried some of the other stories, but for some reason, it had stopped responding and all I got was the ‘Error 404’ message. This wasn’t unusual and I closed the connection.

“Oh well.” I thought. “At least I got this one.”

I went and made some more tea and a slice of bread and something purporting to be edible for a real breakfast, after all, I had worked up quite an appetite when I had my removals hat on. I returned, fully ready to be fed, watered and read. I moved the mouse, dismissed the screensaver and started on the story.

I have no idea how long that lasted. All I know was that I was still holding the slice of bread — now dog-eared and hard as nails - and the tea was cold with a thick skin on top. I frowned as I looked at the clock in the corner of the screen.

Probably, near two hours had passed and although the status bar at the bottom of Word was reading Page1, I had no idea what if anything I had read. I decided to take a gulp of the now cold tea and grimaced.
I started from the top again and the next thing I knew, it was dark outside; the only light in the room was from the monitor. It was ten-thirty and this time, over eight hours had passed.

My bum was numb from sitting for so long in my lumpy old chair and my joints all felt like they had been glued together. My back complained loudly as I tried to stand and my head was pounding. As if that wasn’t enough, even having just spent best part of ten hours out for the count, I was completely knackered.

It wasn’t only the physical discomfort I was suffering after having sat for so long in one position, I felt strange, odd; certainly not myself. Perhaps it was just the impromptu naps.

I had no idea what had happened either time and went back downstairs for a fresh cup of tea. My mind was racing and something in the back of it was telling me to go finish the story.

“Finish it?” I thought. I didn’t think I had even started it. Both times I had tried I had drifted off and re-emerged to find that hours had passed.

What the hell was happening here?

I decided that stress was part of it. What with Trisha leaving, not picking up her things and the job situation, I hadn’t been sleeping well and today, my body and mind may just have said “enough!” and I had fallen asleep. Oh well, perhaps a little mindless pap on the television and then bed for some proper sleep.

The events of that night seemed dreamlike to me when I awoke the following morning. I wasn’t sure whether they had been real or imagined. I thought about it some more as I sat to pee in the toilet. It was all so baffling I thought as I wiped, flushed and washed my hands. I slipped on tracksuit trousers and a sweatshirt and trundled off downstairs, hitching the trousers up every other step or so.

“Damn these things!” I growled as I got the bottom of the stairs and stopped to retighten the drawstring.
“Must have come loose.” I muttered and went into the kitchen. I boiled the kettle for the first cup of tea. My mind was being slow this morning and I had no doubt that it was the effects of the night before.

I sat in a bit of a mindless haze, staring out of the window into the weed-ridden handkerchief of a garden. As I sipped at the scalding tea, my mind changed the vision to that of rolling hills, stretching out for hundreds of yards in all directions, flanked by woods. The sky was a clear azure blue and two horses stood grazing in the warm morning sunshine.

Wild flowers and long grass nodded in the gently blowing breeze and the trees rustled. I could vaguely hear the sound of birds chirruping their calls to mates sitting in nearby nests, signifying their success in finding food. I was back in that dreamland, a fantasy place nestled deep in the countryside somewhere; that place that was just out of reach in reality, but was home to me whenever I wanted it. I shook myself back and weeds and rotting fences returned.

I had drunk half of the tea and curiosity about the story had got the better of me. I took the rest of the drink upstairs and fired up the computer, then opened the ‘Fresh Start’ document. At least I wasn’t in an angry mood like I had been the day before. In fact, since I finished the tea, I actually felt quite good — which was nice.
“Alright then; third time’s the charm.” I said to myself and was just about to start reading again just as the door went.

This was starting to get annoying. Something was definitely trying to stop me from reading this damn story. Still, I went to the door to scare off whoever was there, after that, I could get back to the plot.

I was wrong.

The doorstep had someone standing on it I wasn’t expecting.

“Trisha!” I exclaimed. “What brings you here?” She looked at me in a curious way, which I completely missed.

“Hi Paul.” she said in a serious tone and I ushered her in, offering her some tea.

She followed me to the kitchen and I put on the kettle.

“How are you keeping? You’re looking well.” I enthused. Again, she had that questioning look in her eyes and still, I missed it.

“I’m fine. You’re looking er, different.” That stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Different?”

“Yeah. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something different about you.”

“Is that bad?” I asked.

“Not at all.”

“Then I shall take it as a compliment.” I replied, smiling. “I must confess. I do feel particularly perky at the moment.”

“Perky?” she asked. I just giggled and shrugged and went to the kettle to finish making the tea.

We sat and chatted about this and that, while I sat on the kitchen chair, one leg curled underneath me. Before long, all the animosity that had coloured my perception of her since the break-up and especially a couple of days before in the shop, seemed to be melting away and at the end of it she said she was actually enjoying herself, but unfortunately, had to go.

I told her that she knew where I was and was welcome anytime. Before she went, I hugged her and gave her a peck on the cheek. She returned the favour and that quizzical look once again came over her face.

I understood how she must have felt. The last time we had clapped eyes on each other was in the supermarket and it was an uncomfortable moment for both of us. I guess my lively (or should I say perky?) mood must have been somewhat disarming. I grinned to myself. “That’ll keep her guessing” I thought, but it never occurred to me at that point that I had practically had a one-eighty degree turnaround about this woman, a fact that ordinarily would have raised suspicions.

She had stayed till nearly half-two and with fresh tea in hand I went back up to the spare room and got ready to read the story. There was no way I was going to be disturbed now.
At four the following morning, I rose from my computer desk with a really nice wood grain finish embossed into my face. Once again, I had obviously drifted off trying to read the story and once again I had failed.

I turned off the computer with a frown, went to the toilet and then straight to bed.

Monday morning was a pain. It was the day that most people started work for the week and despite the fact that I was in good spirits and optimistic about the prospects of finding further work, Monday’s still depressed me.
When I worked, Mondays depressed me because the weekend was over and I was starting a week of work, now they depressed me because I wasn’t. Was there any pleasing me?

I had woken this time at about nine. I slipped on the tracksuit trousers and t-shirt I had on the day before and went to the kitchen. Once again, I found myself hitching the damned things up all the time and had to tighten the drawstring again. This time though, I noticed that I was actually standing on the hems of the legs and although I hitched them up as far as they would go, they were still on the ground about my heels.

I needed some tea and some time before I did my job searching to try and work out what was going on. I was sure it wasn’t just me falling asleep, I was pretty sure it was something else. I was having a hard time trying to fathom it. I sat down to wait for the kettle and rolled the bottoms of my trousers up a couple of inches to stop treading on them.

There were a number of things going on in my head and while I sipped the tea, I tucked my hair behind my ears and considered things.

Firstly, I had now tried four times to read the story and each time I had fallen asleep. Each time I woke afterwards, I felt as tired, if not more than I had before I started and in the last case, I had actually ‘slept’ for some fourteen hours. If that wasn’t enough, I had even gone to bed for another four or so after that.

I needed to find that website again and see if there was anything I should have read, before I started reading the story. Perhaps there was some hypnotic ‘thing’ embedded in the page and that was what was sending me to sleep. I caught a glimpse of my fingers as I got up to go upstairs and noticed that my fingernails needed filing. They’d got longer and needed some shaping and perhaps a little polish.
Polish? I ignored that, putting it down to being tired and confused thanks to the current problem with reading the story on top of everything else. I did however notice that my cygnet ring was missing. That was something I wasn’t expecting. I had had the ring forever, it was a bequest from my one and only great aunt when she died. I had to wait five years before I could wear it, it being too big, but when I put it on, I immediately refused to remove it and as I had grown, it had become too tight to slip it off my finger anymore.

I eventually found it in amongst the bed clothes.

I slipped it on and found to my surprise, that it was so loose now that it would slide right off of a straight finger thanks to gravity. It hadn’t been like that yesterday.

I shook my head in disbelief, Let it drop from my finger into my hand and placed it on the bedside table. I went and performed the obligatory job search, before I searched for the website.

Bringing up Google, I typed in what I remembered to be the search string I had used to find the site the other day and hit return. It took me about ten minutes to go through all the results and none of them took me where I wanted to be. I changed the search string to ‘A Fresh Start’ — the name of the story I was trying to read, but again, though there were fewer results, nothing I found matched what I was looking for.

I tried the history icon and went back to the day I found the website. Normally it records every site you visit, but this time, there was nothing.

As a last resort, I typed in magical websites and again, nothing.

I was at a loss. I had the story, though I couldn’t read it for some reason. I copied the text from the web page, so I had to have been somewhere for that to have happened.

I opened the file again to try and see if there was anything I could find out…

I awoke to the sound of the door at two that afternoon.

It was Trisha again.

“Hi Paul.”

“Oh, er, hi Trisha.” I answered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Twice in as many days? We went for months without any contact at all and now I have seen her three times in four days. Things were looking up.

Once again I invited her in and once again, we chatted about this and that in the kitchen over cups of tea.
I thought about telling her that something was happening, but I couldn’t. It was so strange even to me; I couldn’t see her understanding any more than I did. I sat curled up on the chair again and flicked the hair out of my eyes as she looked at me, that strange expression on her face.

“What?” I asked. She blushed.

“I don’t know. You’re different.”

“I know. You said that yesterday.”

“Have you done something with your hair?”

“Not particularly. I’m still using the same stuff we were using before you left. I suppose it might be slightly longer over the months you’ve been gone, but not much.”

“Actually, it’s much longer. Stand up a minute.” I stood up and she pulled the curls straight down my back and didn’t stop until she reached my bum. “There!” she said triumphantly.

“There, where?” I asked.

“It’s right down to your bum.” I could only shrug.

“I guess.” I responded, not knowing what else to say.

Her hand lingered on the top of my butt and I wondered what I should do. I missed Trisha but the parting changed things between us and I couldn’t understand why. I spent so much time thinking about what to do that I lost the opportunity to do anything.

When it came time for her to go, I walked her to the door. She turned on the step and reached out her hand and touched my face.

“Hmm, soft.” she said in a dreamy kind of way. “You must have shaved this morning.”

“Er, no. In fact I haven’t shaved since Thursday.”

“Bullshit! Even you would have had to shave by now.” She was right. I had never had much in the way of hair growth on my face and when I was at school, I really wanted to grow a beard. I looked forward to the time that I would be able to, but it never happened. Even at the ripe old age of thirty-two, I only shave once a week and then what I have to take off is less than most men grow before lunch!

Again, what could I do but shrug?

We gave each other a customary peck on the cheek then she left.

Firstly, there was no way that my hair could have grown as much as she said in the three months we had been parted and secondly, why hadn’t I needed a shave?

“It’s that damned story! It must be!” I exclaimed and ran up the stairs to the bathroom.
Looking in the mirror, there were subtle changes that seemed to have taken place. There were no whiskers and my hair seemed much longer, lustrous and silky than it usually did. My face seemed the same, but then it didn’t at the same time.

“Same but different.” I said to myself, as if to emphasise the fact. I wondered what else had ‘changed’, although that thought came out somewhat guardedly, as I wasn’t sure that anything really HAD changed. I removed all my clothes to give myself the complete once-over.

An odd thing I noticed as I stood in front of the mirror was the fact that I seemed to be shorter than before. There were marks on the mirror that used to line up with my eyebrows and now I had to look up slightly to see them (the marks, not my eyebrows!). “Nah!” I shrugged. “Can’t be.”

I was also developing in the chest area. I couldn’t just shrug this off as ‘man boobs’. I had lost those over the first couple of months after the break up, but I wasn’t sure that paranoia wasn’t what had grown. I noticed too that the hairs on my legs were now very much finer and that was also true of those on my arms. As for the hair on my chest and torso, well, that was just not there at all, though like my face, this area was another that seemed to refuse to become particularly hirsute.

Perhaps it was my imagination, but I could have sworn that my Willy was smaller too. I gave it a bit of a rub and nothing happened. Not that that’s particularly unusual, if it doesn’t want to play, it doesn’t want to play. I was feeling pretty stressed at the thought that changes were happening to my body, so my mind wasn’t really on the subject of self-gratification.

The odd thing was, my mind hadn’t touched that subject for a couple of days and as embarrassing as it may be, I’m not the sort of person who can go that long without a bit of a stiffy at least.
What was happening to me?

One good thing to come out of all of this was the fact that I still looked a bit wide in the hips, but other than that, I was looking much more toned? I’m not actually sure that ‘toned’ is the correct word to use, but I couldn’t think of another that would fit and not cause me to have a nervous breakdown. I would prefer to think that it was as a result of eating virtually nothing and being constantly stressed out.

The phone rang and dragged me back into a reality that I could handle.

“Hi Mike.” I answered.

“Have you got a cold or something? Your voice sounds different.” Sounding different as well as looking different? What was going on here?

“Dunno mate, maybe. I hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, anyway. You still on for tonight?”

“Pool?”

“That’s the one.”

“No worries. I’ll be there.” We said our goodbyes and rang off. I ran back upstairs to the mirror. I was very critical of the reflection this time and considered what I had originally thought. I passed it off as plain old paranoia.

“Dipstick!” I said and went back into the bedroom to get dressed.

I picked out a check shirt from the wardrobe and pulled it on. It seemed a little big, but I ignored that. I couldn’t however ignore the fact that my trousers were way too big round the waist and far too long.

“No way!” I exclaimed.

I pulled out another pair with similar results. In the end I was down to my last pair of jeans that were frankly too small for me two years ago, but I had never got around to throwing out. I laid back on the bed, put my feet into the legs and hauled them up.

They were a bit tight round the arse, but the waist even on these was fairly loose. I stood up and went back into the bathroom. I was pleasantly surprised by the overall look. With the shirt on the outside, I certainly looked quite slim and fit.

My shoes though, were another story.

I needed three pairs of fairly substantial socks to make my shoes feel like they fitted and still my feet moved around in them. I sat on the bed, dumbfounded by what was happening to me. I seemed to be shrinking. I picked up my ring from the table and shoved it into my pocket. Right now, it seemed like the only part of me that wasn’t changing and somehow, even holding it made me feel like me.

I slopped around in the shoes for a while, before coming to the conclusion that there was no way I could wear them for the evening, I’d look ridiculous, never mind the blisters that were sure to come. I put my coat on and had yet another shock. The sleeves were now down past my knuckles and although the coat was long, reaching originally down to mid-calf, it now nearly reached my ankles. I didn’t have time to really think about this, so I rolled the sleeves up a couple of turns and headed off to town for some new footwear.

The woman who came to serve me asked if I needed help and I was unsure of how to put the fact that I didn’t know what size shoes I needed.

“Well miss. We can measure.” For a few seconds, I wondered who she was talking to. Then it hit me. I went a deep beetroot colour and had to point out that actually, I was a man.

Then it was her turn to change colour!

I got more confused looks as I removed my shoes and the half-dozen socks that were doing their level best to fill in the gaps between my feet and the leather.

“They’re a bit big.” I said blushing. One of her eyebrows shot up.

She measured one foot, but not with one of those fancy jobs that gets the width too, just a simple one to get the length. She gave me a sock so that I could try on some trainers and though I tried many, they all seemed far too wide.

“Your feet seem awfully narrow. I know it may sound a little strange, but perhaps you ought to try some of the ladies trainers. They’re normally made on the narrow side compared to the men’s. I’m sure we’ll be able to find some to fit.”

She disappeared for a few moments and returned with a pair of white tennis style trainers with a black motif.

“Try these.” Bless her. They fitted a treat and I was so grateful. I smiled at her and she beamed back. We walked across to the counter, me sporting my new fitting shoes without socks and carrying my original socks and old Kickers plus the box that the trainers came in.

“Tell me.” she said very quietly. “How long have you been going through the change?”

“Change?” I asked, a little shocked at the question, I mean, did she know?

She whispered to me very close and in an almost conspirational manner.

“I have a nephew who is going through the ‘change’ at the moment. I must say though, you are a lot more convincing than he is.”

“Convincing?”

“Some men still look like men no matter what they do. If they look feminine, they’re referred to as convincing.” she said in that ‘knowing’ manner.

“My. That all sounds really complicated.”

“It is. It’s called counter culture.”

“So how have you managed to learn so much?”

“My nephew, Donny, the poor dear, calls him, er, herself Cindy now. His mother and father have more or less thrown him out on account of his change. More worried about what the neighbours might think. To cut a long story short, he spends most of his time with me. I think it’s fascinating. He seems a lot happier now.”

“I see.”

“I think it’s sad that some of the nicest people can get dealt such bad hands in life.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” I said.

“Well, much as I’d love to stop and chat, I must get on. Did you want anything else?”

“Er, no thank you. I’ll just leave it at these today.”

“Shall I put them in a bag for you?”

“No thank you. These don’t fit anymore,” I said, pointing a toe at my Kickers. “I think I’d prefer to keep these on, but if I could have a bag to put the old ones in please?”

“Right you are then.” she said and handed me a bag. I passed her my credit card and set about stuffing my old shoes and socks into the carrier. She looked at my card and leant across the counter.

“You need to get the name changed on these my dear. Not everyone will be as well versed with ‘that side of things’ as I am. It might cause you some trouble.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to try and trick you or anything.”

“I know dear. You really do make a lovely girl though. I can see why you ‘changed’.”

I smiled a genuine smile. I knew these things were happening, but never before had I heard of a change coming about in such a short space of time. Then again, if I was right about the story being the reason, I hadn’t heard of that either, well, not in real life anyway.

It occurred to me that I really ought to buy some socks too, since the ones I had meant that the heel was somewhere around my ankles and felt strange. I stopped off in one of the cut-priced shops and looked at their selection. I scanned past those that had pink hoops or little bunnies on, but now I knew what size I needed to buy, I found a pack of five pairs that were pretty non-descript.

I left the shop, bags in hand and thrust my hand into my pocket, my finger tips coming into contact with the gold cygnet ring. Across the road, was a jeweller’s with ‘SALE’ signs in all the windows and an idea occurred to me. I went to the window and looked at the necklaces.

I knew now that I was likely attract unwelcome attention if I used any of my credit or debit cards and walked the few yards up the street to a hole in the wall. It was a good idea anyway, since I would definitely need money tonight with Mike.

I went back to the jewellers and made some enquiries about a gold necklace. The assistant, a balding, portly man, went to the window and retrieved a couple of the pads to show me.

“I only want a short one, but I don’t want one that’s too thin or cheap looking either.” I stated.

“Certainly miss. What about this one?” It wasn’t chunky, but also not one of those real thin cheap things and I blanched slightly at the price. I thought I’d be in for about twenty quid, but this was nearly a hundred, even in the sale. I asked him to put it through the ring before he placed it round my neck.

I looked in the mirror and it was perfect, I guess that them both being eighteen karat helped. I was happy to pay the money as it was a quality piece. I was informed that its usual price was nearly twice what I paid for it and decided that I’d got a real bargain, so I was happier still.

“Shall I wrap it for you?”

“No thanks. I’ll wear it.” I said and left the shop.

I got back to the house and sat down in the kitchen with a thud.

I really was changing. Worse, I had changed sufficiently to be thought of as a girl and not a boy — twice. Not only that, but I found myself doing things I would only expect of a woman or a girl and sometimes unconsciously. The ring on the chain for instance was one such example. I loved how it looked and yet it was something I would have associated with girls rather than boys. What was I going to do?

I felt like I was losing myself to whatever this change was and I could feel emotion welling up inside me, making me feel like I was losing control. A feeling I could hold back no longer. This was bizarre.

I cried and cried and after ten minutes of sobbing, the floodgates closed and I started to feel a little more like a human and not a rain factory. My eyes were sore and my head hurt. I couldn’t believe what I had just done, especially since I could find no real reason for it. I don’t do that or rather I didn’t before all this started.

I watched a little TV before getting ready to meet Mike, which was another thing I hadn’t thought of. I’d thought about it, but I hadn’t taken any of what was happening into account before I agreed to go to the pub that evening. I had taken it for granted that everything was everything and that was that.

It was now clear that everything wasn’t everything and that wasn’t that. Nothing was clear and clearly I had changed more even since the morning.

I was more nervous now than I had ever been in my life. True I had been out into the wide world and survived unscathed, but I had only interacted with people who didn’t know me, didn’t know what or who I was before. Mike on the other hand was a different proposition. Mike knew me well and I was afraid of what he’d think.

I was at the pub at the appointed time and I sat on a stool against the bar and crossed my legs at the ankle. As usual, Mike was about fifteen minutes late. I was about to leave, but when I saw him in the mirror coming in through the heavy wooden doors, my heart started racing. I was so pleased he had made it and my first reaction was to run up to him and throw my arms round his neck. Thankfully, I managed to suppress that urge.

He looked around the bars and past me three times before I thought about giving him a nudge in the right direction. It would seem that although I recognised myself when I looked in the mirror, the changes were substantial enough to make it difficult to see the real me — or the ‘me’ I used to be.

I walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hi Mike.” I said.

“Er, hi. Do I know you?” I could see a whole fleet of emotions run across his serious-looking face, one of which had within it, a spark of recognition.

“I hope so.” I replied cryptically.

“No. I’m sorry. I can’t place you.”

“Have you got a drink?” I asked, knowing full well that he had only just got into the place.

“Not yet.” he replied, looking at me in that curious way when recognition is just out of reach.

“I think we’d better get you one then.” I looked at him. “Is it still lager top?”

He blinked. “Why, yes. How did you know?” I just smiled and ordered his beer. I paid the barman and passed him his pint. I picked mine up off the bar and asked him if he’d like to sit at a table. Well, it wasn’t really a question, more of a suggestion really.

He was looking baffled anyway and just followed me to a table in a quieter corner of the bar.

“So who are you?”

“You haven’t seen yet?” I asked.

“No. Look, just tell me. I really have no idea.”

“It’s me you idiot. Paul.”

There was a loud ‘thud!’ as his jaw hit the table.

“No way.”

I nodded. “Yes way.”

“No way!” he repeated, looking me up and down.

“Sorry, but it’s true.”

“You can’t be. For a start, Paul’s bigger than you. A lot bigger.”

“He was.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Look Mike. I know this is going to be difficult to take, but until the day before yesterday, I was that long streak of piss, Paul. Now I’m not.” I used the term as it was one used by my uncle when I was younger. I hoped he’d recognise it.

“You’re shitting me.”

“I wish I were.” Mike took a long draw from his glass and looked up.

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but this isn’t funny.”

“Tell me about it. I nearly was refused with my credit card this afternoon because the woman didn’t believe I was who I said I was.” Now I know that wasn’t strictly true, but it got his attention.

“And who’s that?” he asked.

“Paul. Paul Hammond.”

“You’re serious aren’t you?”

“Never more so, Mike.”

Mike sat in silence for a while and I didn’t know whether to fill in the gaps or just sit there looking dumb. I opted for the latter, as I didn’t know what else I could say to him that would make things any easier to understand and besides, looking dumb was a lot easier.

“Do you want a game of pool or what then?” I asked. I had had enough of just sitting there looking at an almost desolate bar room or Mike with that silly look of incomprehension on his face. “I came out here to have a good time.”

Mike looked up, but what I saw was a troubled man.

“I can’t deal with this. I’m sorry Paul or whoever the fuck you are, but I’m finding this story a bit hard to believe. Why couldn’t you just tell me you’re having a sex change? I might have found that easier to swallow.”

“Believe me, Mike. If that was what I’d done, I would have said so, but I that’s not the case. I had no intention of doing anything of the sort. I just woke up the other morning and it had started. Anyway, taking hormones doesn’t make you shrink and I am about six to eight inches shorter than I used to be. My hands and fingers have reduced in size and I went from a size eleven or twelve man’s shoe to an eight in women’s.” I took a last swig of my pint and put the glass back on the coaster.

“If that’s not bad enough, I don’t know whether I have finished growing bits here and losing other bits there. I have found that due to my physical change, I will no longer be able to use my credit or debit cards and I have no chance of getting another job, because no-one will believe that I am who I say I am. All the legal shit is under Paul Hammond. Now tell me Mike, how much like a Paul Hammond do I look?” He sat in silence, my words hitting him like verbal hammer blows.

“Your disbelief is just what I have expected of everyone. I don’t quite believe it myself, but here I am. I went into two shops today and both of the assistants called me miss. I came in here this evening and the barman thinks I’m a girl. Granted, all of them seem to think I’m younger than I really am and I suppose that’s a bonus, but I don’t know how this happened and I really didn’t want it. I have been having panic attacks all day because of meeting you, my oldest friend and presenting myself to you like this.”

I was very near to blubbing. Tears were rolling down my face and I was powerless to stop them. Mike handed me a tissue from his pocket.

“Do you have any idea how this could have happened?”

“I do, but it’s even more absurd than what is actually happening.”

“I don’t get it.” he said.

“Neither do I.”

I didn’t either. The more I told myself I was me, the less I believed it. Every time I saw myself in a window or a mirror, it seemed as though the transformation had gone a bit further and the less I saw Paul, the image I had grown up with, learned from and got used to.

“I guess I can’t call you now Paul, can I?”

“I s’pose not.” I sniffed, still blotting a few vagrant tears.

“What then?”

“I don’t bloody know! I only started this two days ago. I never really had the chance to think about it.”

“Doris?”

“What?”

“What about Doris?”

“Are you taking the piss?”

“Well, Paul’s out. I just thought I’d try something else.”

“Not Doris; makes me sound like my aunt.”

“Edna? What about Ethel?”

“Fuck off!”

“Just a thought.”

I was beginning to see the old Mike again.

“Sharon? Tracy?”

“Do I get white stilettos for those?”

“Perhaps not.” he said. I think he must have gone through just about every damned girls name in the book and each one sounded daft. I mean, I’d been a boy for thirty-odd years and now all of a sudden, I was having to choose my mane again. This time in female.

“Er, what about Danielle?” he said at last.

I thought about it for a few moments. I liked that. It had a ring to it and it was far away from Paul. I didn’t feel much like Paul now and while Paula would probably have been the simplest choice, I’m glad it never came up. It was too similar and people may have expected Paula to be like Paul. So far, I didn’t think that was possible.
“I dunno, maybe. It seems to fit.”

“Okie-dokie, Danielle it is!” he said clapping his hands together and getting up. “Now what about that game of pool - Danielle?”

We stayed in the pub until closing time, playing pool and reminiscing. He beat me fair and square, but then he always did.

“Your pool playing hasn’t improved.”

“Your sense of humour hasn’t either.” I countered.

“Listen Danielle. I’m sorry I doubted you. No-one but Paul could have known half the stuff we’ve been talking about tonight. I believe you are who you say you are.”

“Don’t. You’ll make me go all blubby again.”

“Blubby?”

I giggled. “Sorry, tearful. I forget myself sometimes.”

“You know, it’s hard to imagine you as Paul. I really hope you manage to get this all sorted out.”

"So do I, but I could have been changed into an old trout with a face like a bag of spanners.”

“Have you seen yourself lately?” he quipped and quickly sidestepped my slap.

“Bastard!”

“It’s been fun. I’d better go.”

“Yeah. Don’t leave it so long next time.”

I watched him walk down the road a ways and get into his car. He could be a right royal pain in the arse that one, but he was kind and he didn’t blast me out like I thought he might. I know it must have been hard to take, but I didn’t expect him to be quite so calm about it.

I wandered back home and sighed as I walked up to the front door.

Coffee was my first thought and I made it strong. I had had a few beers and was a bit wobbly and thought it best to straighten up a bit at least before going to bed. I had no sooner ground the coffee, when there was a knock at the door.

“Mike. When I said not to leave it so long, I had considered a few days, weeks even, but this is really taking your obligation a bit far.”

“Fuck off!”

“Sorry. Did you want coffee?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” I led him through to the kitchen.

“What’s made you come back tonight then?”

“I can’t seem to get the image of you out of my head.”

“That’s not nice. Do you want an aspirin?”

“It’s not funny.”

I handed him some coffee and we sat for a while. Every now and again, I had to tell him that my eyes were further up and he’d graciously blush and either look away or look at my eyes.

“I can’t see that being here is a good way to get my image out of your head.”

“No, you’re right. I had better go. Lisa will be starting to worry.”

“Lisa?”

“My woman.”

“My goodness!” I said. “The great Mike Jones getting tied to one woman.”

“Not exactly.” He started to moved closer. At first I didn’t notice his motives, but they became apparent all too soon.

“We’ve been together for a couple of years now, but it’s starting to get a bit sour.” All the time he was edging closer and wound up with his hand on my knee. “You know what I mean?” he asked.

I didn’t know what to do, I mean, here was a guy I had known since the year dot and if wasn’t much mistaken, he was making a pass at me. True it was a bit ham-fisted, but it was definitely a pass.

He continued to tell me how his job was driving a wedge between him and Lisa and to my horror, his hand started the journey up my inner thigh, then back to the knee.

“It’s becoming that bad, that I don’t even want to go home most nights.” Here it comes I thought. The ‘my wife/girlfriend (delete as appropriate) doesn’t understand me’ ploy. “Could I stay here?”

“We do have a spare room or there’s the couch.”

“I didn’t think we’d need those.” he said then, wallop! There it was. His hand strayed further up my leg and he actually started rubbing my crotch.

I nearly died on the spot!

“Oy, oy, oy!” I exclaimed and slid off the chair to the side to escape his attentions.

“What?”

“What do you mean what?” I asked. I was completely gobsmacked by having him touch me at all, let alone there.

“I saw you looking at me in the pub. That ‘come-on’ expression. I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“It most certainly isn’t.” I snapped. He got up and came towards me.

“Oh come on. You know you want it.” he said and took my arm.

“No Mike.” I struggled, but even though he was smaller than me as a bloke, he had always possessed greater strength. Now, I was even smaller than him and my strength seemed even less. My struggles got me nowhere. If anything, they only made him tighten his grip still further, hurting me.

“Let me go!” I cried. He pulled me to him and with his free hand, he grabbed my hair, holding my head firmly where it was and kissed me.

“Mmmmph!” I tried to tell him to get off, but his lips were tightly glued to mine and I could feel that he was trying to force his tongue into my mouth. He pulled away and the kind face I had seen earlier in the evening had been replaced by one that freaked me out. He looked like he was crazed.

“Don’t be like that. The more you struggle, the harder it’s going to be.” I relaxed slightly, trying to keep my presence of mind, searching for something that I could do to stop this predator getting exactly what he wanted.

He pulled my hair hard and forced me to my knees.

“Open them.” he commanded. I knew what he meant and while he held me in place, I pulled down the zip of his trousers. “Hmmm. Don’t stop there.” I fished about and freed his dick.

“Go on then, bitch. Suck it.” I was nearly sick. I could see this thing throbbing and twitching in front of my nose, smelling of piss and all I wanted to do was vomit. I didn’t move, knelt there on the floor in front of him, I just wished that the ground would open up and swallow me whole — just what he was hoping I would do with him.

“DO IT!” he shouted and hoping that this would all end, I forced myself to let this hideous ‘thing’ into my mouth.

I was starting to zone out, trying to pretend that I was somewhere else, doing something, anything else and not performing oral sex on someone I thought to be my best and longest friend. Boy what an evening this had turned out to be.

“Deeper!” he growled, his breath shortening and he pulled me towards him by my hair, thrusting forwards at the same time with his hips and his member lurched forward in my mouth, only to hit me on the back of my throat, my nose deep into the pubic hair surrounding it.

I gagged and I heard him snigger.

“That’s it, bitch. All the way.” I was trying my best to hold back the tears, deal with the fear and his tool all at once and something in me snapped.

I managed somehow to pull back slightly until just the tip was in my mouth and bit.

I bit hard, as hard as I could and while he yelled in pain, he instinctively pulled away, dropping the handful of my hair and dropping to his knees, both his hands now clasped protectively around his privates.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and noticed the red in amongst my own saliva.
Christ, I had drawn blood!

“You fucking whore. What have you done?” His voice wasn’t questioning, more of a rage response and he got back to his feet. I tried hard to get away, sliding and crawling across the vinyl floor of the kitchen, towards the hallway door.

“That wasn’t nice.” he said, a leering grin on his face. “You’re gonna have to pay for that.” He got to me, his knob still hanging from his flies and grabbed the nearest part of me to him to haul me up; my hair. Shaking and frightened, I raised my hands to protect myself, but he was too quick and swung his fist. I saw stars and reeled as his balled fist made contact on my cheek bone, just below my eye. I reeled and he let go.

“Now come here!” He growled and grabbed me again. I tried to escape but only managed to wind up with my back to him and him gripping me tightly with his left hand. He wrestled with my shirt and jeans with the other.

First he tore at the shirt and I could hear the sound of buttons as they bounced and ricocheted off various things in the room. His free hand then came up to my chest and he started rubbing at me roughly as I squirmed and twisted trying to get away.

“I’ll teach you, you whore.” and he fumbled with the button on my jeans. I had to think quickly and the only thing I could do, was to stamp down with my foot, in amongst the tangle of feet on the floor. I caught his leg below the knee and my heel slid the rest of its way down his shin to the top of his foot and once again, he howled.

“Jesus Christ. You fucking maniac!” That was rich, calling me a maniac while he was trying to have sex with me even though I had told him no. That was rape. Didn’t that make him the ‘fucking maniac’?

He was back on the floor and I looked around for something, I didn’t know what, anything. Then I saw the handle to a pot or pan or something and I grabbed it, swinging it towards his head.

“Bonnnnnnnnnnng!” It rang as it caught him just above and behind his ear. Down he went like a pole-axed ox.
I stood over him, wondering what to do next, shaking with a three-pint saucepan in my hand. He didn’t stay out for long, no more than a few seconds and when he regained consciousness, I raised the pan again with trembling hands and put on my best angry face.

“It’s alright.” he said from my feet. “You’ve made you point.”

“Don’t talk to me!” I said through gritted teeth. “Just get out!”

“Alright, alright. I’m going.”

He got up on very unsteady feet and meandered to the door.

I followed him up the hall, keeping the pan raised above my head the whole way. He turned at the door.

“OUT!” I yelled at the top of my lungs and he flinched, obviously thinking better of saying anything or trying anything else.

“I’m sorry.” he said in a small voice, looking at the floor just in front of the door.

“I don’t want to hear it.” I hissed. “Just go and don’t come back!” The front door closed and I sank to my knees, sobbing like a baby.

I finally managed to get myself back together when I caught a whiff of his cock again. I don’t know whether it was present in the room, or it was just a memory flash, but there it was and I could feel my stomach turning over threateningly.

I staggered to the bathroom, knelt in front of the toilet and heaved.

I must have cleaned my teeth three or four times and still wasn’t certain I had got rid of the taste or the memory of it out of my mouth and each time I looked in the mirror, I could see the swelling of the smack in the cheek I had received, getting bigger, or so it seemed.

I finally went to bed about two hours after Mike had left. I was in pain and cried myself to sleep, having to swap pillows in order to sleep on something dry.

Chapter Three : Tuesday

I awoke on Tuesday morning and I ached. I rubbed my eyes and the sting of the belting I got the night before sent pain through the whole of that side of my face, not to mention a fresh bout of stars before the eyes. It all came flooding back and I started to feel the shakes coming on again.

I went into the bathroom and sat on the loo while I peed. I very gently touched the area around my eye and could feel it smart from the bridge of my nose almost round to my ear. Wiping and flushing, I looked in the mirror and gasped.

The wallop had given me a right old black eye, well almost; only the bottom lid was purple. This was going to be one of those that would probably hang around going every colour of the rainbow before it finally disappeared. I hated Mike (the bastard) for what he did and hated the fact that I hadn’t been able to summon the courage to call the evening off altogether, before any of this could have happened.
Worse still, I could see bruising on my forearms from being manhandled and I’m sure that the external signs were going to be easier to cope with than the internal, mind-based ones.

I saw spots of Mike (the bastard)’s blood on my jeans and the shirt I had worn last night. That pissed me off too. They were the only jeans or trousers I had to wear that fitted me and now they would have to be washed before I could even wear them again. The shirt too, was damaged, with buttons missing and tears around where they had come from and to the buttonholes.

Last night was not going to be one to easily forget.

I took a few moments to examine the top half of my body and was aware that the waistline was becoming noticeably narrower. My bust was definitely bigger today too. I could see that for myself, with two very prominent nipples poking out. I tweaked one curious as to what it felt like and after peeling myself off the ceiling, I decided that I would need to treat them more gently in the future — where appropriate of course!

This led to some curiosity about what was happening elsewhere.

I checked between my legs and was horrified to see that Willy was not present.

“Jesus!” I exclaimed and spent the next few minutes in very strange positions with a mirror, trying to ascertain what was going on ‘down there’. In the end I worked out that my balls had disappeared. As to whether they had just receded into the cavity or had ‘gone’ altogether, was yet to be determined, but Willy was no more than a nub where a clitoris would be. My scrotum had formed into a very nice pair of labia majora and minora lips and I guessed that the rest of the vagina was still forming as at that moment, it dawned on me that from the very beginning I was sitting to pee and wiping too.

This was all very confusing and it would seem that this was not going to stop until my body into that of a true female.

I was surprised that I wasn’t getting worried and found myself admiring the new body. The way the chest and shoulders had narrowed somewhat and curved gently to the waist, whereupon, the hips flared to two nice shapely legs.

There was no angularity that one would normally associate with the masculine form and that included the lines of my face. I was turning out to be quite an attractive woman. I wasn’t surprised in a bad way at all; I was both fascinated and pleased.

I winced as I bent over to pick up my tracksuit trousers and realised that in the melee, there were probably other things that happened that just blurred into the rest. I took out another pair of the new socks and found a sweatshirt to pull on.

The sound of someone knocking on my door was enough to bring me out of my reverie and I winced as I hobbled downstairs to answer it. Once again, I found Trisha standing there and I just swung the door open to allow her to come in as I turned on my heels and headed for the kitchen.

“Hi…” she said and her jaw dropped as I disappeared up the hall.

After last night, I was glad that she had come round, although I was equally worried about what to tell her of the events of last evening.

“Hey! Don’t walk away like that…” Once again, she was rubbing me up the wrong way and without thinking, I turned to face her, my shiner becoming all too obvious and had it not been bolted on, her dropping jaw may well have damaged the flooring.

“What the fuck…?” she began.

“Sit down please.”

She almost dropped like a private at the sound of the Sergeant Major onto the nearest chair.

“I went out last night.”

“You did? That was brave.”

“Stupid, more like.” I said. A wry smile passed across my face. “Tea?”

“Yes please and don’t change the subject. What happened? You look awful.” I grabbed the kettle and filled it, setting it down afterwards on its stand and pushing the ‘ON’ button.

“If I didn’t feel bad anyway, I’d be really fucked off at that remark.” I said. “But anyway, I got a phone call from Mike (the bastard) the other day. He wanted to know if I wanted to go for some pool at the local. I of course accepted and in the meantime, all this started to happen.” I gestured up and down my body.

I filled her in with the rest of the events and left her absolutely speechless and me with a huge lump in my throat, tears only seconds behind and the floodgates opened once again.

“I didn’t encourage him. He tried to take it for himself, no matter how much I told him no.” I snivelled. Trisha got up and put her arms round me, drawing me to her tightly.

“Ow! Careful, I’m pretty bruised.”

“Sorry. How did you stop him in the end?”

“I hit him with this saucepan.” I said, picking up the rescue weapon.

“Really?” A wicked grin appeared on her face and I couldn’t help smiling.

“Oh yes. He left after that.”

“I’m not surprised!” she said looking at me quite in awe of what I had managed.

I did an impersonation of the sound it made as it floored him and through winces, I laughed; well actually we both laughed. It was the first time in ages that both she and I had actually laughed together and I instantly saw the irony of the situation.

“I’m really glad you came round today. You’ve cheered me up. I don’t know how it would have been if I had had to try and sort through this on my own. I woke up a nervous wreck.”

“I’m glad too.” she said and once again, she pulled me close and I cried a bit more, though this time, it was because I was happy and felt safe in her company.

When I had stopped and regained some composure, she led me into the living room and stood back from me looking me up and down. She was shocked at how far along I had come and she even complimented me on the gold chain, recognising the ring too. We sat down on the sofa.

“Well it stopped fitting as my fingers got smaller.” I told her as we sat facing one another.

“Smaller?”

“Yeah, I was much, much bigger and taller than you before all of this and now, we’re virtually the same size.” For some reason, this seemed to please her. Something I didn’t seem quite able to grasp.

The longer she stayed, the more I was warming to the very woman I had taken to task in the supermarket. The longer she stayed, the less I felt like asking her about her stuff and the more I wanted her to be close to me.

It was just a reaction to the night before, I told myself. The comfort from her was making me feel a lot less panicky and I needed that right now. Before she arrived, I felt fear about going out again on my own. Not so much as far as the shops were concerned, but definitely anywhere else, especially if I needed to come home alone.

It was very confusing and to top it all, I was getting strange signals from Trisha too.

These signals were something I recognised as being like the go-ahead to proceed to the next level of intimacy. After what had happened last night I thought that Trisha would not be coming on to me. That would have been really bad timing and I must have been mistaken, but the signals kept coming and she even went as far as to start touching me as well and not in an innocent way like women do; no, I was definitely getting ‘come-on’ signals here. I was so confused. Why was I getting all of this unwelcome attention?

In the end, I just had to ask her to leave, feigning feeling rough after the night before and needing to go back to bed for a while. She seemed a little put out, but well, there was nothing I could do. I looked like shit, felt like shit and felt I had a bloody good excuse.

“Can I come back later?”

I thought about it and felt that there was no way things could get as out of hand with her as they did with Mike (the bastard) and by that time, I would probably be in need of some company. I said okay, and told her to come back around early evening.

I must say, it might have been the bang on the head, but I was really getting a weird vibe from all this. Perhaps it was just paranoia, but the thought that I was now so vulnerable played on my mind. As far as Trisha was concerned, I was a hero. I gave that bastard something to think about, but why did it have to happen at all and why did it have to be perpetrated by someone I thought I could trust.

I went back to bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

A nasty, familiar smell accosted my nose. I tried to remember what it was, but the memory eluded me. It was vile and it seemed to be getting stronger. I opened my eyes to see Michael’s tool, turgid and twitching just inches from my nose. That’s what the smell was; I could feel myself starting to gag.

I couldn’t move and my stomach was churning, my mouth flooding with saliva as it does, just before you heave. I was stretched out on my side as his cock swayed and throbbed almost hypnotically just inches from my mouth and I felt an almost overwhelming feeling of panic come over me. Still I couldn’t move.

I tried instead to yell, scream or make some noise, but nothing, not a single note escaped my lips.

The feeling of panic got stronger as the engorged penis neared, the smell of unwashed genitalia filling my nostrils, my mouth flooding still and the need to vomit getting ever closer.

It took an almost titanic effort to roll over onto my other side and the smell subsided along with the desire to hurl, but it didn’t last for long as I was rolled back to face the cobra-like motions of the pink monster. I took a deep breath, opened my mouth and let out an almighty scream, only to awaken, sweat-covered and shaking like a leaf.

My hair was soaked as was the pillow and the sheets too, the putrid smell of Michael’s ‘thing’, still permeating each breath I drew until a wave of nausea caused me to faint back onto the wet bedding.

I awoke to the sound of the door and slid out of bed to answer, grabbing my dressing gown on the way. Trisha had returned and I opened the door, grabbed her in a big hug, buried my head into her neck and started sobbing.

It took some time before I had stopped shaking and all that time, Trisha had been stroking my head and making soothing sounds to me. I couldn’t believe it. I guess it must have been a delayed reaction.

I keep forgetting, unless I see my body, I still think in terms of a man. I have constantly failed to recognise the fact that I am more or less a woman, not a man who has changed to a woman and has got used to the changes that the hormones have brought about. I have had three or four days, and acclimation is not something that happens overnight.

“How are you doing?” she asked me.

“Pretty shaky, I have to say. I feel such a plonker. I got a bit battered and bruised and now I feel scared of my own shadow. It’s crazy.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Well no. I didn’t know how I could explain things.”

“Hmm, good point.”

“Anyway, Trisha. Thank-you for being so supportive. I really needed it today.”

“My pleasure.” she said.

“There is one thing I took away from last night.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“I got myself a new name. Well Mike (the bastard) coined it.” I said, feeling that little tremble of excitement again at the thought of my new name. “I keep having it pointed out that I don’t look like a Paul anymore and Mike (the bastard) and I came up with Danielle. What do you think?”

“I think it suits you.” she said and I blushed.

“Thank-you. Amongst the other suggestions were Ethel, Edith, Sharon and Tracy. I couldn’t take any of those could I?”

“No, I don’t think you could. I like Danielle. I think I could get used to that.”

She had been really good to me and I felt that not only did I feel more comfortable, but I also felt that I had a kindred spirit there. I made us some dinner and while I was cooking it, Trisha went out and bought some wine.

“It’s the least I can do.” she said and kissed me on the cheek as she bounced out the door.

We ate while watching some rubbish on the television. The wine went down well and by the end of the meal, I was feeling quite a bit more relaxed than I was at the beginning of the day. I took the plates out and returned with a couple of cups of coffee.

We chatted some more about this and that and I was surprised about how well we seemed to be getting on now compared to before. I wanted to broach the subject of the remainder of her stuff, but it was an oily subject in that it kept slipping away from me.

It was Trisha brought it all to a halt, saying that she had to go and I saw real regret there. I felt regret that I wasn’t Paul anymore, that I wasn’t able to be her boyfriend and I wondered whether I would ever be anyone’s boyfriend again.

Much to my surprise, I was not plagued by nightmares of throbbing dicks or being beaten up for rejecting some bloke’s sexual advances that night. In fact, I slept very well. The shock of course came on the following morning when I saw the multicoloured bruise on my cheek and lower eyelid. It was still tender, but not nearly as tender as it had been.

My breasts were now breast-sized and as for which size, I have no idea. Let’s just say, they’re generous handfuls, going by the size of my hands. Granted my hands aren’t that big anymore, but comparatively speaking, my cup runneth over! The rest of me didn’t seem to have changed much. My figure was not really any different to yesterday, with the exception of the breasts of course.

I washed up, brushed my hair and got dressed in my normal sportswear, t-shirt and my trainers. Then I went to make some coffee.

I returned to the spare room to perform the daily job search and wonder of wonders, there was one job there that I felt I could do quite easily. The pay wasn’t what I had been used to, but it was something. I clicked on the ‘apply’ button and sat ready to enter the required info — then stopped, staring at the screen.

What was I going to put on the application?

Sure I could attach my CV, but if they phoned, they would want to speak to Paul, not Danielle. What was I going to do?

I logged off and continued just to stare at the screen and I could feel those blasted emotions coming to the fore yet again. I seemed to be spending such a lot of my time in tears at the moment and although some of it is understandable, what with the trauma of after the pub, but much of it had been coming unbidden and that was most disconcerting.

I left the computer and on the way, I saw the two piles of Trisha’s clothes, and wondered when she would finally come round to collect. I actually got quite angry as I saw that I may never get to see the back of it.

“Perhaps I should chuck it out after all.” I thought.
I sloped off back to the kitchen and it wasn’t long before Trisha phoned.

“Hi, Danielle.”

“Hi yourself.” I said. I was happy to hear her voice while all the grief I had given myself in the spare room over her stuff seemed to dribble out of my ears. Part of my brain was screaming at me to tell her to get it the hell out, the rest was all sunshine and roses as it were.

She wanted to come round and I felt powerless to stop her. More to the point, if I hadn’t been thinking about her stuff in the first place, it may have never occurred to me at all.

I spent most of the day trance-like. If I wasn’t thinking about jobs and how in the hell I was going to get round or through all the legal angles, like the National Insurance number, or the fact that the information on my CV was for a chap named Paul, I was thinking about Mike (the bastard) and what he’d done to me.

Mike (the bastard) seemed to figure more often than not though, as since I didn’t have a job on the horizon, the fact that I had lost a friend was much more important. I thought about our time as children, the schools we went to together, the times when we were young men, just hitting the real world and of later on.

Later we did seem to drift apart, but when we bumped into each other, it was as if we’d never been apart. It was not like that the other night and there was good reason.

How ever short a break people have from each other, they never return the same old ‘so-and-so’ as they were before, but no changes could be as total as what had happened to me. Not only was I not the same person as when our paths had diverged, but I wasn’t the same sex, not the same height, weight or anything.

As to the way he treated me, I had seen similar with other women and my mother was a prime example. I could identify with them for the trouble they were having with their men. I could see that their other halves were treating them like puppets, like playthings, like slaves. The women in the lives of these men were only there for them and their pleasure, nothing more.

I couldn’t tolerate that and always went out of my way not to be like that. I identified with the women whose men treated them like that and felt nothing but embarrassment towards the men, shame and sorrow for the women. Now I had become one of those women and I wasn’t sure what to do with the information or the experience. I did know that it would never happen again.

Trisha came round at about two in the afternoon and the first thing she did, was to suck deeply through her teeth at the sight of my bruising.

“You can’t go out looking like that.” she said.

“Go out?” I was stunned. I had a face the looked like it had been in an explosion in a paint factory. “I’m not going out.”

“Nonsense!” she admonished. “A little foundation and some eye shadow and you’ll be fine.”

“Sod that!”

“Why?”

“Because…” and I could see the look on her face. I’d been there before and it wasn’t a good idea to argue. “Oh, nothing.” I said, looking at the floor.

“Jolly good. We’ll do this in the kitchen. It’s nice and light in there.”

I felt a bit put out. I should have just been able to mope about as I wanted, but Trisha had seen off that idea like a rampant Rottwieller. We went into the kitchen and Trisha went and retrieved the mirror off the shelf above the sink in the bathroom.

I sat down and out of her bag, she took God knows how many bottles, boxes and packets along with brushes, sponges, wipes, cotton wool and uncle Tom Cobley and all.

I got the impression this had been on her mind from the beginning and the teeth-sucking bit was just for show, but once again, I was side-slipped from thinking too much about it and just went with the flow. Anything for a quiet life.

I must confess that I thought that it was going to be a case of making me look normal, but in Trisha’s case, normal was as far from my idea of normal as the North Pole is to Antarctica.

First, on went some moisturiser followed swiftly and deftly by foundation. It made my skin look like I was close to death. If I had any desire to be more of a Goth, this stuff would fit right in.

Next there were other applications and soon my face was looking fairly together all over. To my horror (though not so unexpectedly), came various shades of eye shadow and liner, finished off with mascara, which had the net result I thought, of making me look like a daytime hooker with an aversion to sunlight. A deep red lipstick finished off the look.

I was stunned though, even if it didn’t fit with my own self-image. I really was becoming very feminine looking and if my body was anything to go by, I had the equipment to back it all up.

“You’ll have to practice this.” she had said and I was petrified. The speed at which her application had gone on, left no time for me to take in what had actually been done, where and with how much, which colours or what.

The phone rang shortly after she’d finished her ‘pampering’ she called it. I had other ideas about what I’d like to have called it, but I guess in my present guise, I really should start getting used to it, as it was doubtless going to be more the norm now.

It was her work on the phone. I had forgotten to ask her how that was all going and was curious as to how she managed to get so much time off. I suppose she didn’t have that much time off after all and was just working odd hours. I didn’t want to dwell upon that if I could help it, as it reminded me all too much of my own predicament.
“You look stunning, darling.” she said as she pecked me on the cheek before leaving. “I’ll try and come round again tomorrow. Now try not to frown, it makes you look simple.”

Darling?

She’d never called me that even when I was her darling. This was getting weirder by the minute. I looked at myself in the mirror again and thought about the image that was staring back at me.

It reminded me of a young teenager just getting used to wearing makeup and using lots of product. I could see runs in places where it had been over applied and felt like a bad oil painting.

I looked at the array of products that were all over the table and searched for something to take this all off with and was nearly in a state of panic when I discovered that there was no remover.

I started to cry, but even limited knowledge of makeup application, remembered my mum saying that crying in makeup made her look like a panda and on top of everything else, that was a look I had no intention of cultivating.

I went upstairs and searched through all my drawers. I was looking for sunglasses and I had some vague idea that I had a pair in amongst all the paraphernalia that sat under my desk.

After some fifteen minutes, I returned downstairs with a pair of old ‘aviator’ style glasses with mirrored lenses. They took me back (not too fondly) of nights in Brighton at the rockers club, banging my head along with all the others to Van Halen, Whitesnake and Foreigner.

I put them on and nearly collapsed in fits of giggles. I looked like a giant fly!

I was going to have to go out whether I liked the idea or not. Firstly, I looked gross. I looked gaudy and over painted and secondly, I wasn’t going to be able to sleep in this stuff anyway, it’d make a complete mess of the bedding.

I trawled through my clothes and found that apart from the clothes I had worn to the pub the other night, I had nothing suitable. Suddenly, an idea dawned on me. What about Trisha’s stuff. She obviously wasn’t using it, didn’t need it and probably didn’t want it either. Surely there’d be something in there I could use.

Like a whirlwind I was going through her stuff and clothes of all descriptions were going left and right over either shoulder.

Pretty soon neither pile was intact and I had found a blouse, a skirt, a pair of relatively sexy panties and some opaque tights. I went into the bathroom and attempted the impossible.

Firstly, I tried on the blouse and found to my surprise, that it did fit, but it took an age to button up, since I was used to my buttons being on the other side. The panties were a revelation and I wished I’d tried them a lot earlier! They were light and smooth, not like the burlap and barbed wire that seem to be the basic constituents of men’s underwear.

The tights though, were a different matter. I tried to put them on in the same way as I would have done my socks and immediately put a run in one leg from toe to thigh. Fortunately, I found another pair and fiddled with them for a while, before I got the idea to scrunch them up and feed my foot through bit by bit.

Success!

Lastly, I picked up the skirt and stepped into it. It was a hippy-style skirt with a fringe round the hem. I had always liked them on the biker chicks of my youth, but when I put this on, I could see that it was more or less transparent and so began a second blizzard of flying clothing as I tried to find an alternative.

I settled for a pencil skirt. A bit eighties I’ll grant you, but it fitted. It just went to show that I had in fact become more like Trisha than I was particularly comfortable with. I slipped on my trainers and nearly died laughing again.

If it wasn’t enough to have to wear the sun glasses in the rain, I was now going to have to wear the trainers under a perfectly smart skirt. No way was I going to do that. I might be new to all this, but I still had something of a sense of style and wanted to look respectable. More than that, I wanted to blend. It was going to be hard enough with the twin fly lenses on my Picasso-esque face without a pair of trainers on my feet.

I sorted through the bag of shoes and found a pair of pixie-style ankle boots that like the skirt were a bit eighties too, but I really liked them. I just hoped they fitted. I laced them up and stood for the first time in stiletto heels — albeit not bloody great spikes, but to me, they were like walking on skyscrapers!

I spent the next hour, trying to get used to walking on heels and not doing a particularly good job of it, but time was plodding on and I needed to catch the shops before they shut.

I walked carefully, I had to and by the time I reached the shops, I felt I was doing alright. My calves hurt a bit though due to the position of my feet, having only been used to flat men’s shoes before.

I headed for Boots (ironically) and once in there, I realised that I would need more than just makeup remover. I passed shelves and racks of items such as hair removal cream, moisturisers, cleansers, brushes, tweezers, files, clippers and the dreaded makeup and removal gunk.

I had quite an armful by the time I reached the makeup department, but then found myself completely swamped by the amounts of products that were available. Even if I took a wild stab in the dark, I wouldn’t know what to do with the majority of the stuff.

It must have showed, for as I stood there staring into space, a voice came from behind me asking is she could help.

“Help?” I spluttered. “Christ, I need a crash course!” I said without turning round. When I did, I was face to face with a girl of about my own age, maybe younger. Her hair was dark and straight, quite long and tied back in a pony tail. Her skin was pale and it may have been her heels, but she was slightly taller than I. The most striking thing about her was that she had jade-green eyes that seemed to have infinite depth and wisdom. I suddenly felt very out of my depth and my wisdom seemed to dribble out of my ears. “I’ve never actually used it myself before.” I added quickly, swallowing hard.

She looked a little confuse by the last remark.

“I’m sorry. It’s a long story. I can’t tell you now and even if I did, you probably wouldn’t believe me. No-one else does.” She smiled. Those eyes and her kindly face made most of the awkwardness I felt wash away. I lifted the glasses.

“You’d be surprised what I’d believe.” she said mysteriously. “Anyway… My goodness, what happened there?”
“I had a bit of a contra temps the other evening and wound up with quite a lot of bruising around the cheek. So my ex-girlfriend tried to hide it with makeup.” I saw the eyebrows go up when I had said that, but she was a professional and didn’t back up. I really had to start remembering that I was now a girl — mostly — and statements like that last one were bound to cause a stir.

“Well rest assured, I can sort you out.” she said. “Once I’ve finished with you, you’ll be doing it like a pro in no time.” I could feel myself blush to the very roots of my hair, not to mention what was happening already ‘down below’. This girl was having a noticeable effect on me and it was made doubly difficult, because it was producing all sorts of feelings I hadn’t experienced before.

“Come and sit down, I’ll see if I can’t show you the basics. A veritable ‘crash course’ as you put it.” She laughed and it was like the peal of a very small bell, pure and clear, sending very pleasant shivers up and down my spine.

She sat me down in front of a small vanity behind the counter.

“Before we start,” she said. “My name’s Verity.”

“Truth.” I said, smiling and she returned my smile. “I’m Danielle.” I felt another shiver of excitement run over me as I used the name for the first time outside of anyone who knew me and I must say it was quite exciting.

“Danielle. That’s a pretty name.”

“I only wish I could do it justice.” I said wryly. She gave me an “Oh, I don’t know” look and continued.
I took off my glasses and she looked critically at the makeup job that was already there.

“I can see why you came here.” she said without making it sound the least bit offensive.

“I know.” I said, a note of embarrassment creeping into my voice. “It looks like it was put on with a trowel and what’s worse, is that she left me with nothing to take it off with!”

She took remover and wiped off the makeup that Trisha had applied, gasping at the bruising around my cheek and eye. I blushed and felt the need to explain.

“I got a bit clobbered by someone who I thought was a friend who wouldn’t take no for an answer. He did in the end though.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“A large saucepan cooled his ardour.”

“Did you pour it over him?”

“No. I hit him with it!”

“Way to go girl!”

We laughed. Her gentle, easy manner put me instantly at my ease. Then she got back to the matter in hand and took the various different products to explain their use, their application and the range of colours available. Inside ten minutes, I had been given the low-down on foundation, blush, mascara, eye shadow, lipstick, lip pencils, lip gloss and different types of eye liners, brushes and other applicators.

Most of the time I heard what she had to say, but a lot of the time, I found myself thinking about her and how nice it felt when she was close. I was comfortable, sure and relaxed. It wasn’t forced; it was just the way she made me feel.

Application of the products turned the wick up a notch.

It meant that she was even closer, oftentimes touching and when she did, it was like static charges that made the hairs on my body stand to attention. That special place I had now, seemed to have come alive. Much more of what she was doing and the emphasis would definitely be on the coming!

I admit, as a result, I found myself missing quite a lot of what she said this time and I think she realised. She laughed and said that it was a lot to take in all at once, but as long as I didn’t try putting the stuff on with a trowel, I should be able to enhance what was already there and cover those bits that were poorly at the moment. The rest, she said, would come with practice. “Just try and keep it natural.”

I so wanted to ask her to meet me for lunch, maybe dinner or better still, supper followed by breakfast! I could feel myself blushing once again as thoughts of exploring that amazing mouth and anywhere else on her I could with my tongue, brought on a rise in the temperature.

I know; all this from half an hour in a busy department store.

I thanked her and tried my hardest not to look into those deep green eyes that smouldered beneath those long lashes. I didn’t care if they had been applied from a bottle. She looked — I melted.

There was one of those embarrassing silences before I actually dragged my eyes from her. It didn’t help that she was very self-assured and met my eyes every time she looked at me. I could feel myself getting very out of control and beginning to flounder, but I wasn’t finished yet. I needed some perfume and of course, Lynx or Old Spice was alright for a bloke, but for us women a little more effort was expected.

I wanted something that made me feel like, well, me.

She handed me a bottle of something called Diorella or something like that. I touched a little of it to my wrists, rubbed them together, sniffed and immediately fell in love with it.

“Is this what you wear?” I asked.

“No. It doesn’t go on me. Some people are like that. I’m more of an Esté Lauder person myself.”

“Youth Dew?”

“How did you know? I’m not wearing it today.”

“I didn’t. My mum used to wear it and it’s the only one I know.” We laughed again. “What do you think of this then?” I asked, holding my wrist up so that she could take a little sniff. She took my hand in her own immaculately manicured hand and turned it over, exposing the wrist. I was starting to get a little faint.

“I think it suits you. Quite impish!” she said and let go of my hand — damn!

“Impish?” I said, raising an eyebrow and desperately trying to regain composure. “I like the sound of that!”

I asked for some and she handed me the bottle in a bag. I paid for it and the other items I had picked. Our fingers touched as I took the change from her, lingering ever so slightly and my knees started to shake.

Jesus, was this some kind of woman or what?

I don’t know if she was experiencing this too, but I was completely unprepared for the sensation I got just from a single touch. I looked at her in what I hoped was a demure manner and was again taken aback by the look in her eyes; those beautiful green eyes.

Seconds felt like hours as I looked into them, almost unable to tear myself away, and when I did, I wished I hadn’t had to. I said goodbye and made my way, jelly-legged from the counter and out of the store.

Now that was an adventure!

I veritably (sorry) skipped home, despite the boots, which incidentally, I saw my reflection a couple of times and found myself really liking the effect it made on my legs. I was going to be wearing them again, that’s for sure.

Back at home and I made sure the first thing I did, once I had put the bag down, was to throw away those glasses. All I would have needed was a mullet and I’d have looked like a feminine David Hasselhoff. That was something I could well do without.

I had purchased a fairly comprehensive array of goods on this trip, spent a fortune and come home with a bloody-great grin on my face. I was now ready for the joys of makeup and curiously, was actually looking forward to doing it for myself.

Today had been a strange day. I couldn’t care less now if Trisha came back or not. One whiff of the Diorella and a pair of smouldering green eyes popped straight into my head, the temperature rose and well, what was happening elsewhere is nobody’s business.

I was so pleased that it had happened.

I couldn’t help but think about Trisha and the fact that after a three-month separation, she was now back in my life, but I was unsure about the context of that. It wasn’t something I could put my finger on, but I had noticed that she had coincidentally been everyday since I changed. I felt certain that it was not just concern for my wellbeing that was on her agenda.

The strangest thing about it from my perspective was the fact that I wasn’t attracted to her anymore. I could look at her now, without mentally undressing her in my mind and getting up to all sorts of mental rudery, but now, I just looked at her as if she was a sister.

The rudery was for Verity and I thought about that most of the time.

I felt glad that one thing had been proved to me, which was that I was still into women and perhaps oddly, the term ‘lesbian’, didn’t seem to have the stigma that ‘gay’ would have had were I still a man. After the episode with Mike (the bastard), I didn’t care if I didn’t see another man again. True, I still found some men handsome, in the same way that I found some ugly, but none of them rang my bell.

Trisha used to ring my bell, but that all changed after we split. I think the fact she wasn’t honest with me was part of it. Oh sure, she told me that it was because of my mood swings and well, they may have contributed, but the split had begun long before that. If I think about it, it probably came at about the same time as she started working late and all the other odd hours.

Still, that’s all in the past and I have something new and exciting to look forward to.

Chapter Four : Onwards…

Thursday dawned bright and cheerful. The bruising on my face was starting to get to its yellow phase and that was a sure-fire way to tell that it was running its course and on the way out.

I woke up in a really good mood and although I can’t remember the details of the dream, I would like to think that Verity was a part of it. I can’t stop thinking about her, but I’m no fool and infatuation could be the key here. I reckon that if I haven’t got to go out with her soon, but I still feel this way, then I might have to put love into the sentence.

I thought I’d start with a shower and hair removal treatment, moisturiser then downstairs for breakfast and makeup lesson number one. It was nice at last to have some positive direction in my life.

I kept the hair removal stuff away from the tender bits and had actually fully intended to give myself something of a bikini line, but after messing about trying to get it all even, I gave up and just smeared the stuff all over, under the arms and from crotch downwards.

It used up most of the bottle, but after the prescribed time I scraped it off and was over the moon at the results. After a nice rejuvenating shower and hair wash,. I felt smooth and very feminine. It was a whole new experience and if the after effects were anything to go by, one I would be looking forward to on a regular basis.
I dried off and looked at myself in the mirror. I found it fascinating to see myself with no protruding genitals and the skin around where they would have been so soft and smooth. I lifted one arm and then the other and saw my pits with the same effect and I must say I was well turned on.

I started to apply the moisturiser and decided on a top down approach. I smoothed a small amount under each arm and brushed my breasts when smoothing it out. The feeling was electric. I took a little more or the lotion and smoothed that out over both breasts. By the time I had finished which was only seconds later, my nipples were as hard as rock and if you could hear nipples, I’m sure they were singing. I know I was!

This got me curious and since I had got a distinctly erotic sensation from my panty-region yesterday, I wondered what stage it had got to.

I reached down and slid my middle finger between my lips and across the top of my clitoris. It definitely worked. I moved down towards my bum and could feel the slippery wetness of my hole. I shuddered and didn’t stop there. Before I knew where I was, I had two fingers of one hand pounding away in and out of my pussy, while I massaged my clit with the other and within a very few minutes, I was having to sit on the side of the bath as my legs wouldn’t hold me up at this point.

After the room stopped spinning, my legs stopped being jelly, I stopped shaking and the temperature returned to normal, I concluded that there was nothing wrong with the hardware that was for sure.

I think I must have spent the rest of the morning walking around the house with a silly grin on my face.
By the time Trisha came back round, I had managed to get myself back under control (though not before testing the goods once or twice — okay three times more and also had a second shower [I needed a cold one at that!] just to polish off). I had put on a dressing gown and applied makeup. Whilst it wasn’t as good as the job Verity had done, it was much better than Trisha’s effort (bless).

She seemed quite put out that I had taken the initiative to get this problem sorted for myself and as always seemed to happen when she’s around, I felt really bad for having upset her. It seems stupid, since she seemed to think it perfectly alright to leave me with no way of getting off what she put on. That was the effect she was having on me.

Another thing I noticed really quickly, was that the image I was calling into my mind fairly regularly of Verity (four times this morning in the bathroom alone), seemed to be so hard to grasp when Trisha was around and although I didn’t fancy her anymore or find her in the least bit sexually attractive, I did find it very difficult not to want to please her, to do the very best I could for her.

“You’re looking very feminine today, Danielle.” she observed.

“Yes. I guess it’s just acceptance of being the way I am now.”

“Do you like being a girl?”

“I haven’t really had time to think about it. I suppose, but then, I never really thought much about being a bloke before either.”

“Didn’t you?”

“Well, no. You don’t think about being what you are, you just are. Just like I don’t suppose you think about being a girl, it’s just the way you are.”

“I’m surprised. You’ve taken to it really quickly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. You just seemed to have accepted it so readily.”

“What choice have I had? I have changed rather drastically after all. It’s been a case of either survive or don’t. What actually happened to me is by-the-by. I have been dealt a new hand and have had to learn to play accordingly.” I said hotly. “I have to say though, you’ve been a real help.” She smiled and reached out and put her hand on my knee.

“You’ve turned out to be a very pretty girl though.” she said.

“Thank you.” I replied, noticing that the hand hadn’t left my knee and now was stroking it gently.

I didn’t know what to do about that. I had that sense of déjá  vu and a sense of helplessness as well. I really didn’t have much ‘self’ about me when she was around and in my head, part of me was yelling at the top of its lungs for it to stop. It was kind of foggy though and whilst I could hear it, I was powerless to act upon it. I tried to picture Verity and just like before, the image kept slipping away.

Trisha knelt before me and placed her other hand on my other knee. I was trembling, because somewhere just below the surface, I didn’t want this to happen, but unlike what happened with Mike (the bastard), I had no self control.

“Mmmmm, you smell nice.” she said and fear or something like fear, was now screaming in that foggy part of my head. It was so strange, surreal. The trembling was giving way to something close to shaking and I sat, watching Trisha gently push my knees aside.

My dressing gown fell open and I could feel that I was exposed and unable to move my hands to draw it together again. She looked me up and down from my breasts to my crotch.

“Oh very nice.” she said in a very seductive tone as she saw my smooth sex for the first time, licking her lips in appreciation and I assumed, anticipation.

“Don’t you move.” she said and giggling added, “I have to visit the little girl’s room.”

I couldn’t move. It was like her request was an order, an order I could do nothing other than follow. She came back downstairs and plopped in between my legs. She ran her hands up from my stomach over each of my breasts, coaxing my nipples to hardness and I shivered. It did feel good, but at the same time, it wasn’t her I wanted to be doing it. I was finding it hard to concentrate. The sexual buzz that was beginning to build was starting to make everything much more difficult to stop.

Her hands were replaced by her mouth and tongue, licking, nibbling and swirling around my nipple, sending me into a state of utter confusion. It felt sooo good and when her hand slipped down to my pussy, her fingers sliding down to the warm wetness within, I was nearly lost.

Her head moved up from my breasts and she began kissing my neck. Her fingers were still sliding in and out, around my pussy and clit, sending wave upon wave of electric sizzles through my body that radiated out from my nether regions.

I caught a faint smell. A beautiful fragrance that suddenly released that inner voice and took away all the fogginess that had held me entranced during Trisha’s ministrations.

It was Diorella.

“NO!” I shouted and stood up, knocking Trisha onto her back in the middle of the floor. I pulled my dressing gown closed about me and looked down at the startled woman lying at my feet.

“What the…?” she cried.

“I can’t do this Trisha.” I stated firmly. “More than that, I don’t want to and won’t.”

“What do you mean? You can’t do this.” I could see the anger in her eyes and I also felt that strange pull that seemed ever present when in her company.

“What’s the perfume you’re wearing?” I asked and almost giggled at the confusion that showed in Trisha’s face.

“I’m not.” she said scrambling to her feet.

“I can smell it.” I assured her.

“I opened a bottle in the bathroom to see what it smelt like, but I didn’t put any on, if that’s what you mean.”
Perhaps that was it. Perhaps it was the smell of the perfume that reminded me so much of Verity that brought me out of the fog.

“So what did you think you were doing?”

“You just looked like you needed someone.”

“What like Mike (the bastard), someone to take advantage?”

“I just wanted to be there for you.”

“It felt more like I was there for you.” I said sarcastically.

Needless to say, Trisha’s enthusiasm died right about then. She grabbed her stuff and stomped off out the door, muttering something about “seeing about this” and “getting a refund”. I didn’t know what she was getting at and frankly I didn’t care. I felt that Verity had in her way, freed me from something that without her help, I would have been screaming inside about for a very long time to come.

It felt good and as a safety measure, I went and dabbed a little of the fragrance from the stopper, behind each ear and as I had seen my mum do once or twice, a little in the cleavage for good measure. I went upstairs to the spare room, which still looked like a blast zone and the fallout was half a wardrobe’s worth of Trisha’s old clothes, fanning out from the place where once two neat piles had sat. What was I going to do with it all?

I thought about it for about a millisecond and decided that well, if she didn’t want it and wasn’t going to let me throw it away, I would make use of it. Replacing a wardrobe is an expensive job and I really needed to have something a least to be going on with.

I went round the room carefully picking up each individual item and deciding whether it was going to be worn again or whether it was destined for the Oxfam shop. They could join my old clothes, I thought. I didn’t think I would need them again and if I was going to change back (and I had no idea whether that was feasible, never mind likely), I could get myself some more up-to-date stuff then.

By the end of the exercise, I had a pile of items that were ‘definite’, a pile that were ‘possible’ and the rest was dumped in a heap on the floor.

One such item of keeps was one of several dresses. I had never worn a dress, but until yesterday, I hadn’t worn a skirt either. The fact I was now a fully fledged if not virgin female (though very nearly not, thanks to a certain person not twenty minutes ago), I had carte blanche as to what I wore — unlike when I was a bloke. I trembled as I touched it and couldn’t wait to put it on, but one thing at a time.

It had often struck me as strange that Trisha should leave so much behind, but as I went through the clothes, I could see that a lot was fairly dated and the rest, if not well worn, was more the sort of clothes that I had been attracted to her in. Most of the original clothing had long since bit the dust, but when I first met her, I saw a biker chick, a rocker. Now she was, well, a corporate suit.

I went back into the bedroom with the dress and sat on the bed, clasping the soft black fabric to me and tears started to form in my eyes.

I wasn’t going to cry, but it was at that point that I realised that she had changed. People move on I know that. People’s tastes change and I know that too, but Trisha’s change was different. Not only had she become a stranger to me, but her whole outlook was different.

I thought about it some and realised that before she left me, she was getting more into trouser-suits; blouses that were more like shirts and shoes that were well, somewhat more androgynous and the reasons for leaving all this behind became more obvious.

Things were starting to fall into place and coupled with earlier, I think I had a good idea of what was behind Trisha’s change. Whilst it was hard for me to believe, I had to consider it as a real possibility behind why Trisha and I split. Having said that, the position I currently found myself in, was pretty hard to believe too, but very real nonetheless.

I put the dress on a hanger in the wardrobe and went back to collect the rest of the clothing I had sorted and put it away in the relevant drawers or places in the wardrobe. I kept out a plain red skirt that fell to mid calf, a white wrap-around blouse type thing (that intrigued me) and some panties.

“Hmm...” I thought, looking at the panties and other items of underwear before me. “I think I need to bin these.” I could see why these had been left. They were all well worn and not particularly attractive. “All the more reason to go shopping!” I chuckled.

With smooth legs (yummy), I didn’t have to wear tights today, which completed the look nicely yesterday, but didn’t make me feel so nice by the time I had finished walking back. My legs were itching like crazy. I guessed that that was because they were all hairy.

I retrieved the bag of shoes from next door and tipped them out onto the floor.

Going through them one pair at a time, I quickly sorted them into two piles: One for those that I wouldn’t wear if paid to do so and one for those that were acceptable — at least for the time being. Those to be thrown away were then dumped back into the black bin-liner. I then went back through the remainder and further sorted them into those that fitted and those that didn’t.

Surprisingly, most of Trisha’s shoes fitted me and only a couple of pairs met their doom on that pass. I was quite sat about one pair with enormously high heels, but I couldn’t have worn them anyway.

I added the two pairs to the throw-away bag and went and got dressed.

I arrived in the centre of town and the sun was still out. As I passed Boots, I heard a familiar voice. When I turned, I saw that the voice had the most amazing green eyes behind it.

“Hi Verity.”

“Hello.” she said and my knees went weak. “You’re looking very smart today. Much better job on the makeup too.” she added.

“Thanks.” I said and smiled. “Have you had lunch?”

“I was just on my way. Do you want to come along?”

“No. I’ll just pass up the opportunity to be seen with the best looking girl this side of the Atlantic” I thought. I mentally slapped myself.

“Yes, that would be lovely, but we should stop at a hole in the wall first. I have some more shopping to do.”

We went up the road about fifty yards and I withdrew some more money. Then, we crossed the road and headed for a little café that Verity visited regularly.

“I normally come here for lunch. They do nice coffee and their cakes are really nice.”

We sat in the little café and talked about this and that. I didn’t want to mess her about and while this time, we were just sharing our time over lunch, I wanted next time to be a little more — intimate maybe.

“Look, I’m not normally quite so forward, but I would really like for us to go out for a drink or something sometime. If nothing else, it’d be nice to thank you for the crash course in makeup.” I said, almost shaking with the fear of being rejected.

“That’s really nice of you, but didn’t you say you had a girlfriend? Wouldn’t she be jealous?” He face was serious and my heart sank.

“I would hope not.” I said. “I don’t have a girlfriend; I have the later model, the ‘ex’.” She laughed to my surprise. I was expecting her to get up and walk out. She reached across the table and placed her hand on mine.

“In that case,” she said. “I’d love to.”

We made a date for later that evening and as I waved goodbye to the most stunning girl I had ever had the pleasure to talk to, I began getting quite panicky about the whole thing.

There was so much to do and so little time in which to do it. I needed new underwear, which was the main reason after hoping that I’d bump into Verity, for coming out in the first place.

I headed to Marks and Spencer, thinking that they would have a fair selection of lingerie that I could find something in. I wanted to look my best and even if she and I didn’t get better acquainted, if you know what I mean, then I would at least know that I did my best.

I wandered around rails, racks and shelves, tables and mannequins, all covered in underwear that I had only wished I could have seen one of my former girlfriends in. I had to suppress the urge to laugh considering that I never thought it would be me who’d be wearing it!

I put a mental picture of what I had at home and what else I would need. The black dress would be the first thing I wanted to build around and as for footwear, I thought that the little pixie boots would fit fine. In between I had always wondered about wearing stockings and picked out a pair of lace-topped hold-up seamed fishnets. I hoped they were easier to wear than they were to say!

Moving round the plethora of colours and styles, I settled perhaps unimaginatively on plain black and was stuck between lace and satin or silk. The price helped me make up my mind as the lace was cotton and the satin was man made. I knew I was going to be nervous and I didn’t want to sweat, so I discounted the satin, disregarded the silk on financial grounds and settled quite happily for the black lace thong. I coupled that with a matching half-cup bra and a black slip with black lace trim.

I also bought a purse; a black number that I could actually put things in. I had looked at a number of them and found that I would have been hard pressed to put any more than a lipstick and credit card in. Where I would have put my keys and anything else was a mystery to me. Having gone so over-the-top, I also got some rather expensive bath oils to make the getting ready a little more fun and called it a day in there.

Okay, so that was tonight taken care of, but as far as the rest of the week was concerned, I had few items of underwear and would never be able to survive with the knackered old crap that Trisha had left behind. A trip to Bon Marché and an armload of thongs, panties, tights, hold-ups and half a dozen bras in different colours seemed to satisfy the brief (Yuk, sorry about the pun).

I wandered home, once again quite a lot lighter in the pocket, but also surprised at the fact that not only did I not mind going shopping now, I actively sought a reason to. I was going to have to watch that, or my money, sorry, Paul’s money wouldn’t last very long. I headed back home, getting a thrill as I walked past Boots the Chemist again, knowing who was in there and glancing at my bags, knowing also what I had in there.

I past the entrance to the arcade, when I spotted a girl I thought was Trisha. She was walking with another woman and they were hand in hand.

Now I know that women are much more apt to being ‘touchy-feely’ with one another and I also am fully aware that it doesn’t mean that they are attached, but in this case, I got the impression that attached they were.

I continued on my way and the two women stopped outside a beauty salon. Trisha turned to the woman, her hands on the woman’s waist and they kissed. It wasn’t overtly passionate, but it was lip to lip, not one of those air kisses or even a continental kiss on each cheek.

That settled it for me. I now knew why Trisha had really wanted the split.

Back home, I put my purchases away and could feel the old water works building up inside. I knew that Trisha was attracted to women not men and it answered the question in my mind as to why we had broken up. I knew too, that I was happy to put the possibility of reconciliation to bed, as now there was no way I could accept someone who was seeing other people as an intimate friend, not only from the point of view of STD’s, but because I was a one woman at a time person and expected the same in return.

Knowing all this didn’t stop my need to cry again and this was something that I didn’t think I was ever going to get used to.

I went and ran a bath and while that was doing, I took off the makeup that hid my bruising. I stared at it in the mirror, gently touching it with my fingers and wondered again, what had possessed Mike (the bastard) to do what he did, but arrived at no logical conclusion other than opportunism. It made the act even more callous in my mind and didn’t endear me to him any more.

With the bath run, the sweet-smelling bath oils added, I put my hair up and stepped in, sinking back into the warm, relaxing water and the silence of the empty house.

I must have dozed off, because I looked like a stewed prune when I got out and the water was only just verging on tepid. It was all hands on deck and everyone manning all pumps!

I got the dress out of the wardrobe and laid it on the bed, took the fishnets, bra and thong and put them on top and then started putting stuff on. I started with the bra and although I had never put one on before, my mum always used to do it back-to-front, so that bit was easy.

I did the stockings in pretty much the same manner as I had with the tights yesterday, except this time, I had to get the seam straight. That wasn’t as easy as it might have looked either! That just left the thong. I have to say, standing there in this lot, really made me horny and I was glad I was short of time otherwise I would probably have found myself fiddling again! I was quite pleased in a way to get the dress on as it took my mind off of what was underneath, well nearly.

Makeup went on like my life depended upon it (and although I still needed practice, every time I did it seemed easier than the last), followed at last by the boots and though I say so myself, I looked damned good. I finished it all off with a couple of dabs of perfume, so now, I not only felt I looked good, but smelt good too!

I went to the bar where I said I would meet Verity. It was a small secluded place that didn’t used to have many customers and I thought that it would be as good a place as any to start.

Chapter Five : The date

It seems that I arrived there just in time and not five minutes after I walked through the doors, in came Verity dressed casually, which meant jeans and a rather nice jumper. She still looked like a supermodel.

There weren’t that many people in there as I thought, so we were able to take our drinks to a table and talk in relative comfort.

“Thanks for the makeup tips.” I said as if to break the ice.

“You’re most welcome. You’re getting better too.” she replied and the moment she spoke, I almost went into a state of delirium. “This isn’t the sort of place I had imagined you being into.” she said looking round at the people in the bar. They were all either in their late sixties or even later and there wasn’t even a juke box.

“It’s not, but I had no idea where to begin, so I thought this would be a start. Would you like to go somewhere else?”

“I could do with something to eat.”

“You and me both!” I agreed and we finished our drinks and left God’s waiting room behind us.

We wandered off towards town. I was a bit out of my depth, not really knowing what to do or how to behave. I was interested in this girl, but had never viewed things from this side of the fence. Were there any particular methods that girls had for chatting up other girls? Were my methods and actions going to be particularly ‘male’ perhaps, was there even such a thing or was I just being paranoid?

“Look Verity, I’m really new to all this and I have a feeling I might screw things up…” She placed a finger on my lips.

“You’ll be fine.” she said, linked arms with me and we continued on down the road. “Any idea where we’re going?” she asked a little further on.

“Not really. I rarely come out this way, but if we take the next left, we should find something.”

We ended up at a little restaurant just up from the sea front. It was a Chinese called the Shanghai and I had been there before with Trisha. They did the most wonderful Peking duck and I was keen to see what Verity thought. We both had a Tiger beer while we waited.

“This is nice.”

“Yeah, like being in someone’s living room isn’t it?” She laughed and that tinkling bell of laughter sent shivers up and down my spine again. Sitting opposite her, I took in her natural beauty and wondered how a geek like me ended up with this stunning example, but then I wasn’t me anymore was I?”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“It sounds corny, but I was wondering how I managed to wind up here with you.”

“We got lost.” she replied with aplomb. I laughed and reached across the table to take her hand in mine.

“Well I can’t think of a nicer person to be lost with.”

“Now that was corny.”

I blushed and tried to hide it behind a swig of my beer.

“If you weren’t here, where would you like to be?” she asked suddenly.

“How do you mean? Is that a loaded question?”

“No, I mean, forget this,” she said gesturing around her. “Where would you like to be?”

“This is probably going to sound cornier than the last one, but I saw a cottage in France on the telly. Nothing grand, but it was in a huge four-acre meadow surrounded by trees.

“In the programme, it was sunny and the camera panned across the property. You could see the meadow dropping away to the trees at the bottom, hundreds of yards away. The nearest neighbours were about half a mile away and including the woodland, there were over ten acres.

“I imagine it a lot actually, when I’m not feeling best. It’s like my special place. I can go there in my head. Mostly, I just imagine it as I saw it, or rather, as I remember it, but sometimes, I go the whole hog and imagine it with a couple or more horses. It’s a dream, an idyll, but it’s mine, my hiding place. Some day I’d like to be able to have a place like that.”

Her mouth was open and her eyes were glazing over.

“I’m sorry. I was rambling again.”

“Ramble on. It sounds amazing.”

“Yeah, well. It was only a hundred and ten thousand and by today’s prices here in England, that’s a pittance, but it might as well be millions. Maybe it will have to stay right where it is without me, but you never know, maybe if I win the lottery eh?”

“Would you invite me down to stay?”

“I don’t think so. I might ask you come and live with me though.”

“It’s a deal!”

We laughed again and whilst I knew in my heart of hearts that I would be old and grey before I even had half a chance of being able to afford anything like that, she was obviously very much into the idea too and it bolstered my resolve not to let go of my dream.

After a lovely meal, in wonderful company, which incidentally Verity thoroughly enjoyed, I asked if she wanted to go home or whether she wanted to come around for coffee.

“Can I take a rain-check on the coffee? It’s getting a bit late and I have to get up for work in the morning.”

“Well okay, but on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“That you let me walk you to the taxi rank.”

“You’re not going to see me home then?”

“I didn’t know that was an option.”

“Well I’m definitely not going home on my own. You never know what might happen.” she said. I didn’t like to say she could say the same if I took her home and just smiled instead.

We got ourselves a taxi and within minutes, we had pulled up outside of a nice-looking block of flats and I escorted her up to the third floor. I had butterflies the size of jumbo jets flapping around in my stomach. Every time I looked at her, I felt this silly, giggly sensation come over me so we made the ascension in silence, although I think that my heartbeat was loud enough to be heard over the sound of the lift.

We got to her front door and I was dreading the embarrassment of whether or not to kiss or whether to turn and run. She countered that by inviting me in.

I entered a small but comfortable flat and sat on an expensive leather sofa while she went and prepared the coffees.

She returned moments later, put the coffees on the coffee table and sat down beside me.

“I had a really nice time.” she said and snuggled up to me. My heart rate went up again.

“No problem. It was my pleasure.” I squeaked. She giggled.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nerves.” I said simply.

“Do I make you nervous?”

“Not many. I never thought you’d agree to come out with me in the first place and in the second place, I didn’t think I would end up here.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“It’s lovely.” I said. “I just never thought you’d invite me in.”

“Why ever not?” she said, batting her eyelashes at me.

Bugger the answer I just had to kiss her.

I leant down and planted my lips against hers and she responded immediately, pushing her tongue into my mouth, snaking it round mine. I nearly passed out.

“Don’t stop there.” she said quietly and we moved round until I was almost on top of her. We kissed again, only this time with enough passion to set fire to what we were draped across. When we parted (more to breathe than anything else), she pushed me off, got up and led me out of the living room and into the bedroom.

“We’ll be a bit more comfortable in here, I think.” she said and pushed the door to behind her. I briefly wondered about the coffee, but decided against saying anything in case she changed her mind.

I stood at the foot of the bed and stared at her as she advanced on me. I was about to kiss, but she pushed me back, diving on top of me and gluing her lips to mine in a fit of giggles.

I kissed back for all I was worth and her hand snaked up under my dress towards my nether regions. My turn to stop her this time and I pulled my dress off, leaving me just in my lingerie. She was out of her jeans and jumper in a flash.

“Now where were we?” she said, giggling again before reattaching her mouth to mine.

I slid my hand round her back and snapper open the clasp of her bra, allowing her breasts to swing free. She sat up momentarily and let the garment slide down her arms and off her fingers onto the floor.

“Your turn.” she said and I sat up, released my bra and chucked that in a similar direction before grabbing her and pulling her to me, rolling her over and planting my mouth on one of her nipples.

She gasped and I relaxed a bit, leaving her nipple, glistening with my saliva as I snaked my tongue around the aureole, teasing the other with my fingers and thumb. I switched breasts and which ever one I wasn’t stimulating with my mouth I was stimulating with my hands, thumbs and fingers.

She pulled me close and rolled us over to emerge on top. She got onto her knees straddling me and looked down at me. I reached up and slid my hands up her thighs to her breasts as she slid her hands up under mine. I left her with her hands on her breasts and brought mine back down to her panties. I grabbed the waist and started to pull them down.

“Wait.” she said breathlessly and stood up briefly, to shake them down the rest of the way and step out of them.

She rejoined me on the bed but this time, she knelt across my knees and started pulling my thong down to my knees. I lifter my bum to help then, lifting her buttocks slightly, she reached round from behind and pulled them the rest of the way over my feet.

“Mmm yummy.” she said as she stared at my smooth sex and licked her lips. She lifted one leg and moved mine to one side and then did the same with the other and leant down to my pubic region, planting a sound kiss on my mound. I could feel her hot breath on my clit and shivered in anticipation.

I nearly jumped out of my skin as her tongue made first contact with my pussy and she drew it down between the folds of skin to my hot wet hole.

“Mmmmm.” she mumbled and drew it back up to flick my clit and return to my hole again. I was in seventh heaven and the elevator was still going up!

She used her thumbs to spread my pussy wide and went at me like a starved animal and within seconds, I was bucking and moaning and trying desperately to hang on when I felt something enter me.

She leant back and started to insert her fingers. First one followed swiftly by another. Shortly there were three fingers stretching me as her fingers probed and slithered back and forth.

Every fibre of my being was in a state of tingling. Waves of tingles like little electric sparks coursed through me and she returned to the tongue thing on my clit. I could hold on no longer and my first orgasm hit me like a train. I nearly passed out.

I don’t know where she learned to do that, but who ever it was, deserves a bloody medal. I only hoped that I could do as well for her. Christ she was hot.

I was a bit shaky to start with, I mean, I had experienced a female orgasm before — quite recently actually, but not like that and it was obviously going to take a few minutes to get my head out of the clouds. Bugger cloud nine, I left that ages ago!

I basically repeated on her, what my fuzzed-up brain remembered she did to me. Whether good or bad, it seemed to be doing the trick and when I got to the insertion of the fingers, I couldn’t believe the effect.
Three wasn’t enough for her and I added a fourth, but I was careful. She started to squeal and thinking that I was hurting her (in a bad way), I tried to retreat. That was met with one of her hands grabbing mine and trying to thrust deeper.

Before long, I had four fingers, knuckle deep inside she and she still wanted more. I tried adding my thumb, snaking my hand back and forth and then going back down on her at the same time, adding my saliva as a lubricant.
I had no more fingers to give her and I didn’t think I was going to be able to get my whole hand in, so I started on her arse.

“Oh fuck me YES!” she squealed and threw her legs into the air to afford me better access and in no time, I had four fingers and a thumb almost all the way into her pussy and three fingers us the back passage. Meanwhile, I was developing a feeling like lockjaw, trying to tongue her clit.

Completely without warning, she almost screamed; a scream that was cut off as she turned her head and bit into the pillow, as she clamped her legs together round me. I just wasn’t ready and couldn’t get out of there and while she bucked, moaned, squealed and came, I was trapped.

“Holy fucking shit!!!” she breathed and just lay there shaking gently for a while as I retrieved my fingers. Just as a finish, I licked the juice from my fingers right there in front of her and bugger me if she didn’t start fingering herself again.

She made me feel so wanton that I just straddled her face and lowered my sopping pussy onto her and felt the excitement build as her tongue buried itself into my pussy. I nearly bit my tongue as I felt her start to probe my arse.

I got off and turned round, adopting the good old sixty-nine position and began eating her as she toyed with my most intimate areas, lapping the hot, sticky juices seeping from her pussy, loving every minute of it.

When I came though, I never thought I was going to come down. I couldn’t get to her quickly enough to get her fingers out of either of my holes, it kind of caught me by surprise and despite the muscular spasms that wracked my entire body, she continued to push deeper and deeper into both my arse and my pussy as I came once, then again…
And then again.

By Christ, she was good!

We lay there, wrapped around each other for what seemed like ages. I dimly remembered her saying something about work the following day.

“What do you want to do then?” I asked.

“This.” she said and rolled on top of me and sank her tongue deep into my mouth once again.

The next morning I woke around six and could feel her head on my boob and her arm across my stomach. I stroked her hair and kissed her head. She stirred and bleary-eyed said “Hi.” I kissed her again and she purred. I don’t suppose that either of us got more than three hours sleep, but Jesus, if it wasn’t me going for her, it was the other way round. Before I knew what was happening, I felt her hand starting to slide down between my legs and the little minx took my left nipple in her mouth again…

At half seven, I was just about fit to sleep for a week, but up she got and went off to take a shower.

“I have to go to work. You stay here and get some sleep. You’re going to need it!”

“I can’t. I’ve got to get home, I have no undies. Can I meet you for lunch perhaps?” I asked.

“You’d better!” she said as she went back to the bathroom. “As for the undies, borrow some of mine, better still,” she added. “Don’t wear any!” and flashing me a wicked grin, she darted back to the bathroom.

I think I dozed, but before she left, she kissed me and told me to meet her for lunch at about one-ish. I have to admit, sleeping in her bed, smelling her everywhere I turned was just sooo nice. I could have stayed there all warm and toastie for ever.

I got up later and showered. I dried myself off and looked in the mirror. The bruising was still evident, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been. Just as well really as I had no makeup with me and felt bad about using Verity’s. I slipped the dress on over my head, completely nude underneath apart from my stockings and boots and once I had found my bra and thong, which I stuffed into the bottom of my purse, I headed out to town again.

I reached the precinct where Boots was situated with about twenty minutes to spare, feeling extremely turned on by only being partially covered and constantly feeling a breeze around my rather tender parts. What with that and the danger that just one slip and anybody nearby would know what I had for breakfast, I was surprised I could even walk!

Again, I saw Trisha and this time she was talking to some chap I didn’t recognise. I sauntered over, but before I got to them, I could hear Trisha. She was not happy. I ducked into a shop doorway within earshot.

Somehow, he seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it. He was fairly tall and immaculately dressed. He looked a bit like Charles Dance in the Golden Child, even down to a cane, but this man didn’t seem bad Like Dance did. It’s weird, I wouldn’t want to cross him, but I didn’t get the impression he would go out of his way to cause harm.

“You told me I’d get what I asked for.” I heard her saying in a tone that was verging on rage and I thought she must have been referring to a business deal or something. Nevertheless, to be discussing it in the middle of the street was not cool, certainly not in that kind of tone anyway.

“You did get what you asked for even though I warned you about lying.” he said coolly, seemingly unruffled by her attempt at intimidation.

“I didn’t lie.” she spat.

“You lied about your motives. You lied about his needs and now I’m going to have to sort all this out. I should never have listened to you. You have no idea of the trouble you have caused here.”

“I never meant for it to happen like this.”

“No, and I can see how you would have liked it to have happened too. Don’t think you can hide it anymore. That trick won’t work.”

“I wasn’t hiding anything.” she asserted, defensively. “You agreed to do something and I what I got, wasn’t what I asked for.”

“You asked that he be turned into a pretty girl of similar height and build to you. Wasn’t he?”

“Well yes, but it hasn’t turned out the way I expected.”

“And I told you from the very beginning that it wasn’t that simple. I warned you not to go there; that you’d be opening a can of worms and that you might not like the results, but would you listen? You can’t blame anyone other than yourself for that.”

“Yes. But you gave me power over him and that didn’t work either.”

“I gave you exactly what you requested. Don’t tell me it didn’t work. You just told me that he was turned, so that’s one out of one so far. Two out of two for the power. I told you that it wasn’t always effective. What on earth did you think you were going to do with it anyway?”

“I wanted to teach him what it was like to be a girl and for that I needed him to listen.”

“Her.”

“What?”

“You needed her to listen.”

“Whatever.”

“No, it’s not ‘whatever’. By the time your power came into effect, he was already a she or near enough and wouldn’t have needed your help. The transformation was absolute. I told you that in the beginning. She wouldn’t need teaching as you put it.”

So that explained how some of the things about being a girl came so naturally to me and some things needed to be learned, I thought.

“But…”

“I know what you wanted. You wanted to bend her to your will, to be able to manipulate. It had nothing to do with teaching at all. I’m disgusted with you. I thought you were better than that. When wielding that kind of power, one has an obligation and you abused it.”

“It’s not like that and besides, you agreed to do what I asked and it’s not up to you how I used it or what I used it for.” she said pugnaciously.

“Be careful Trisha. You’re treading on thin ice as it is.” the man said very quietly. His tone sent chills down my spine and I could see he was starting to lose patience. Despite his calm and suave demeanour, I could see that just below the surface, trouble was brewing. I don’t think Trisha saw that and off she went, digging an even deeper hole. The urge to tell her to dig up was quite strong, but I knew I shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

“Yes. Well be that as it may, I didn’t get what I wanted and you owe me.” she said and I could see that pout and look of obstinacy that she had used so effectively on me so many times in the past.

“You got no more than you deserved and you’ll get nothing more form me. What you’re suggesting, is like demanding a refund on a lottery ticket because it didn’t win. Now I suggest you go before I turn you into the cockroach that better befits the person you have become.”

Trisha’s mouth was flapping, but there was no sound coming out. The man, who was obviously used to this, simply waved his hand in a gesture that had no other meaning than ‘run along now’ and though she struggled against it, his will sent her scurrying along the road, despite her protests and much to the amusement of passers-by.

I was stunned.

No. I was shocked and stunned.

“You can come out now, Danielle.” he said. Somehow I knew that some of the performance at least on his part, was meant for me.

“You know who I am?”

“Of course!”

“She did this to me?”

“Well, I did it, but she requested it and she lied to me. I can’t believe she managed to hoodwink me with that pathetic deception spell. Perhaps I was too trusting of her. Well no more!” he said with conviction.

“She does that,” I said nonchalantly. “Lies I mean. Well maybe not bare-faced lies exactly, but she has a knack of being able to twist the truth to be more in her favour. How come you know her?”

“Ah. Perhaps it would be as well just to say that we have similar interests?”

“Say no more. I know that most magic is kept secret. I’m surprised at the extent that witchcraft can go though, but then, this wasn’t mere witchcraft was it?”

“You’re a lot more perceptive than Trisha let on.”

“Yeah, well, Trisha believes what she wants to believe and I may have been underestimated.”

“You’re not wrong there.” He was staring directly at me and his eyes went wide. “Er, shouldn’t you be wearing a little more?” I blushed.

“This is… See through?” I gasped, trying to cover all of me with my bag and free hand.

“Well I can see through it.”

“Well you can stop. This is reserved for someone else.” I said quite primly. The man laughed.

“I can see you’ve adapted well, young Danielle.”

“I had to; had no choice. I told Trisha that, but she seemed to think I had some of this already bottled up inside before all this happened.”

“Did you?”

“Possibly, but I didn’t know it.”

“It shouldn’t have come to this.” he said, looking fairly guilty. “For a while, I was taken in by her. I still can’t believe it; a pathetic deception spell, I’ll never live it down.”

“You should see it from my side. I’ve had ten years of it! Plus, don’t be too hard on yourself, sometimes the simplest way is the least obvious.”

“We never stop learning, do we?”

“I guess not. I for one have had one hell of a lesson this week.”

“I can imagine.”

“I suppose it’s all over now then?” Suddenly, I felt quite sad about it. I had been dropped in at the deep end and now it was all out in the open and I knew all about Trisha’s little game, I wasn’t sure how I felt.

“As far as Trisha and your transformation is concerned, yes.” he said, his face turning serious.

I knew that Paul was my life and I knew also, that he was what I was really supposed to be, wasn’t he? I had seen life from a completely different perspective and the question of staying as I was or reverting back was one that was hard to contemplate.

Then of course there was Verity.

I considered the amount time we’d known each other and although it was only short, I didn’t want to lose her. As Paul, I didn’t think that being lovers would be possible. I could feel the tears again. Blast them!

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Come and sit down and tell me all about it.” We walked the short distance to the benches opposite Boots.

“I don’t know what to do. I’ve met a girl named Verity, with jade-green eyes and long dark hair who’s absolutely beautiful and wonderful and I know that there’s a spark between us, you know, a real spark. I think I’m falling for her, if I haven’t already and I don’t think that would continue if I was Paul again.”

“We have the same dream for our lives and I so want to make it a reality for her, to share it with her, but not as Paul.” Did I really say that? Out loud?

“Trouble is though, all my National Insurance stuff, my tax, driving license, passport, bank, everything, is in the name of Paul Hammond, not Danielle. Sooner or later Paul’s money will run out and I’ll be sunk and I don’t know what to do.” It was spilling out so fast, I couldn’t stop it.

“I want nothing more than to make her happy for as long as it lasts and I’m afraid that you’re going to take it all away. If you don’t then the authorities will and I’m stuck here, through no fault of my own, right in the middle.”

“I can see that being a problem, but don’t worry.” he said softly.

“That’s easy for you to say. I feel so useless!” I sniffed, the tears rolling down my cheeks. “I can’t even bring myself to feel angry for what Trisha did, ‘cause even though I never asked for any of this, I’ve got something now that I never dreamed possible and I feel that I’ve lied to Verity ‘cause I’m not what she thinks I am.” I was crying now and the man put his arm about me, making ‘there, there’ noises and he offered me a hanky.

I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. “You are going to take it all away aren’t you?”

“Matter of fact,” he began. “No. I can’t. What I have done to you is a one way ticket. I was hoping you’d be able to live with what has happened, because if I did change you back, there’s no guarantee that it would work. It’s complicated and down to the use of magic to counteract magic.”

“So I will always be a girl?”

“Well, not always. You’ll grow into a very remarkable woman I’m sure, in the end. You’re already showing signs of developing, er, shall we say, talents? That’s something I never thought would happen.”

“What talents?”

“I’m sure you’ll find out as you go along. Just don’t abuse them.” he said smiling. “But then I don’t think you would do that anyway. You’re not like certain other people.” He winked and I think he was referring to Trisha.

“You mean…?” I wasn’t wholly sure what I was asking here, but I had a fair idea judging by what he had already said.

“Just wait and see.”

“But I’ll always be female?”

“Most definitely.”

“Oh thank you, thank you.” I said, a fresh bout of tears coming down my cheeks, but this time, tears of happiness, not gloom, doom and despondency. I hugged him again, though I think he found it somewhat embarrassing. I pulled away and smiled through my tears.

I had answered my own question about staying as Danielle, staying female and I felt a kind of “rightness” about it.

“I think you’d better pull yourself together, you look a fright and I think there’s someone coming to meet you.”
“Yes, of course.” I said, turning to see Verity coming out of the shop entrance and carefully wiping my eyes with a clean bit of the man’s hanky.

“Thank you.” I said turning back to the man, but he’d gone. I looked up and down the street, but he seemed to have simply vanished into the ether. He had left me with more to think about than I ever considered and I was trembling at the thought. My mind was awash with possibilities that might have been implied and I wasn’t sure that this journey was over.

Verity plopped down onto the bench beside me. “Hi!” she said brightly. I looked into those eyes; those eyes that captivated me from the very first time I saw her and burst once again into floods of tears.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, enveloping me in a hug that seemed at once to quell all my fears.

“Nothing, I’m just really happy to see you.” She looked at me and smiled.

“I didn’t think you’d come either; I hoped you would and here you are.” she said.

“I could never stand you up.” I assured her seriously and as she hugged me again, but tighter this time.

I whispered in her ear “Especially not since I’m completely naked under this flimsy excuse for a dress”, blushing at the thought of the man’s ability to see through it and wondering at the same time how many others might have that ability.

“You tart!” she said and we both laughed.

We went for lunch in the little café up the road where I asked her whether she would like to come round for something to eat at my house tonight and was delighted when she said yes.

“It won’t be anything fancy. Do you like Italian?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” she said enthusiastically.

“Good.” I beamed. “Shall I come and meet you after work? Then we can walk down to my house. It’s only ten minutes.”

She said that would be good and after I walked with her back to the shop, we kissed, just a little one and I headed off to make preparations.

I picked up some provisions on the way back and got home with mixed emotions. It was hard to accept that Trisha had done what she did and harder still to accept that that kindly man could have done what he did.

Still, that was that I suppose.

I sighed as I picked up the mail and dumped it on the kitchen table, paying no attention to it as I unpacked the bags of groceries I had purchased after leaving Verity.

I prepared the dinner, which didn’t take too long. It’s only chopping a few veggies and plonking it in with a bunch of meat, herbs and a little red wine. It’s a hearty meal though and more often than not, bomb proof. I think it must be most people’s stock dish — quick and easy!

I left it bubbling gently while I went and had a bath.

My bruising had subsided considerably now and I felt a lot better. The swelling had gone completely and I ceased to look like I had gone a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson, though I was fortunate in not losing an ear!

I relaxed in a nice hot bath, able to let the last week’s worth of confusion wash over me like it hadn’t happened at all. Not an easy task when prior to that I had the traditional meat and two veg and now had two baps and a burger, if you pardon the vernacular!

I held on tight to the images of Verity. She was the one thing in all of this that felt real. It was difficult to get my head round Mike (the bastard)’s actions, although his actions seemed to wrap round my head pretty easily. Trisha too was curious. Why she couldn’t have told me about her ‘coming out’ I don’t know, but then, her mind always had been a mystery.

I reached down towards my crotch and felt the smooth skin around my sex and the soft folds within. I sighed grateful that I still had it, that I hadn’t been turned back into the man I used to be. I really was more comfortable as I was. I guess not being shaped like the back end of a number nine bus helped, but regardless of that, I liked being able to be soft, smooth and feminine, without feeling I was some weirdo queer or something. Now I was just a weirdo lesbian and just thinking about it, made me giggle.

I didn’t know whether to dress up for the occasion, or dress down and I decided on a simple pencil skirt and a t-shirt on top. I forgot about panties, stockings or anything else as the near nudity in public gave me thrill. Until I grew bored of that, why not? No-one would know.

I had planned to take it easy before Verity’s arrival, but it seems that the fates had other things in store for me. No sooner had I got out of the bath than I heard a knock at the door.

Once again, it was Trisha. I hadn’t expected her to dare show her face round here again, but she always was full of surprises and this week she’d shown me a boxful.

“Hi.” I said in a pretty flat tone.

“Er Hi. Can I come in? I need to speak to you.”

“I was hoping you might.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, but anyway, you wanted to say something?”

We sat in the kitchen. I was in my dressing gown and this time I made sure that nothing was open or poking out. I sat in what was now a fairly customary way for me; one leg curled underneath me.

“It’s about what happened to you.” This should be good, I thought.

“Go on.”

“It was all a horrible mistake.” she said. Not that horrible in my opinion. Unexpected, yes, but as it turns out, not horrible.

“So what happened then?” I asked. I was interested to find out where this was going.

“I was upset at you because you said those nasty things in the supermarket. I wanted to get back at you and teach you a lesson. I wanted you to know what it’s like being a girl and always being under the thumbs of men.”

Now that was ripe, coming from her! I’d never put her under the thumb, never had the chance. Her print was on my head long before I had the opportunity to put mine on hers. Still, I could see this was going somewhere and as misguided as I thought she was, I had to give the chance to finish.

“So I called in a favour and this happened. I didn’t expect the transformation to be quite so… total, but that I think was part of the mistake. I certainly didn’t expect the change to be permanent. So I’m really sorry for what’s happened.”

Was that it?

Did she seriously expect me to think that that little speech explained everything?

“And?” I asked. I was sure there was more. Hell, I knew there was more to it.

“And what?” she asked.

“Is that it? You expect me to believe that this was all a big mistake caused by a prank that went too far?”

“That’s about it yes.”

“Look Trisha. I don’t know what your game is here, but it won’t wash. I was there this afternoon when you spoke to your ‘friend’. I heard everything.” Her eyes went wide.

“Now just a minute…” she began.

“Ah, so there is more.”

“Well… I… er, that is…”

“Just shut up Trisha. I know what’s going on and I’m glad. I’m glad you did this to me because now I have someone I can trust and someone I want to be with. I think your plan backfired, but it backfired in my direction. I don’t want to see you again, but I am grateful for what you did.”

I could see the tears starting to form in her eyes and there was a lot of movement in the jaw, but nothing came forth. I could see that she was anything but happy. For once, Trisha was lost for words.

“I think you’d better leave now. Can you…”

She got up from the table, turned and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

“…close the door on your way out?”

Boots was due to shut at six. I made my way up to the town centre and sat on the bench where the man and I had sat earlier. I wish I knew his name, as referring to him as ‘the man’, is a little odd. I guess that’s part of the computer mind I have. I like things compartmentalised.

Verity came out on cue and came straight over to where I was sitting.

“Did you have you had a good day?” I asked and she shrugged.

“What’s the matter? Have I said something?”

“I don’t know.” she said, plonking herself down beside me. “Will you hold me please?” I wrapped my arms around her and held her close.

“Please tell me what’s wrong and I’ll do anything I can to put it right.”

“Just don’t let me go, Danni.”

“I can’t.” I said, tears forming in my eyes. “I love you too much for that.”

This was all happening so quickly and yet, it seems that as much as I was worrying about pushing things beyond what I thought maybe was comfortable for her, she was having the same issues.

We walked hand in hand down the road and in less than ten minutes, we arrived at ‘Cassa Danielle’.
“Well this is it. Not nearly as posh as your place, but it’s something to call home.”

I opened the front door and the smell of the Bolognese sauce bashed us over the head.

“Smells good.” she said, but I could tell there was something on her mind. I hoped that it was what I had thought it was when we were outside Boots, but I had been surprised many times lately and couldn’t be sure.

“I hope you like it.” I said. “Would you like a beer or would you prefer something hot?”

“Something hot.” she said.

“Tea, coffee?”

“I’d like a bath.”

“Help yourself. It’s upstairs. There’s a dressing gown on the back of the door. You can put that on when you get out.”

She disappeared upstairs and I got a bottle of Beck’s Beer out of the fridge. It wasn’t properly cold yet, but it would do.

I sat staring into space for a while then put something soft on the CD. Pretty soon, I heard footsteps on the stairs and looked round to see her, hair wet, wrapped in my robe.

“Thanks, I needed that.”

“Do you want to eat now or would you prefer to unwind a bit?”

“Unwind.”

I got us both some more beer and we just sat together on the sofa.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” she asked.

“What was that?”

“Doesn’t matter. I didn’t think so.” I knew exactly what she was referring to.

“That I love you too much? I’m sorry. I’m being far too pushy I know. I should just learn to keep my big mouth shut -” She cut off the tail end of my words by gluing us together, mouth to mouth.

“Don’t you dare.” she said. I was a bit starry eyed at the kiss, but I guessed that she was pleased. “It’s just that everything’s been happening so fast. I know I have feelings for you and I didn’t want to scare you off. I guess it’s because I’m tired and I was expecting the worst.”

“Don’t worry. I think I am madly, deeply and passionately in love with you and I have been scared silly for the same reasons as you. Things have been really complicated for me this week. You wouldn’t believe what’s happened and that too, has frightened me.

“What sort of things?”

“Well,” I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing, I thought. “I used to be a boy.”

“What?!”

“Last week, I was Paul Hammond, computer nerd.”

“Last week?”

“Yup. Last Thursday I was Paul and by Monday, I was Danielle. I told you on Tuesday in Boots that I didn’t think you’d believe what had happened to me. That’s why I needed the help with the makeup.”

“You’ve had a sex change?”

“Yes… er no, well not in the conventional sense.”

“I’m sorry, that’s a bit cryptic for me.”

“Sex changes take a while to run their course. I wasn’t changed that way.”

“How then?”

“Magic.” It was at this point that I felt that she was either going to get up and leave, or she was going to have to accept that as absurd as it sounded, it was the truth.

“You’re shitting me.”

“No, I’m not. I swear.”

She sat looking at her shoes and I decided to leave her to her thoughts for a while and let her decide what she wanted to do about it. I stirred the Bolognese for a while and returned with a couple of beers.

“Who was it?” she asked, taking the beer and drinking deeply from it. I wished I had something a little stronger for this moment. “Cheers!” she said, though I could hear that the enthusiasm was not entirely genuine.

“My ex. She seemed to think I needed to be taught a lesson.”

“Bloody hell! She’s one twisted sister.”

“I know. I only found out moments before you came out for lunch. I’ve had the rest of this afternoon to try and digest it. I was doing fine in a nice hot bath, but then she showed up.”

“Who?”

“Twisted sister.” I said taking another swig. “She came round and apologised with a whole bunch of hooey about mistakes and the like. I asked her to leave, but not before I thanked her.”

“You did what?”

“I thanked her. I know her motives and they weren’t for me to have a happy life, but as it turned out, she couldn’t have taken the ‘V’ factor into account.”

“What’s that?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I fell in love with you and it broke her spell.”

“Then why are you still…?” she motioned up and down, I think to suggest that I should have turned back into Paul.

“Like this? That’s because they were two separate bits of magic. I had already been turned by one bit and the power that Trisha was trying to exert over me was another and you broke that.” I knelt in front of her, took her beer and took her hands.

“I did?”

“You did.” I said, kissing each of them gently. “You broke the spell and whether you like it or not, I will always love you, I will always be there for you and I will be forever grateful for what you did and what you mean to me.”
I got up, kissed her on the forehead and went out into the kitchen. I didn’t know whether or not she had taken it all in and believed it, or whether it was going to give her a cerebral overload.

I filled my large pan with water and chuckled as I saw a dent in the side where it had collided with a certain person’s head and put it on the stove to boil. I leant on the cooker, watching as the water slowly warmed.

Suddenly, a pair of hands came round my waist and a head rested on my shoulder.

“I love you.” said the voice attached to the hands and I turned and hugged her, holding onto her for all I was worth.

“I love you too.” I said near to tears. We went back into the lounge and sat on the sofa. I felt a bit stupid and wondered why I had to open my big mouth again and nearly wind up with my feet firmly entrenched where a tongue should be.

“Do you still want to eat?” I asked, knowing that after having dumped such a lot onto her, sometimes the appetite can spoil.

“Bloody right,” she said. “I’m starving!”

I needn’t have asked, I thought and we enjoyed the meal. I would like to say it was done to a turn, but it’s a dish that’s hard to ruin unless you’re a complete moron. I took the empty plates out, brought back another couple of beers and we snuggled up together on the sofa, the television pumping out its mindless pap that washed over us.

Verity had finished her beer and asked if I wanted coffee. I offered to make it, but she said that it was the least she could do and I sat back, feeling full in more ways than one.

She came back with the pile of mail.

“You need to open these, they may be important.” she said, chucking the letters on the sofa beside me and went back into the kitchen.

I picked up all the letters and sifted through them. They were all for me. Not Paul, but Danielle. I was gobsmacked.

I opened the first as it was the only one that didn’t look like a bill or statement.

Dear Danielle,

I’m sorry you ended up getting mixed up in Trisha’s scheme and wish you all the best for the future.

I have sorted out the problem of your name, which you no doubt have noticed from the other letters.

As for you dream, I felt it only fair that you were compensated, as you said, you didn’t ask for this.

I have made some financial arrangements and hope it brings you closer to what you want.

Yours,

I couldn’t read the name on the bottom of the letter, but I knew who it was from and I picked up the other letters to make sure that they were all the same. They most certainly were and I couldn’t believe it. Most of these I thought would have been sent at different times, but all of them were addressed correctly.

As for the financial arrangements, I looked in the envelope and expected to see a cheque, but instead, a little pink piece of paper dropped out. It was a lottery ticket and try as I might, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Verity came in and asked what was so funny.

I handed her the lottery ticket and then the letter.

“This is from the person that changed me.” I said.

“I thought that was Trisha.”

“She was the one who asked for it to be done, but this man was the one who actually cast the spell if you like.”

“So it’s true then?”

“All of it.” I said, the butterflies jumping around in my stomach some more. “But the funny part is that he gave me a lotto ticket. Look,” I said pointing at the letter. “Where it says ‘financial arrangements’ I think it means this.” I prodded the pink piece of paper a few times.

“I guess I’ll have to hope for some more luck then, but don’t hold your breath, after meeting you, I don’t suppose there’s much of the good stuff left. We’ll have to see what happens Saturday won’t we?”

“Just a minute.” said Verity. “This is for last Saturday.” I stopped in my tracks and I started to break out in a cold sweat.

“Last Saturday? But that’s impossible.” I said, getting up to look at the ticket for myself.

“Yup, look at the date.”

I looked and sure enough, the date was for the previous Saturday draw. I sat down with a thump.

“Aren’t you going to check the numbers then?”

“I can’t.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll do it. How do you work this thing?”

I switched to teletext and selected the lottery numbers. I couldn’t bear to watch. I went into the kitchen and finished making the coffee. When I returned, Verity was sat on the sofa, white as a sheet.

She held up the ticket with one hand and pointed at the screen with the other. I looked and looked again, then I sat down beside her and I could feel that the colour had drained from my face too.

“H-have you checked them?” I asked staring blankly at the screen before us.

“Yes. You?” she replied, continuing to stare at the screen.

“Yes. Did they say what I think they said?” I asked.

“I think so.” she replied.

“Oh shit!” I said in monotone.

“Yeah! Oh shit.” she replied.

Epilogue

Verity and I are now living together in a house in the country, with an absolutely huge amount of land. We ended up with something that was bigger than either of us really wanted, but it turned out to be the only way we could get the space.

We are now looking for a couple or three horses. I think we’ll stop at two in actual fact, since we can only ride one each and having three would mean one would get left out.

I don’t know what happened to Trisha or Mike (the bastard) and I have to say, I don’t much care. I have enough on my plate trying to cope with Verity, who it transpires has a sex drive that doesn’t know the meaning of the words tired, sore or phrases like ‘I have a headache’, ‘I’m on the phone’ or, ‘I’m trying to sleep!’ What’s worse, she’s been and bought some toys too, which has meant an awful lot of time trying them out and with a bank balance like ours now, you can imagine the spree she went on in that department.

Of course, her curiosity hasn’t restricted itself to toys either. We have shoes with impossibly high heels, thigh length rubber, PVC and leather boots (my particular favourites), rubber cat suits (Mmmm) and underwear, PVC uniforms and more leather ‘things’ than you can shake a stick at. It’s been more than three months now and there doesn’t seem to be any let up.

I’m as happy as a pig in the ‘whatever’ and I hope that whoever that man was, he can hear me thanking him, which I do almost on a daily basis, as does Verity. We have his letter in a frame over the fireplace, where it will stay.

I don’t know what the future will hold. I have thought much about what the man said to me on that fateful day and feel sure that the previous episode with Trisha was only the start. Like I said, I don’t know where it all leads, but I’m sure having fun finding out. I have to go now, as Verity’s just come in with a new package and a smirk.

I think I know where this is going…

The end