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

A fascination for women's clothes takes Denis out of his comfort zone and into the realms of Strangefellows Day...

---

Big R-r-r-r-respect to Kris again for proofing and adding some nice touches.

I have added a few lines to make a certain aspect a little more obvious. My fault, I couldn't see the wood for the trees and was being far too subtle!

Part I

Denis

Denis Robson was the floor manager of Fellows department store and ever since his promotion eighteen months ago, had been wrestling with a problem.

The problem was that his responsibility was for the men’s and ladies wear floor and every day he went to work, he was forced to walk through the ladies section, past the dresses, skirts and blouses that sparkled and shimmered in the carefully placed lights.

He’d walk on past the shoes in pretty, bright shades, past the upturned ‘legs’ with toes pointed, covered in glossy stockings, their lace tops in intricately woven patterns beckoning to him as he made his way towards the men’s section.

The worst (or best) part was still to come - the lingerie. Panties, suspender-belts, corsets, basques and bras with their delicate detailing and silkiness were just crying out to be worn and as much as he tried, he just could not get the idea of seeing himself encased in silk or nylon or lace out of his head.

There it was. For a year and a half, Denis had managed to suppress the urge to touch the delicate gossamer nightwear, brush against the silk slips and other under-things. How he had managed to keep his desires from his assistants, Lisa, Natalie and Cynthia, was a minor miracle. They seemed to notice everything else.

He was tired; his sleep constantly troubled with visions of himself in the guise of a woman, rolling sheer stockings up smooth legs; fastening a suspender belt around his waist and attaching the straps to the lace tops of the stockings before sliding the almost transparent thong up nylon-covered thighs…

Oh how he dreamed of that day...

“Sir? Sir?” said the tall lady and Denis’s jolt back into reality was like being hit by an express train.

“Er, yes, yes. How can I help madam?”

“Miss.” she corrected.

“Sorry. How may I help, Miss?”

“I’d like to try this on.” she said, handing him a diaphanous ivory coloured night-gown.

“I’ll see if there’s someone available to help.”

“But they’re all busy and I really am in a hurry. Can’t you help?” she asked, thrusting the night-gown at him.

Sparks seemed to shoot up his arm as he took the garment, feeling how fine the fabric was and the definite effect it was having. He led the woman to an empty changing room, hoping he had shrugged off the feeling without her noticing and handed back the night-gown.

“If you would like any further assistance Miss, I shall be just here.”

“Thank you.” she said and pulled the curtain across, leaving it just short of closed. Denis averted his eyes as he noticed the reflection in the changing room mirror and could see her dress starting to fall away, exposing a cup of her delicately embroidered bra.

He had barely turned when he heard the woman call for help.

“There’s no room in here, can you hold this?”

“Certainly Miss.” he said automatically and reached out to take her dress. It was expensive, light and silky to the touch, even nicer than the gown had been. The smell of her perfume — expensive and heady drifted to his nostrils.

“That’s what I would wear if I were a woman too.” he thought, blinking anxiously for thinking such a thing.

More sparks.

Then came the bra.

“Er, Miss I…” he said turning a rather fetching crimson.

“Thanks.” she said absently and poor Denis didn’t know where to look or what to think. He could feel the temperature rising and desperately wanted to drop her clothing and run, but Denis was the consummate professional.

The cubicle curtain had been left open about a third of the way and the woman was just in the process of pulling the night-gown over her head, her curvaceous body in perfect view.

She seemed totally oblivious to the fact that Denis could see everything. He turned away, his face deepening in shades of crimson as his eyes met with a perfect vision of her firm breasts, jutting from her chest, each surmounted by a dark pink nipple.

Her arms dropped as the garment slid silently over her shoulders and she turned this way and that to see in the mirror, her body clearly visible through the filmy fabric.

“I think this is too big. Do you have one in a smaller size?” she asked and less than a heartbeat later she had pulled the night-gown over her head and thrust it at Denis, standing before him in nothing but a smile.

“I-I-I…” he stammered then coughed. “I’ll see.” he said handing back her clothes before taking the night-gown away.

En route, he saw Cynthia.

“Cynthia, would you mind finding this in a smaller size please and attend the lady in the changing cubical over there?” he said motioning in the direction of the naked woman, the memory of her totally hairless body still smouldering in his mind.

“Certainly Mr. Denis.” she answered, wondering what could possibly have happened to get Mr. Denis into such a state.

Denis could feel the wave of relief wash over him as she took the gown from him and he made a bee-line for his office.

“Was there a smaller size? Oh.” said the woman as instead of Denis, Cynthia was stood proffering the garment. She snatched the night-gown from Cynthia and nearly pulled the curtain off its hooks as she dragged it across its track, grimacing and muttering.

“Ah.” said Cynthia, realising what had happened.

Denis felt that the bigger embarrassment was the way they laughed over his reactions once the lady had gone.

“I think she had the hots for you.” said Cynthia and Denis blushed to the roots of his hair, unable to stop the women from poking fun at him.

“It’s not right.” he said, trying to loosen his collar. “Not right at all.”

“Why?” asked Lisa, trying to goad him into more blushing.

“It’s not the way a woman should behave.”

“Don’t men do things to attract the attentions of women then?” asked Natalie.

“Not like that.” he said, puffing himself up. “We would buy flowers or take her to dinner or to the theatre. I certainly would not parade around naked for a woman I didn’t even know.”

“Spoilsport!” said Lisa.

He called a halt to the conversation at that point, knowing that he had lost the battle and that the women knew it too.

At home that night, he thought about his encounter with the brazen lady.

The more he thought, the more he figured that she had done it on purpose; that she knew he could see her and that that was precisely what she wanted. It was odd, but although he found her attractive, at the time that it was happening, he was more envious of her body than attracted to it, although he was most definitely attracted to it, er, her.

The fact was that his keenly analytical mind was trying to adjust to the fact that his main focus was how he would feel in a body such as that.

“How strange…” he thought.

---

“Good morning Ladies.” said Denis brightly, giving the lingerie-draped shelves as wide a berth as was possible. “Don’t let them see you looking at those.” he thought.

“Morning Mr. Denis.” intoned the others as they fussed about their stations.

Denis went into his ‘office’, which was really nothing more than a cubby-hole at the back of the men’s section. He felt safe in there, especially after the event of the previous day. The wool worsted suits, sensible Y-fronts and button-down shirts making a welcome buffer between him and that area.

He switched on the PC, placed his brief-case on the small desk, took off his jacket and sat on the chair to wait for the computer to boot up, sighing as he looked across the floor to the brightly-coloured tops, skirts, shoes — oh those shoes with their tall, slender heels…

Despite his close encounter of the female kind, he found that the feelings he had been fighting so hard, were now stronger than ever and the memory of that woman and her body still fresh in his mind, just gave him something more to focus on. Now, he wasn’t thinking of him in women’s clothes, but him with a body like hers and woman’s clothes.

It was getting worse. Oh dear.

He jumped up, quietly closed the door and then went back to his desk.

Within minutes, he was answering phone calls and entering numbers into the company database, quietly grateful for his mind to be elsewhere other than on the clothing that almost called to him from the other side of the shop.

Later that evening, Denis considered his position. His proximity to the ladies accoutrements was doing nothing for his state of mind. Every day it worsened, every day he wanted more and more to indulge his desire, his fantasy — no, his need. Perhaps he ought to apply for a transfer or even find another job elsewhere.

He ran himself a bath and undressed as the tub filled, the sound of the water splashing receding further into the background as he studied himself, naked in the mirror.

Who was he trying to kid? He loved working at Fellows. There was no way he wanted to work anywhere else

His eyes ran up and down his reflection in the glass, the thoughts of the lingerie department in the forefront of his mind as he mentally superimposed the woman’s body over his own, but the dark hair that sprouted from his chest, spreading across his belly and continuing down beyond his crotch, down his legs to his ankles, saddened him. It was impossible to imagine himself as anything other than a short, skinny, man.

It struck him that perhaps he could do something about that and with trembling hand (never a good way to start), he reached for his razor.

He placed the head of the razor against his chest and was about to draw it across.

What was he doing?

“What! Are you some kind of a pervert or something?” he said aloud and he replaced the razor into its holder behind the taps on the sink.

He sank into the bath, numb.

Why was this happening to him? Why was he having these thoughts?

He had no idea. It wasn’t something he had always had to deal with, not some out of control fantasy. Although it did feel as though it was heading that way.

There had to be something he could do.

---

The next day at work was much more subdued. The woman didn’t make another appearance (thankfully) and Denis didn’t even have time to really pay any attention to his ‘nemesis’ area.

The evening however wasn’t nearly so straightforward.

He had sat and cogitated over his dilemma for hours. He hadn’t even changed out of his work clothes or eaten anything. He’d just sat there, elbows on the table, head in hands, his waking nightmare prodding all the right (or wrong) buttons.

“This is no good.” he said and looked at the clock. It was half past eleven and he had work the next morning. “Shit!” he mumbled softly.

He dragged himself into the bathroom. Perhaps a nice hot bath and straight to bed would be best for now. He could catch up with something to eat in the morning.

He set the plug into the plughole of the bathtub and started the taps running. A dusty-looking bottle caught his eye from the shelf and he read the label.

Soak away the stress and strain of the day.
Delicately perfumed with minerals and essential oils
to relax tired muscles and calm the mind.

It was something an old girlfriend of his had left behind. Up until this point, he had only ever considered throwing it out, but now it seemed a most welcome sight. He was tense and really did need to unwind. Why not give it a go?

It smelt somewhat flowery; curiously appealing and as the bubbles started to form in the running water, the real smells started to waft around the bathroom and it really did seem to have a relaxing effect.

He started to strip and once again found himself looking in the mirror as he did so.

“Not a bad shape” he thought; perhaps a little short and skinny for a man but certainly not anything that could be described as ‘ruggedly masculine’.

He started shave his face imagining again what he would look like in the silky attire of a woman, the body of the woman again superimposed over his own, but once again, his hairy body made that impossible. He finished shaving his face and studied his body critically.

Suddenly he began lathering himself across the chest, under the arms, right down to his navel and reached once again for his razor. He looked at his slender frame in the mirror, his hand starting to tremble and took a deep breath.

“It’ll always grow back.” he mused and drew the shaving implement across his chest.

A wide strip of bare flesh appeared behind the razor and then another and another.

Carefully, he shaved around his nipples, rinsing the razor often as the course hair clogged in between the blades and finished by shaving under his arms.

It felt weird and looked strange too, but in a way that brought a flush to his cheeks and a strange feeling of satisfaction.

He’d not seen himself devoid of body hair in years. His milk-white skin almost shone in the light and after drying himself, he ran his hand over the normally hairy area, the smoothness intoxicating.

From the waist up, he was now completely hairless — well except for his head anyway and he was on a roll. He turned off the bath taps, lathered around his crotch then down each leg and went back to work, his excitement mounting with each stroke, barely able to contain himself.

It took perhaps ninety minutes and another razor, but by the time he had finished, he stood before the mirror and gasped.

“My God!” he exclaimed, turning this way and that, looking at every inch of his body, smooth, pale and surprisingly soft. “That’s amazing.”

The image reflected in the mirror was far less masculine without hair than he imagined it would be. Apart from his face, he looked like a teenager in that stage of androgyny that so many go through. With no bulging muscles and his slight frame, his perception of ‘man’ was being erased and replaced by another, one that closer embodied the soft and flowing lines of a more feminine form.

Were his eyes playing tricks on him or was that what was really there?

“This is fantastic! I never thought…” he said slightly breathless, buzzing from the feelings that seemed to engulf him and were about to get even more intense as he lowered himself into the scented bubble bath.

The softened water caressed while the sensual perfumes relaxed him and allowed him to let the day’s stresses just slip away as he lay back and surrendered to the warm waters.

It was well after one in the morning of Thursday 29th of April by the time he got to bed, but there was something different this time — he was relaxed and ready to enjoy a good night’s sleep.

He was in for yet another shock as he climbed between the sheets. Bed was something else again. The soft Egyptian cotton sheets seemed different as his hairless body slipped between them and he drifted off to sleep, fervently wishing that these feelings would remain, that this would last forever.

Outside, something chuckled quietly. Something that gave off a vague smell of brimstone and walked on cloven hoof.

Yes the Devil himself was abroad. Today was one of those special days when Old Nick could walk on the face of the earth and grant wishes.

“By the end of tomorrow Denis Robson," he said with a deep, hollow voice. "You will have all you wanted. Oh yes, - ALL!”

But we all know what happens when the Devil grants wishes, don't we?

---

The next morning was the first morning in a long time that he had woken after a whole night’s sleep. He felt refreshed and was reminded of his escapades the night before when he looked into the bathroom mirror.

Gone was the drawn and gaunt face that usually looked back at him, replaced with a much more relaxed person. He lifted his arm and a hairless pit looked back at him.

He touched it.

“Oh my G…” he started. “What have I done?”

Cleaning his teeth before dressing, he became more accustomed to his new look. The smooth skin looked good, which surprised him. It felt good too and he was filled with an anxious excitement, not sure that he’d made the right decision; less sure that he wanted that mat of fuzz back, but comfortable that it would always grow back anyway.

It looked and felt a lot more feminine and Denis was momentarily paralysed with the fear of someone finding out.

“You plonker!” he admonished. “Who’s going to find out?”

His walk into work was odd to say the least. He could almost feel every thread in his trousers; every seam in his shirt and his crotch had never been so sensitive, yet was strangely non responsive, almost passive.

He too was subtly different. He found himself loose and happy to bimble along gently. He even found that by the time he reached the side door of Fellows Department Store, he was humming away to himself.

Today was to be a different day in a lot of respects. Fellows were launching “Fellows Online”, an internet-based ordering system. They prided themselves on their service and wanted to extend that service to providing home deliveries and an on-line ordering system.

They realised that there was no substitute for being able to see and try, but incidentals such as everyday underwear, tights, stockings and makeup products would be very popular. No doubt there would be others, but they were sure they had enough to start with.

Denis had more to think about than ever, but he was happy. He didn’t know why exactly, but he was.

He was printing another order from the PC when an idea struck him. He could add a few things of his own to a “new” order after the girls had gone home. No-one would know and he could pay by credit card, which meant not having to worry about the cash register. It was so simple, what could possibly go wrong?

---

This new regime required to staff to make up orders as they came in, ready for shipping at close of business. Posters to this effect had been all over every floor of the store for weeks, and the advertising paid off, with more orders waiting by opening time than they ever hoped for.

It meant more work for all of them, so when they weren’t dealing directly with the customers, they were assembling orders for the post and by mid morning, the girls were looking at one another wondering whether this onslaught was going to continue at the same pace, or once the novelty of it all wore off, things would return to normal.

When lunch finally arrived, they were all glad of a short rest. Denis came up in the conversation.

“I can’t say I’m too sure about this. He’s not himself.” said Cynthia.

“What? The man’s just having a good day.” said Natalie.

“Oh come on. He’s always been a stickler for the rules. Do this; don’t do that. No outbreaks of good humour. This just isn’t like him.”

“Well don’t shout too loud. I like him just as he is. He hasn’t bothered me once today and it’s been fine. Even the customer’s have noticed the difference.” said Lisa defensively.

“You’re not wrong Lisa, I’ve been left to my own devices all day and I have to say, I’ve got more done than any other time.” said Natalie, nodding enthusiastically.

Not wishing to upset the applecart, the colleagues left him well alone for the most of the day and it turned out to be one of the best they’d had, aside from when he was on holiday that is.

It got to near closing time and the three women were on tender-hooks.

There had been no indication that there was anything ‘wrong’ as far as Denis was concerned and yet each of them was itching to know what it was that was going on.

“You go, Cyn.” said Lisa.

“No fear. This could all just be a ruse. Something’s bound to be wrong. I’m not going anywhere near him or his office.”

“I’ll go.” said Nat. “I can’t stand this any longer and I’m buggered if I’m going home with this on my mind. I won’t be able to concentrate on the soaps if I do. There’s got to be a reason why he’s been so happy today and did you smell him as he went past? If that’s what I think it is, it’s bloody expensive, that new aromatherapy stuff.”

“Never!” said Cynthia.

“I think she’s right.” said Lisa. “I smelt it too and what about the humming?”

“This just ain’t right.” said Cynthia shaking her head.

The girls seemed a lot more attentive by the time closing-time arrived. Denis was a little curious as to why.

“You sure you’re alright?” asked Natalie, trying to look nonchalant.

“I’m fine thank you. I just have some last minute orders to prepare. You just run along and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Three jaws dropped open simultaneously.

“What?” asked Denis, seeing the three stunned women standing before him, mouths open catching flies.

“Er, nothing. Well if you’re sure you’re okay, we’ll be off, won’t we girls?” said Natalie not wishing to look a gift horse in the mouth and grabbing the other two by the forearms she led them forcibly out of the immediate vicinity towards the stairs and away.

“’Night girls. See you in the morning.” called Denis cheerfully, going back to humming gently.

---

This was going to be easy.

In fact it was all going swimmingly.

As per his statement to the girls, Denis had some orders to fill and began walking round the various aisles and shelves with a cart, his clipboard and a biro behind his ear.

He assembled all five orders, none of which were particularly big and went and sat in his office to fill out the paperwork and enter it onto the system.

The butterflies were getting restless again as Denis realised that this was it. This was the time he’d been waiting for all day or longer and he went out onto the shop floor once again to gather the items he wanted.

The lingerie was simple as most of the garments were fairly obvious if one knew the conversion (approximate of course) as he did, between men’s sizes and women’s or vice-versa. He knew his own vital statistics so was able to pull underwear from the various racks, shelves and tables with no problem.

The difference was though, these were for him and as he reached for the first item — a pack of sheer 20 denier black stockings with a lace top — he could see his hands shaking and the closer his fingers got to that packet, the more they shook.

“This is stupid! Just pick them up!” he muttered and grabbed at the packet. “See? That’s not so bad is it?”

He had had his eye on a thong too; nearly transparent, just like in his fantasy. It hung on a rack on a tiny hanger and as soon as his fingers touched the sheer material, it nearly sent him over the edge.

This was something he was unlikely to get used to and yet filling orders, no matter what the contents, was not a bother for him. Why was that?

A suspender belt next and the temperature was definitely rising. Beads of perspiration stood from his forehead and his breathing was becoming laboured, but he got the one he wanted. Finally there was the bra. A sheer number to match the thong and with trebling hands, legs, well everything really, he made his way back to the office.

Putting the garments on the desk, he studied them carefully, still wrapped, hung or generally packeted.

He was having second thoughts.

This was bad.

The sweat was now running down his face and although he had every intention to pay for the items and any further items he felt appropriate, it still felt wrong. Something inside him was telling him that this wasn’t a good idea, but the rest was telling him to give it a go; to get it out of his system.

He looked at the bra, along with the thong, the only items not wrapped or in packets. He could see the cups standing proud of the rest of the garment and suddenly he realised that although it would go around him, he had nothing to speak of to put inside it!

He knew just the things and almost sprinted across the floor to the counter, picking up a packet with two transparent blobs inside and smiled, repeating the sprint process back to the office.

Breathless, he looked again at his inventory.

Form the corner of his eye, he could see his reflection in a glass panel and his short hair, flattened down over his head seemed particularly inappropriate.

Back out of the office he headed at a dead run. Up the stairs he went to the next floor, staying only long enough to yank something off of a shelf, complete with the polystyrene ‘thing’ it rested on and leaping down stairs several at a time, hurtled back to the office.

Now he had something to sweat about.

Indeed he did. He even found he was enjoying himself. Perhaps it was the ‘hunt-the-thimble’ aspect of it all, but he was definitely enjoying it.

His pile on the table was now considerably larger now than it had been. The items he had retrieved from the various shelves and racks around the ladies section were small compared to the last and he hadn’t even thought about shoes.

Shoes?

“Oh crap!”

Back he went to the ladies section.

There was a pair of stilettos in black that had always appealed and in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, he was there with his shoes off, trying to force his foot into the high-heeled footwear he had taken from the shelf.

The socks weren’t helping, but one doesn’t try shoes on with bare feet.

He ran back to the office and fairly shredded the packet containing the stockings, dropping his trousers immediately after. Stepping out of them and yanking at one of his socks he bounced around in circles on one foot. The sock came free and flew off, landing who knew where in the small office. He repeated the procedure for the other sock, right down to bouncing around in circles, barely keeping balance.

Carefully, he rolled a stocking up one leg, until he had stretched it as far as it would comfortably go.

“Bugger!” he muttered as he realised that these particular stockings required a suspender belt, just as he had intended. What he hadn’t intended, was to have to get all kitted out in the shop and had forgotten too, about trying shoes on.

He pulled off the stocking and folded it neatly along with its twin, pushing it back into its packet and shot off onto the shop floor, shirt tails flapping behind him as his feet ‘slap, slap, slapped’ on the floor.

He quickly found what he was looking for, thought about it and returned them to the shelf.

“I don’t care how few times I might do this; I’m not wearing those knee-highs. They’re atrocious — even on women.”

He swapped them instead for a pair of hold-ups and bolted back to the shoe section. Once again, he started pulling the stockings on and trembled at the feeling, never mind the look, but he told himself sternly that he had to get past that to try the shoes and that there’d be plenty of time for admiring himself later.

This time the shoes slipped on with comparative ease and he stood up.

“How on earth do women wear these?” he asked as he wobbled and as soon as he tried to take a single step, he regretted it.

Sitting down with an almighty ‘thump’, he removed the shoes and carefully placed them to one side. Off he went to find an alternative and settled for a similar pair with no more than an inch and a half heel.

He was far less wobbly in those and he looked down at the first pair. They seemed almost mournful that they hadn’t been chosen and so, clutching both pairs, he slithered in his stocking covered feet to the office.

Denis was now just one item short on his list — a dress or maybe a skirt and blouse combination, he wasn’t sure.

---

It felt incredible wandering around the shop floor in the shoes and stockings, but he was painfully aware that whilst his lower half may have felt incredible, the top half in jacket, tie and shirt tails, looked ridiculous, but he didn’t care. There was no-one there to hinder his little sojourn into faux womanhood and browsing around looking at the plethora of colours, shapes, styles, lengths and everything else, he started to get an appreciation of why women enjoyed shopping so much.

What seemed like eons later, he finally selected a dress. He thought of it as playing it safe, but well, he knew the rule: “You can’t go wrong with a little black dress”.

He went back to the changing rooms and off came the jacket and shirt.

Slipping the dress over his head, he looked in the mirror. Somehow, the ‘safe’ bit didn’t seem to have worked. It hung on him like a sack. His smile turned to a frown as he plucked at the offending item here and there before he realised that the reason it looked so awful, was because he was short of a couple of important attributes that filled the dress in very specific places. In addition, no self respecting woman would dream of wearing a pair of boxer shorts under a dress.

Before he knew where he was, he was in the thong and bra too, and pulling the LBD over his head. He had stuffed the bra with the clear silicone ‘blobs’ he’d got earlier, which actually looked incredibly real, filling the bra to look real and not huge.

The one thing missing now was the hair and after he had run from the dressing room to the office and picked the wig off of the polystyrene ‘thing’ it was sat on, pulled it onto his head and brushed the hair off his face, he looked in the mirror and was truly satisfied — despite the lack of makeup.

He swished this way and that in front of the mirror and was thoroughly pleased with the effect. True, he wasn’t exactly going to win any beauty contests because he wasn’t going to be going out very often (at all and certainly not in that outfit), but now he felt that he could indulge his fantasies in style.

He went to the till with his jacket over his arm, pulled his wallet out of his inside pocket and removed the credit card. He swiped it through the card reader to make the purchase complete and though it was a small fortune, it was to him money well spent and he knew that this would not be the only time this outfit came out of the closet — even if he didn’t.

Outside, a shadowy figure stood in a darkened alley, tail swishing like that of a cat just ready to pounce, looking up at the windows chuckling.

“I think now should do.” it said darkly and almost negligently flicked its taloned fingers then moved deeper into the shadows on cloven hoof, a mist of brimstone permeating the late afternoon air and its hollow laughter unheard in the noise of the rush-hour traffic.

---

Part II

The intrusion

The card reader was taking its time as he stood there waiting and just before the receipt was printed, he heard a noise.

There was a strange feeling that accompanied it, but Denis was too absorbed in straining his ears to hear what was going on.

He wasn’t alone in the building, of that he was certain and he didn’t know what to do for the best. Should he hide, or should he go and investigate?

“Nice idea Den.” he said wryly. “But not in this outfit.”

The noise was that of a number of people trying to be quiet, failing then admonishing one another with “Shhhh!” noises. It was almost like a steam train going “pitter-patter-shhh, shhh, pitter-patter-shhh, shhh”, which was getting closer and closer.

“How many more flights?”

“Top floor, now shhh!”

Denis slipped his shoes off and using a mixture of running and sliding, got back to his office.

“Hey look at all this neat stuff.” said one of the intruders. “Bet Sally Jenkins wears these.” he said gyrating around with a little red satin thong held against his crotch.

“Suits you! Now put it down!” said another. “Let’s get upstairs.”

“I was just lookin’.” said the first.

“Yeah, well maybe there’ll be time for that later.”

Denis sat in his office. He had contemplated the possibility of changing back into his own clothes, well his masculine attire, but had to rethink on account of the fact that the leader of this particular posse, didn’t seem to have very much control over his crew and there was no telling when they would reappear or where.

At least the question of what could possibly go wrong had been answered.

From his office, Denis picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Emergency services. Which service do you want?”

“Police please.” said Denis, suddenly becoming only too aware that the voice with which he was speaking wasn’t the one he was used to hearing.

“And the address please?”

Denis gave the woman on the end of the line the address of the store.

“And to whom am I speaking?”

“You’re speaking to Denise Rob… I mean Den...Denise Robson, er…” What the hell was happening? Try as he might, he couldn’t say Denis. Each time he wanted to say it, but it came out as Denise.

“Are you on the premises Miss Robson?”

Miss? She called him Miss and he was completely thrown.

“Yes.” he said and started to tremble. “But they’re on the top floor — Electricals. I’m on the first floor — Ladies wear, Menswear and Hosiery. The police will probably find the side entrance open on the ground floor in Spring Street.”

“We’ll send someone round Miss. Please do not try and confront the intruders, just wait until help arrives.”

Well that was that then.

All he had to do was sit tight and all would be taken care of. Somehow that didn’t make him feel that much more secure.

He stuffed his suit and other clothes into a large “Fellows” carrier bag and set it down on the floor beside his desk.

“Just hold it for Christ’s sake.” muttered one of the intruders.

“But it’s heavy. Maybe I should go at the front.”

“I don’t believe this. Alright, let’s change places.”

Denis listened carefully. They appeared to be at the top of the stairs on his floor.

He snuck out of his office and was pleased that he was only wearing stockings. Although it made the going a bit slippery, he could be completely silent.

“OW! Gerroffmefoot!” yelled one of the intruders.

“Will you shut up? If there was anyone here, they’re sure to know we’re here now.”

“Does that mean we can stop whispering?”

“Like you even started. Let’s just get on with this. Old man Smart wants us out of here as soon as possible.

“Mr. Smart?” wondered Denis.

“THE Mr. Smart?” he wondered even more.

“The Mr. J. Henry Smart of Fellows?” he thought. “The same “Mr. J. Henry Smart” who signs my pay cheque every month?”

A thought was coming to Denis’s mind and he didn’t like where it was going — or for that matter where it had been.

“This means that the bungling buffoons wandering downstairs with the TV set are here on the orders of the owner. What did he possibly stand to gain from having a few electrical bits and pieces stolen?” thought Denis some more and the reasoning just didn’t add up.

“Unless,” he thought, a light bulb coming on over his head. “This is just a part of the plan and the real plan is something bigger.”

He liked where this thought was going even less than where the first went.

It was looking more and more like an insurance job and these oafs were just making it worth their while as it where. The question now was; what was the main thrust of their plan?

He planned on stopping thinking as soon as possible since each successive thought was darker than the previous, equally as plausible and despicable.

Denis slithered his way back to his office. So far, the intruders had gone up and down the stairs with three TV’s, a couple of stereos and umpteen DVD recorders, players and VCR’s. He didn’t think there was too much left for them to readily steal. Whatever the real part of the plan was would be sure to happen soon and there was still no sign of the police.

---

Denis put the shoes with the rest of his stuff in the bag and started out of the office. He went through the men’s section, through the ladies and towards the stairs and waited until he was reasonably sure that all the intruders were at least one floor above him.

From the noise they were making, it sounded like there were just the three of them and right at that time, all three were heading up to the second floor, one of them complaining loudly that this had better be the last trip as he was knackered.

Denis hurtled downstairs and stopped long enough to pull the low heels out of the bag, slip his feet in and exit.

Straight into the waiting grip of a policeman.

“Thank God you’re here officer. There are three men in there and they’re busy right now trying to empty the electrical section on the top floor, but I don’t think this is all they have in mind.”

“Right.” said the cop slowly. “And you were in there why?”

“I work there.”

“So I suppose, you do all your shopping after the store closes?”

“I, er, no. I mean, well sometimes, it’s just that this time, I wasn’t just shopping for me.”

“No I can see that. Perhaps you should have remembered to take the label off the dress next time you want to “buy” it.”

“But officer. I did pay for this.”

“Yeeeeees.” he drawled. “I suspect you probably did. Would that have been with Monopoly money, or did you just leave an IOU?”

“Credit card.”

“Uh-huh? And whose was it.”

“Mine! Denise, I mean Den-Den-Denise Robson.”

There it was again. Somehow, he just couldn’t say his own name. Why? What was happening?

And that wasn’t the worst of it either. Any check would reveal a Mr. D Robson had used his credit card, but not a Miss D. Robson. This might take some explaining.

He didn’t dare even wonder as to what else could possibly go wrong as he sat in the back of the police car, heading for the station.

“You’re making a big mistake officer. There are three men in there who are currently robbing the place. I overheard one of them saying that they had something else planned. That’s why I phoned for you lot in the first place.”

The policeman thought about it for a moment.

“I have a possible robbery at Fellows Department Store. I need someone to investigate.” he said. The radio crackled back something that Denis didn’t make out.

“Possibly three men and they may have something else planned — don’t know if they’re armed.” he replied and continued driving.

---

In the ten or fifteen minutes it took to get from Fellows to the police station, Denis considered his situation.

There had been no time to think about appearance, things had just happened so quickly. Now, the impact of being outside in public as a woman was starting to sink in.

God only knew what the police officer thought when he first clapped eyes on him and now the fear was rising, but at least the policeman took the robbery part seriously enough to radio it through.

“We got a shoplifter Sarge.” said the officer as he roughly pushed Denis forward towards the desk Sergeant. “Says she bought the clothes she was wearing, but the dress still has a ticket on it.”

“Is this true?”

“Yes, I didn’t take the ticket off, but I did pay for it. I even have the receipt.”

“And where is it?”

“It’s in the bag with the rest of my clothes.” The receipt was retrieved and the Desk Sergeant looked at the police officer.

“So why are we holding her? This all seems to be in order. What time does the shop shut Miss Robson?”

“Six pm.”

“See? It has even registered going through after hours.”

“The shop was closed Sarge. I thought she had swiped the stuff.”

“What about this?” said the Sergeant, leaning forward over the desk and waving the crisp, new receipt in the policeman’s face.”

“I didn’t ask to see it.” The Desk Sergeant rolled his eyes heavenwards.

Denis felt like a side show attraction as he stood there in front of the Desk Sergeant. All dolled up in stockings and a party frock, the wig etcetera, but wondered why he didn’t feel uncomfortable.

It didn’t feel unnatural (although, he was feeling some discomfort from the chest area as the bra had become much tighter than it was when he first put it on), despite what his fears had prompted back at the shop. He felt quite good, given his current situation and was not sure how to deal with it.

“Sarge?” said a young woman who came through from the back.

“We’ve just had a report of that robbery at Fellows.”

The attention turned from Denis to the young woman.

---

Denis was released shortly thereafter amidst much patting on the back and abject apologies for having wasted her time and Denis wasn’t sure how to take constantly being called “Miss” or referred to in the feminine in other ways, though he did chuckle to himself for having passed so easily.

He left the police station and began the long walk home, carrier bag in hand.

He had not gone more than fifty yards before a call from behind stopped him.

It was the young woman.

“Denise? Wait up.” she called and Denis got a nice feeling from being called Denise.

He stopped and watched the young woman as she approached. He hadn’t really noticed her in the station, but out in the real world, he took a good look at her. She wasn’t as tall as him and her hair was short. Coupled with an angular sort of face, she had an impish look about her that appealed to Denis.

“I’m glad I caught you.” she said and the two of them continued down the road. “You were very brave.”

“I was?”

“Yes. Not many people have the presence of mind to do what you did.”

“Not many people have the stupidity to do what I have done either.” he said wryly.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s alright. I think I’m beginning to see that it’s probably a good thing. Anyway, shouldn’t we be introduced? You know who I am, but I don’t know your name.”

“Sorry. I’m Stephanie; Stephanie Watkins.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Stephanie.”

The two carried on walking and Stephanie asked all about what had happened. Denis wasn’t sure how much to tell the pretty young thing and kept the masculine parts under wraps, even though for the first time in, well, ever, he wanted to tell her everything.

“Do you always chat up the shoplifters?” he asked and Stephanie laughed.

“But you’re not a shoplifter though are you? You’re a hero. I make a point of trying to get to know all the heroes I meet.”

“Do you meet many?”

“Oh, all the time. It’s an occupational hazard that comes with the job.”

“Are you hungry?” asked Denis. “I’m starving. No breakfast and nothing at lunchtime and here we are at — what time is it?”

“Just coming up to seven fifteen.”

“Well. Here we are at just-coming-up-to seven fifteen and suddenly I feel ravenous.”

“I really should get home.” said Stephanie.

“Shame. You’re the first person I have met today or in a long time that I wouldn’t mind spending more time with.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, well. I like my colleagues well enough, but they’re not really my type — if you know what I mean.”

Stephanie’s return look was somewhat startled and suddenly, Denis was mortified.

He realised what he had said and how that must have sounded to Stephanie. Somehow, Denis’s state of dress (not that the LBD was in a state) seemed to have become unimportant to him and now it was all-important.

For the first time, he had just chatted-up a woman, as a woman and that, he concluded, couldn’t be something that happened to Stephanie everyday despite all the heroes she encountered on a regular basis.

“I’m sorry. What must you be thinking? I didn’t mean it like that.” he said, unconsciously bowing his head in a very coquettish manner and blushing furiously.

“I think I’d like to join you.”

“That’s what I thought. I wasn’t thinking and … You would?”

“Yes! I would!” she said emphatically, linking arms with her new found friend and the two of them headed for the nearest café, restaurant or even a fish and chip caravan.

---

They sat down in a small Italian restaurant and Denis excused himself to go to the lavatory.

It wasn’t so much a mistake as an oversight when he pushed on the door of the gents. The waiter inside who was just doing up his flies was dumbstruck, frozen to the spot like a deer in the headlights.

In fact as he froze, so did Denis. The feeling of the dress’s hem against his thigh and his bare arms sort of gave the game away.

“Er, sorry. Wrong room!” he said and made a hasty exit, sliding across to the next door and almost pushing it off its hinges to get in before he had a complete meltdown.

He stood in the ladies, not knowing quite what to do. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten how to pee, but he hadn’t ever had occasion to use a ladies toilet before and was momentarily flummoxed. What felt like an eternity went by and he pushed his way into one of the cubicles.

He lifted the seat and hoiked up the dress to free his privates from their gossamer prison.

“Hell’s tits!” he yelled.

He felt around on the outside of the thong and was greeted with nothing, well nothing that felt in any way as it should and slipped his hand down the inside instead.

Nothing.

That’s not quite true. There wasn’t ‘nothing’ there at all, but what was there, could in no way constitute the tackle he’d been used to.

“What the…?”

He pulled down the thong, and held the hem of the dress up so that he could better see what was happening down there.

Perhaps it would insult your intelligence to describe what he saw. In the absence of a male conglomeration of bits and pieces and the fact that it has already been stated that there wasn’t ‘nothing’ there, the only thing left to expect was…

Yup, you guessed it.

He replaced the seat and plonked himself down, thong round his knees and dress round his waist.

Nature took its course, much to Denis’s bemusement, not having felt having a pee quite that way before. To all you women out there and probably post-ops too, this is not likely to be an alien concept, but when earlier in the day, you were peeing in a vertical position, only to have to sit down and experience the flow emanating from a completely different, er exit point later that same day, you can imagine it’s going to have something of a novelty value.

This was something else entirely and required Denis getting his head around the concept. There was the wiping afterwards, rather than just banging the end on the porcelain and tucking it back into one’s jockeys. Next there was the smoothing of the dress — ensuring that the back was not inadvertently tucked into the waist of the undergarments.

This was going to take some getting used to.

Something occurred to him at that point. If that had happened to his privates, what else had happened?

He felt around his chest and was astonished to find that the clear silicone ‘blobs’ that he had used to fill out the bra were actually augmented by something soft and round and - his. What he was feeling was his own although at that moment, ‘his’ didn’t really sound right.

He pulled the dress and bra aside and looked as one of the silicone ‘blobs’ dropped out and hit the floor with a ‘plop!’. He repeated the procedure on the other side and another ‘plop!’ was heard as the other ‘blob’ smacked against the tiled floor.

“My God!!” he spluttered. “They’re real.” and they were too.

He looked at himself in the mirror as he straightened his chest area and noticed stray hairs poking out in all directions from the wig, so he decided to do something about it.

As soon as he touched the wig, he realised that it wasn’t a wig at all.

He tugged on a handful of hair, but it didn’t shift.

He leant in towards the mirror and lifted some of the hair off his face. He could clearly see the hairline and the hair he had in his hand was equally clearly growing from his head.

Well, this was something he hadn’t expected. He sighed heavily, thinking that whatever he had chosen to do that was so simple and couldn’t possibly go wrong, had evidently gone wrong on more than a few levels already.

His chest was now infinitely more comfortable now that the ‘blobs’ had been removed. He held them in his hands discretely and headed back to the table.

Rather shamefaced, he rejoined Stephanie.

“You alright? You were gone for ages.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling myself and there was something I needed to get off my chest.” he said, carefully dropping the silicone ‘blobs’ into the bag with his clothes.

The rest of the meal went without major incident and Denis paid for it all with cash, just in case he met with any resistance regarding his credit card.

It was now getting on for nine pm. Stephanie and Denis mosied along the road not really saying much.

He was actually getting quite cold. It had been a sunny day, perhaps better than the month warranted, but now that the sun was well and truly gone, it wasn’t so warm.

“Cold?”

“Yeah. I didn’t bring a coat and what I’ve got in here,” he said, hefting the bag. “Isn’t really appropriate.”

“Does that matter?”

“I suppose not.” he agreed and they stopped as Denis took his jacket out of the bag.

“Doesn’t really look your style.” said Stephanie.

“You have no idea.” he replied, giggling.

They walked together with Stephanie again linking arms and Denis felt more comfortable than he had ever felt before. Perhaps this change was for the better, but now was now and fun. He was enjoying this newness, this different-ness, but tomorrow might just be a whole different ball game.

---

Part III

Denise

Denis walked Stephanie back to her place, which wasn’t that far from the restaurant. He wasn’t sure how much he should tell her about how this came to be, if anything. As a result, they drifted along in silence until Stephanie broke it.

“You’re very quiet.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. Today’s been a real eye-opener one way or another and being arrested wasn’t really top of my list of things to do.”

“I can imagine.”

“I’m not sure you can. The arrest was by far the least traumatic of the events.”

“It hasn’t been all bad has it?”

“No. I met someone really special today.” Immediately he let that part slip, he regretted it. He knew that if a woman had said that to a man, that man wouldn’t stop running until well after he’d passed the international date-line and possibly a couple of oceans too. “I mean, I think you’re a really nice person and if I ever needed a friend it’s now.”

“You already see me as a friend?”

“I hope so. I know we’ve only known one another for five minutes, but I really enjoy your company. I would like to think that this isn’t just a flash in the pan. I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward.”

“Not at all.” she said, giving his arm a squeeze. “I quite like the idea. Anyway, this is me.”

They stood at the end of the path and Denis didn’t know whether he was supposed to broach the subject of coffee or even if he wanted to put either of them in that position. In truth, he felt he just wanted to go home.

Stephanie took the lead and gave him a hug, no kiss, just a hug.

Denis felt that he got more than he deserved as he already felt as though he should have told Stephanie that he wasn’t what he appeared and all the way home, he gave himself a good talking to about it.

“You should have said something.” he muttered.

“What and frighten her off?”

“Better she knew from the beginning than to scare her away for good by telling her later.”

“Are you alright, Miss?” said another voice.

Denis stopped, thinking “What now?” and turned towards the source of the voice.

“Fine, thank you.” he said to the owner of the voice who had pulled up to the kerb in his car.

“Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

“Er, no thanks. It’s nice of you to offer, but I really haven’t that far to go and well, you know about talking to strangers.”

“So you think I’m strange?” said the voices owner with something of an edge to it. Denis couldn’t see the owner of the voice particularly well and suddenly didn’t feel as safe as he had.

“I didn’t say that. I don’t know you and you don’t know me. That makes us strangers and I’m sorry if you feel I’m being rude in not accepting your fine offer, but I think I need to walk.”

“Well fuck you, bitch!”

Denis blinked and watched as the man drove off. For the first time in his life, he felt the man’s stinging words hit a point in Denis’s brain that started tears welling up in his eyes. The sniffles followed as his eyes ran with tears and he found himself running as far as he was able in the shoes he was wearing to get home.

He managed to open and then almost slamming it leant against the closed door sobbing like a schoolgirl and slowly slid downwards until he was sitting on the floor.

---

“I never asked for this.” he wailed.

It was an unreal feeling for him. Not only was he not a particularly emotional sort, he’d never felt such an outpouring of emotion since he was a child and even then, it was generally only temper tantrums that produced such tears.

Picking himself up, he went to the bathroom to strip for bed.

His plan had been to go home and dress en-femme. Then he was going to spend time ogling his reflection in the mirror, but right then and there, he felt like shit.

He blew his nose and looked in the mirror above the basin.

His eyes were red and puffy and his hair was a complete mess.

He picked up a brush and began pulling it through the masses of hair he now had and began to relax. The more he pulled his brush through, the more relaxed he became and soon, all traces of having blubbed and sniffled, had gone.

He took off the dress and stared open-mouthed in the mirror at the person he had now become, though how was something he just couldn’t fathom.

Before him was a woman slightly taller than average with all the attributes to go with it; the waist, hips, breasts and just visible through the translucent material of the thong, the lips of very real female genitalia.

He trembled slightly as he reached between his legs to touch and gasped as what he felt was as real as what he saw. He removed his bra and watched as his breasts stood from his chest each surmounted by a dark, pink nipple just as the woman’s in the shop had and gently, he brushed his hands across with a shiver of excitement.

He slipped his thumbs into the waist of the thong and slid it down his legs to his knees whereupon, gravity took over and they dropped the rest of the way on their own. He stepped out and stood back a short way from the mirror, drinking in the vision before him.

“I certainly got the lot here.” he said smiling, despite the fact he had just spent better part of forty minutes solid, crying his eyes out. “Not bad.”

After a shower and a quick cup of coffee, he went to bed, though he was still perturbed by just how this had all come about.

---

The next morning Denis awoke and stretched. Once again he had slept the whole night and had not been troubled by dreams at all, which is not to say he didn’t dream, but the dream he did have wasn’t about him. No, this very pleasant dream was about Stephanie.

He still had a smile on his face too, which was a first. That was until he went to get out of bed and realised that the events of the day before had not been part of the dream. They had been real.

His hands went automatically to his breasts and he realised that all of it had been real. In fact, the only thing that hadn’t been was the dream he had just woken from. In the short time he took to consider this, the memory of whatever he and Stephanie had been doing had, thanks to his shock of realising that yes, he was a she, vanished.

“So I really am Denise.” he said finally. “Jesus, what am I going to do?”

Still where she had dropped it the night before, was the bag with Denis’s suit trousers, his shoes, two packs of stockings, two clear silicone ‘blobs’ and a pair of high heels. There was no more underwear, no more clothes. It was either the dress, stockings and maybe she could wash out the thong for today as well, but somehow, it didn’t seem right.

She needed some everyday wear; jeans, t-shirts and all those things women need that men seem to be able to do without. She needed a coat, trainers, sensible shoes, tights, panties and more bras. God, would the list ever end?

She needed help.

She thought about work and the people there. Maybe they’d be able to help, but then, who’d believe her?

The major thing about work was she was not going to be able to go in. That’s all there was to it. Getting picked up by the law the day before was one thing, as the copper had no idea who she was, but going in today meant facing the girls and as Denise, she really didn’t have the nerve.

She thought about other people who might be able to help, but aside from work, there wasn’t anyone. Denis had been the personification of the expression “you need to get out more” and besides, who would recognise him now?

There was always Stephanie.

“No.” she said firmly.

“And why not?” she asked.

“Because.” she replied, balling her fists and coming very close to a scream.

“Because why?”

“Because I don’t know her that well and I don’t know whether I can face telling a near stranger all this stuff about me.”

“That wasn’t so difficult was it?”

“Oh shut up!”

Denise went to the phone and picked up the receiver.

“Oooooooohhhhhhh!” she growled and slammed it back down again.

Denise padded about, the scowl on her face getting more and more intense.

“More coffee!” she said.

She opened the fridge for the milk and realised that she had used the last for the last cup she’d knocked back.

“Aaaaaaaaarghhhhhhh!” she screamed and went to the bedroom.

It was no good. She was going to have to go shopping at least, but first she had to wash out her smalls (which were scandalously small too) and then phone in to work and at let them know that she, or rather Denis wasn’t going to be present.

---

Somewhere else, someone was not impressed by the complete incompetence of a certain three guys.

“You told me they knew what they were doing.”

“Who told them they could take what they wanted then?” said the person on the other end of the line.

There was a momentary pause.

“Well they cocked it up big time. What if this gets back to me?”

“I told you, relax. There is nothing to link them to you, leastwise nothing that we can’t handle.”

“We? What do you mean ‘we’? This was all your doing and if the shit hits the fan, guess who it’s going to spray?”

“Ah yes, good point. I’ll deal with it at once.”

“You do that and find out who blew the whistle. Make damn sure they don’t blow any more. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.”

---

If you have ever tried doing anything in a hurry, you will be the first to realise that a) more haste means less speed and it invariably takes longer than you thought it would and b) in the case of Denise’s thong, it won’t dry that way — i.e., quickly. Our hero-cum-heroine hasn’t figured that one out yet, though she is about to…

Denise breathed a sigh of relief when she found out that Fellows was shut due to the break in and what later transpired to be an arson attempt.

“So it was an insurance job then, was it? Burn the place down and claim a fortune. I wonder if they’ve found out that old man Smart is behind it?”

Half an hour went past and about every forty-five seconds, Denise checked to see if her ‘small-bordering-on-not-worth-bothering-withs’ were dry and each time she checked, they seemed just as wet as they were before.

“Oh come on!” she cried. “There’s less of you than is reasonable and still you seem to take a month of Sunday’s to dry.”

She spent the next several minutes plodding round from one room to another and back like a fart in a trance before taking another look.

“It’s no good. I’ll just have to put them on damp.”

She turned them the right way out and stepped into the tiny briefs.

Pulling them up she realised that may have been a mistake she wouldn’t make again in a hurry.

“Eeeeeeeyeeeewwwwww!” she cringed, feeling the cold dampness around her tender bits. “That’s gross!”

After a few moments of walking around like she’d just spent ten years in the saddle, she kind of got used to it and was able to go about her business (though still with the occasional grimace).

Dressed as she was, she attracted attention. Most of it was good, some of it wasn’t, but by the time she’d walked to the shops, she was getting more acclimatised.

“It’s no wonder,” she thought. “Women get pissed-off with being ogled.”

The food shopping over and done with, she started to walk back and was looking in the windows of other shops as she did. Old habits being hard to break, she found looking difficult to begin with, but she knew that she needed more stuff. New panties, new tights or stockings: new everything.

She knew that Denis wasn’t exactly a fashion victim, but then he didn’t have much to be a victim for. Perhaps if he had, his life wouldn’t have been so boring. The one thing that she was looking forward to above all others was a pair of snug-fitting jeans, the sort that showed off the figure.

She stopped at one of the shops and looked in the window.

“Hello.” said a voice. She looked round and Stephanie was there.

“Hi!” said Denise, wanting to throw her arms round her and hug her tight, just for being there. It was or rather wasn’t necessarily because she fancied Stephanie something rotten although that was true, but because Stephanie was an ally; someone she knew so she didn’t have to go about this whole thing alone. She already felt that she’d been dropped in the deep end anyway. “Fancy giving me a hand finding some new clothes?”

“What’s in it for me?” she answered with nothing short of a mischievous look on her impish face.

“Dinner?”

“We did that last night.”

“Not at my place we didn’t. "

Stephanie’s face wasn’t exactly the picture of excitement. ”Alright, what about we go out, have a few drinks and then get dinner.”

That got the smile back on Stephanie’s face.

---

After about three hours and six shops (it was only a quick shop for a few things), the two women headed back each carrying at least six bags apiece. Denise had even treated Stephanie to something, which went down rather well.

“Excuse the mess.” said Denise. “It’s the maid’s day off.”

“Mess? What mess. My bathroom has more mess than this whole place.”

“Yeah well, my mother always said not to trust anyone who leaves their underwear on the floor for more than three days. I didn’t want to be labelled as one of those.” she answered with a broad grin.

What she failed to mention was that prior to this shopping expedition, she only had the one pair of panties anyway, which she was wearing and also failed to mention that Denis was anally compulsive about cleanliness; something she seemed to be losing her grasp of since last night’s bag was still where she left it.

They drank coffee, which Denise was absolutely gasping for, not having had one since well before she left to go shopping and sat at the kitchen table.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” said Denise.

“No, neither did I. You don’t mind do you?”

“No, not at all. In fact I wondered if you’d heard anything about what’s going down at Fellows. All I know is that it was closed today because of what happened yesterday.”

“Well, they found some incendiary devices — home made of course — in the van along with a whole load of electrical goods, just as you said, but we haven’t been able to fathom out why.”

“I think I can help, but needless to say, I can’t verify any of it. You might just want to drop a hint.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I overheard one of them going on about old man Smart wanting them out of there as quickly as possible.”

“Smart? Who’s he?”

“If it’s who I think it is, then it’s the owner.”

“You think it’s an insurance job then?”

“I don’t know. It’s just what I heard, but it does sound that way.” said Denise, knocking back the last of her coffee. “But hey, this isn’t the time to be talking shop. We’ve got to get ready.” and with that, she hustled Stephanie to the door.

“I’ll be round for you between seven thirty and eight then.”

“I’ll be waiting.” said Stephanie who leant forward and gave Denise a quick and very chaste kiss.

Denise was shocked and her eyes went very wide, as she stood holding the door open and watching her friend disappear.

“Well don’t just stand there you dummy. Get ready!” called Steph between giggles.

---

Denise fussed in the bath, fussed out of the bath and then fussed some more. She had earlier complained about not having clothes and now she had more than she’d ever had. She had T-shirts by the half dozen, slinky bras, work bras, slinky panties and work panties, more thongs, jeans, skirts and Lord alone knew what else.

It had cost a small fortune and she couldn’t have cared less.

By the appointed time, she was ready in her new tight jeans and an equally tight t-shirt, some surprisingly comfortable mules and her hair bungeed back in a ponytail. It only took a few minutes before she was waiting with her new leather blouson over her knees for the taxi to take her to Stephanie’s place.

Knocking on the door she heard a faint voice shouting “just a minute” and she knew that Stephanie wasn’t ready. This was something that was going to happen to her too. Whether it happened sooner or later, didn’t matter. It would happen, just like it did with every other woman Denis had ever come into contact with.

The door opened and there she stood.

She fairly took Denise’s breath away.

“God! You look awesome!”

“Why thank you!” gushed Stephanie and curtseyed low, ushering her friend in.

“Thank you!” said Denise, inclining her head politely and walking into the hallway in a stately fashion, whereupon, both of them erupted into fits of giggles.

“You’re not wearing makeup?” asked Stephanie. Denise shrugged and looked guilty. “Well we can soon fix that.”

Stephanie dragged Denise into the bedroom where powders, tubes, bottles and practically the rest of a pharmaceutical dispensary appeared from drawers, shelves and bags.

“Sit!” Stephanie ordered and Denise did just as she was told.

To rather tuneless humming and a look of intense concentration, Stephanie fussed about in a veritable blur of bits of this a smidge of that and presto!

Denise looked in the mirror, stunned into absolute silence.

“Well?”

“I-I-I… It’s amazing! Thank you soooo much.” she said nearly bursting into tears. “I had no idea I could look like that.”

“Hey, hey! No blubbing, you’ll ruin the look.” admonished Stephanie and with a great deal of effort, Denise brought herself back under control and even laughed. “See? So much better.”

It took probably best part of another half an hour before Stephanie was completely ready and when she was, the two of them looked at themselves and each other, stood side by side in front of the mirror.

“Ready to knock ‘em dead?” Stephanie asked.

“I think so.” said Denise, less enthusiastically, but nevertheless game and off they went.

---

The pub Stephanie led them to, hummed with the usual noise and expectations of a Friday night. People stood, sat, laughed and drank in about equal quantities. Denise suddenly felt very conspicuous and apprehensive.

It seemed so simple to offer a night out earlier in the day in the anonymous shopping centre of town, but here in the confines of a pub where she only knew one person, well that was something else altogether. Let’s face it, she didn’t know Stephanie that well and had no real idea of what to expect.

It wasn’t long before she was confronted with something else she wasn’t used to — alcohol.

She was just about used to a glass of wine or two with a dinner, but she had had nothing but coffee throughout the day and when Stephanie handed her a drink, the feeling of apprehension rose.

“What’s this?”

“Malibu and pineapple with ice.” was the simple reply over the general hubbub. Denise took a small sip.

“Wow! That’s really nice.”

“I know. I drink it all the time.”

By the third, Denise was definitely a few degrees more mellow than hitherto and she wondered what her problem had been. Everyone seemed so friendly, like one big, happy family.

Next thing she knew, Stephanie was back, her arm wrapped around some big guy with a stubble-covered face and tattoos.

“Hey Denise. This is Paul.”

“Pleased to meet you.” said Denise, her eyes turning green. It seemed that Stephanie’s idea of going out together didn’t seem to have the same meaning as hers and this bloke was not something Denise had bargained for - at all!

“You don’t mind if we skip dinner do you?” said Stephanie, hanging off the arm of the big man. “Paul wants to take me to a club.”

In her semi-drunken state, Denise tried to reason this one out. There was supposed to have been a few drinks and dinner involved here wasn’t there? Now it seemed that some big lug with half of a book of ‘cartoonery’ on his arms (and who knew where else) was more preferable.

Did it matter if she minded or not?

No. Apparently not.

What mattered was she was being denied her night out with her friend who even after such a short time was already on her mind more often than not and it was about the fact that her friend evidently did not share those feelings.

“No I don’t mind. You go and have fun.” Stephanie shot her a look that Denise couldn’t quite fathom, but it looked as though she was a bit shocked or hurt or both. Perhaps it didn’t come out sounding the way Denise had thought it would. “It’s okay. I think I’m going to go home anyway. I haven’t eaten anything and feel a bit queasy — those Malibu’s went down a bit quickly — (Hic!)”

Stephanie’s face softened slightly, but still there was something there that Denise could see, that was suspicious.

For the second time in as many days, Denise sat on the floor against her door after a traumatic walk home, sobbing.

This time when she looked in the mirror, she looked like a bloody panda.

Makeup had run down her face, leaving black trails over her cheeks. She couldn’t help laughing, since it must have got progressively worse as she’d made her way from the pub.

“The things we do for love.” she said ruefully and then broke up laughing at the incongruity of it all.

---

Meanwhile, Stephanie and her ‘new friend’ were sitting in his car round the corner from Club Nero.

“So that’s her is it?”

“That’s her.”

“How much does she know?”

“Not much. She’s just speculating really. She overheard something about someone called Smart and well, she’s basically clutching at straws.”

“That’s enough though. You know what to do.”

“But Paul; she doesn’t know anything. She just thinks it was a heist that went wrong.”

“We can’t take that chance. Don’t let me down Stephanie or you know what’ll happen.” he said with a definite note of finality. She got out of the car and as soon as the door was closed, Paul pulled away and disappeared into the distance.

“Hi Steph.” said Joe, a bouncer outside of the club.

“Hey Joe.” she said, putting on a smile and walking in.

---

A couple of hours later Stephanie was standing outside a familiar door.

“Please be up.” she muttered. “Please be up.” She bashed on the door.

No answer.

She bashed again, a little harder, then lifted the letter flap and called through the door.

“Denise? Denise? Open up, this is important.”

A few moments later, a very sleep-worn Denise wobbled towards the door.

“What?” she asked a bit curtly. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry to wake you. Can I come in?” Stephanie asked. Wordlessly, Denise opened the door further and stood aside as Stephanie walked in.

They sat in the kitchen and it was obvious that Denise had been crying.

“What happened?” Stephanie asked with genuine concern.

“It’s nothing. There are just a few things I’m not really used to is all.” Stephanie didn’t pretend to know what she meant and took a deep breath before taking her hand and launching into what had happened.

“I don’t know what you’ve got yourself into, but it seems to be pretty big.”

“You have no idea.” she replied, rubbing sleep and makeup remnants from her eyes.

“I’ve got some cream in my bag that’ll get that off.” said Stephanie helpfully and started to rummage around in her handbag.

“Thanks. Look, I was asleep before you came and I still have a head full of cotton wool. Can you wait to tell me until after some coffee perhaps?” she asked, filling the coffee machine and then grabbing a sheet of tissue to wipe the crud off her face.

“I could murder a cup.” she replied then realising what she’d said, giggled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Denise screwed her face up, having no idea what was going on. She didn’t know whether it was her semi-conscious state, but she thought she detected more than a little nervousness on Stephanie’s part; the fast talking, changing the subject, fidgeting. She figured it was to do with the fact that Steph felt guilty for having left her on her own in the pub.

Stephanie was equally unaware of Denise's situation; the whole, “having only been a female for two days and not being used to the pub scene anyway” thing, least of all from a woman’s perspective. She wasn’t to know what kind of a pickle Denise was in, how she felt and how she wasn’t even being given any time to get used to being “Denise” instead of Denis.

In due course, two cups of coffee were prepared and placed on the table. Denise asked Stephanie to start from the beginning.

“You’re in pretty deep.” she said taking another deep breath and looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I don’t know all the facts, but I do know that you’re not safe here.”

Well that was a bit of a revelation.

Stephanie worked for the police and surely, if they had got wind of anything nefarious with regards to her situation, they’d have informed her wouldn’t they?

“So what makes you think I’m not safe?”

“I heard it on the grapevine. Well more precisely, one of the bouncers heard that whoever was behind this was trying to tie up lose ends and didn’t want to take the chance that you knew about their plan.”

“I must go to the police.”

“You can’t!” said Stephanie jumping up and nearly knocking their coffees over. “Anyway, there’s no time.”

---

Part IV

RUN!

Denise was shocked to hear that her act of duty to the company had come back to bite her in the rear. Thwarting the plans of what appeared to be a bunch of half-arsed opportunist thieves, had turned into something much more; much, much more and she really was starting to worry for her own safety.

“What am I going to do?” she asked in a small voice, tears welling up in her eyes as she looked at Stephanie.

“Is there somewhere you can go?”

“No. I don’t think so. I don’t have any family and the only people I really know are those I work for or with. We get on alright at work, but I don’t think they’re the sort of people I can impose on at a time like this.”

“What about going somewhere for a couple of days, a sort of impromptu holiday or something?”

“You’re suggesting I run?”

“It does have its merits.” Denise couldn’t stop the tears.

“I never wanted any of this.” she cried and Stephanie could feel a lump in her own throat. It wasn’t what she wanted either.

“Look, I’d better go.” said Stephanie, already feeling that she was in deeper with Denise than she knew was good for her and she could feel herself drawn closer because she actually wanted to be friends with her, despite what she had to do.

“Do you have to go?”

What could she say? Denise looked so alone. Never mind looked, she was alone. It was just a case of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She didn’t intend to get involved with the shenanigans at Fellows; she was just unfortunate enough to have been there when it happened.

She didn’t really know anything either, however, from what Stephanie knew, she was probably closer to the truth than she knew. How could she leave her alone?

How could she not?

She knew what she had to do; what was expected of her and she was already putting herself in more danger by giving Denise the chance to run, but if Stephanie couldn’t find her, she couldn’t go through with it could she?

“Don’t go. It’s a lot to ask I know, I mean you don’t really know me and I shouldn’t be asking you; getting you involved more than you need to be, but please, even if it’s only until I get to sleep, I’ve got so much to think about I just need you to be there.”

Stephanie looked into Denise’s eyes and couldn’t refuse.

“Okay, but I will probably go as soon as you’re asleep, then you’re going to have to get away. Promise me you’ll do that?”

“I promise.”

---

Saturday morning dawned bright and cheerful and Denise awoke feeling cosy and snug.

Even before she had opened her eyes, she knew Stephanie hadn’t gone home after all.

There was a weight on her chest that seemed to be pushing her boobs aside, but it was so wonderfully warm and pleasant, that she didn’t want to do anything about it. It was a long time since she’d felt… No forget that, it was a long time since she'd been that close to anyone and alright, it was plain that Stephanie wasn’t into her in that way, but it didn’t seem to stop her getting snugly with her.

She gently opened an eye and peered down to see the sleeping form of Stephanie lying there between her breasts, eyes closed and arm draped over her stomach. In fact, it seemed that Stephanie was pressed against her the whole way down her body and she could feel the crotch of her panties pressing against her thigh.

“God, what a turn-on.” she thought.

Denise just lay there soaking up the feeling, the closeness; the subconscious hug. Okay, so Stephanie probably wasn’t aware that she was snuggled up against her, but it didn’t matter. Everyone needs a hug from time to time and whether it was designed specifically for her or not, this was Denise’s and she was making the most of it.

She could feel the pressure in her bladder building up and knew that sooner rather than later, she would need to go and relieve herself, but she was going to stave it off for as long as possible to get the full effect of this snuggle.

Ten minutes or so later, Stephanie started to stir.

She let out a quiet little groan and adjusted her head a little, but didn’t take it away. The feeling of wanting to pee was starting to get overtaken by the feeling that maybe Stephanie was that way inclined after all and things would just — well, happen.

Stephanie turned her head on Denise’s chest, looked up at her and smiled.

“Hmm.” she said. “Morning.”

Now Denise’s need for a pee was second in the queue behind something else. She smiled back and started to stroke Stephanie’s hair, brushing a few hairs from her face and listening to the even and gentle rhythm of Stephanie’s breathing.

“Good morning to you too.” said Denise, hoping she could hang on just a bit longer, but it wasn’t to be. “Ohh, I gotta pee!” she said and almost leapt out of bed and hurtled towards the toilet.

“Please be there when I get back, please!!” she thought as she did her thing in the bathroom, but when she got back, Stephanie was already getting dressed.

“Bollocks!” thought Denise.

Denise went into the bathroom. She was feeling like she’d never felt before, tingling all over and just about all of her was buzzing.

She splashed some cold water on her face, but it had no effect whatsoever.

She could see her nipples, hard and erect in the mirror and much of that tingling sensation was emanating from them. She touched one with her finger and thumb and gasped turning her attention to the other.

Now it wasn’t just her breasts that were tingling, it seemed to be coming from ‘down there’ too and nervously, she brushed her middle finger across the soft folds of skin and nearly fainted. Her body was starting to spasm and the tingling sensation increased.

Soon, she had found the root cause of the tingling or rather causes and was trying to address each at the same time.

It took no time before she was gritting her teeth and in the throes of something almost magical as she manipulated her nipples alternately with one hand and continued to rub the increasingly wet area between her legs with the other.

Then it struck, like a thunderbolt and her whole body seized as she gasped for air, gulping down mouthfuls between spasms, clamping her right hand between her inner thighs, whilst at the same time, trying with little success to remove it before her fingers actually broke.

She sat on the bath, trembling like a leaf, trying hard to be quiet and hoping to God that Stephanie hadn’t heard what had happened.

A few moments later, she was running the water and although still slightly wobbly, she tried to clean her teeth, putting her shakes to some good use.

“Jesus! That was fan-fucking-tastic!” she thought. “I've gotta try that again.”

“Where’s the coffee?” called Stephanie from the kitchen.

“In the cupboard over the worktop on the left.” she responded, her mouth full of toothpaste bubbles.

“Thanks.”

Perhaps she didn’t hear and Denise was able to relax a bit, but could see the flush from the experience still showed on her cheeks as she grinned at herself in the mirror.

---

The initially light atmosphere disappeared with the realisation that today was important. Getting to a safe distance was the prime objective and where that was going to be was as yet a complete mystery.

They sat and drank their coffees in near silence. Stephanie didn’t want to speak. She knew what was coming and Denise was too wrapped up in the fear of what it was she had got herself into and how she could possibly get herself back out of it again.

She was thinking too, about where she should go. Whether it would be better to go somewhere where there were plenty of people or not so many, should she head for London for instance, with plenty of places to get lost in a crowd…

“I guess this is it then.” she said at last, putting her coffee cup onto the table and looking at Stephanie.

“Guess so.”

Denise was sure there was much in that brief look that said more than a mere “goodbye” and hoped that it was true. There was, she felt, a bond between them and she was more interested in fostering that bond than breaking it after such a short time.

She stood and picked up a rucksack of bits and pieces she’d put together for the journey.

“I don’t want to do this.” she said softly.

“It’s not for long. I’m sure the guys at the station will sort this out in no time and you can go back to normal.”

“Yeah, but then again…”

“Enough of the negatives; just get going and be safe.”

They were about to close the front door and go their separate ways and Denise took the bull by the horns.

Grabbing Stephanie round the waist, she pulled her to her and hugged tight.

“I was so hoping this was going to go further and I know it can’t.” she said and buried her head in Stephanie’s neck. Stephanie stood, tears starting from her own eyes and did nothing until as Denise pulled away, she leant in close and kissed her.

It was going to be a quick one, but neither girl wanted to break away from the other. The kiss deepened, Denise opening her mouth and without thinking, started to push her tongue past Stephanie’s warm, soft lips.

“No!” said Stephanie, pulling away. “No!” she said again, seemingly panicked and ran off down the road. Denise watched as she ran; regret the only thing that remained.

It was with heavy heart that Denise locked the door behind her and made her way in the opposite direction to Stephanie, towards town centre and the railway station.

It was difficult for her to think. That last kiss had started that tingling sensation with a vengeance and only made what she had to do all the more difficult. It was one thing to have to do something like this. Quite another to do it with the thought of what she was leaving behind, especially since what she had to do, she had to do alone.

She trudged into the station and was about to go to the ticket window, when she remembered that her cards all described her as Mr and not Miss. She went to a hole in the wall and withdrew all the cash she could from all her cards. It was a tidy sum and hopefully would last well past the time all this idiocy was over.

She looked up at the boards to see what trains were immediately available and the destinations they offered.

“Hmm. London? What about Brighton?”

“Are you alright Miss?”

“Can’t decide.” she said. The man looked at her quizzically and left her to it.

She went back to the ticket office and bought herself a ticket to Brighton. London was out as she really didn’t like the idea of that many people. Brighton although still a city (along with Hove that is), seemed a lot less imposing and besides, it had the seaside to pass the time and was busy enough so she could lose herself in a crowd.

Hefting the heavy rucksack over her shoulder, she started off down the platform towards the front carriage and onto the train, pulled the door closed behind her, a feeling of melancholy descending as she finally realised that this was really happening as she dropped the rucksack on the seat and opened the window.

Leaning out as the train sat at the station, she watched people on the other platforms all going about their business, oblivious that not more than a few hundred yards away, she was running for her life.

A commotion at the gate caught her eye and she could see the guard dealing with someone although the angle didn’t allow her to see who. At the same time, she could hear shouts across the concourse as several men appeared to be running in the direction of her train. She stood back from the window as, did her eyes deceive her, or was that Paul heading up the running men?

The train jerked as it started up the tracks and looking back out of the window, she could clearly see Paul along with a number of others looking well annoyed as the train picked up speed and they got smaller and smaller until the train had rounded the curve in the track, putting them out of sight.

---

She sat down and contemplated where this incredible journey was taking her, but before she could even get the facts lined up in her head, a voice asked if the seat was taken.

“No.” she replied without even looking up and instead of sitting opposite as she expected, the person moved the rucksack and plonked down beside her. Denise was about to ask the person to move when she realised that she had been duped. It was Stephanie.

“I didn’t recognise the voice.” she exclaimed looking at her friend. “What made you change your mind?”

“Let’s just say that I had some help.”

“Paul?”

“How did you know?”

“I saw him running over towards the train. I must say, you only just made it and he looked pretty pissed-off that you managed to get on and he didn’t.”

“That’s not the only thing he was pissed-off about, believe me.” she said grinning. “I think it might be a wise move to get off this train one or two stops before Brighton, just in case Paul’s arranged a reception.”

“There’s stuff you’re not telling me isn’t there?”

“Stuff that it’s best you continue not to know; for the time being.”

It was all getting very cloak and dagger. While some of it almost scared the pants off Denise, she was surprised at how much excitement it also brought, although, having said that, she would have preferred to have had her safe, boring life back. At least, she thought so.

---

Part V

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside…

It was about three in the afternoon by the time the two girls got off the number forty-nine bus at Churchill Square. It was packed with shoppers, all of whom had little or no interest in either of them.

They headed for the phone boxes on the opposite side of the road and leafed through the directory to find somewhere for the night.

They chose one, just off St. James’ Street. The phone had been answered by someone who sounded extremely effeminate and Denise thought that this might be a place that wouldn’t ask too many questions about two girls sharing a room.

“It’ll have to be a double, I’m afraid.” said the man, who looked a lot like Jimmy Somerville from the Communards and even had a voice to match.

“It’ll have to do.” said Stephanie sounding a bit dubious.

“Well don’t get over excited luv.”

Stephanie scowled at the man who pointedly ignored her facial expression by pursing his lips, thrusting his nose in the air and mince, mince, minced out to the room at the back. Denise couldn’t help laughing.

Once they’d dropped their stuff (the one rucksack was all the two of them were carrying between them, apart from a small clutch-bag that Stephanie (had) had from the night before), they left the hotel and ate a belated lunch at a small café in West Street, before wandering along the promenade.

“Oh smell that sea air.” said Denise.

“What, you mean the air tinged with more than a fair chunk of rotting fish?”

“Have you no sole?” asked Denise, with more than part of her tongue thrust into her cheek. Stephanie groaned. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist!”

The sea front was littered with curiosity shops, shops selling candies, fish and chips shops and even a shop that was marked “Palmist”.

“Let’s go in, it’ll be a laugh.” said Denise and dragged a protesting Stephanie into the shop with her.

“Good Avternoon girls.” said the woman as they entered. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Stephanie and Denise exchanged glances.

“It’s alright Stephanie. I know you don’t believe in people like me.” Stephanie sat down with a thud. Denise went pale and sat down beside her.

Madam Sylvie went to the door, turned the “open” sign to “closed” and turned the key, locking the three of them in. She also adjusted the Venetian blinds and the room was plunged into a kind of red half-light. The two girls got noticeably agitated.

“Please. Do not vorry. I heff no desire to do you harm.” she said, returning to a large gaudy-coloured chair opposite where the two girls were sat.

“I can see zat sings are not quvite vot zey seem, no?” Neither girl said anything.

“No? Vel anyvay, zey are not. You heff secrets, zat is off no matter. Evorybuddy heff secratz. I can see all.” she said turning tarot cards over with a flourish forming a cross-shaped arrangement.

“Ah, zo, Denise, or should I purhap call you Denis?” Denise paled.

“Denis?” said Stephanie, shocked.

“Vell, she used to be. She’s not now, ess you ken see. Heff you heard of Strange Fellows Day? No? Vell, it ees zer day ven zer Devil eemself ees said to valk zer streets, granting vishes zat are not alvays zee true vishes ov whouvver ist choozen.”

Denise was busy examining the toe of one trainer as this was being said and Stephanie was looking daggers.

“It vould seem zat our friend ‘ere made a vish zat vos granted. Ees zat not true?”

“I guess it must be.” said Denise in a barely audible voice and then turned to Stephanie with a look of abject apology on her face, mouthing the words, “I was going to tell you…”

Denise though couldn’t remember actually wishing for a change. She could vaguely remember wishing that the feelings wouldn’t end after shaving and getting into bed. Perhaps that could have been interpreted as a wish, at a stretch.

“Don’t blame ‘er, Stephanie. She vos goink to tell you, but sings heff been moving too quickly.” She laid another card.

“Ah, but eet seems zat you heff secrets too, no?” she said looking Stephanie square in the eye. This time, it was Stephanie that saw something on her shoe that needed investigation.

“It seems zat Stephanie ‘ass not told you zer truce eizer.” she said raising an eyebrow and sending shivers down both girls’ spines. “But it vud seem zat she could not do vot she vos supposed to do and she ees een big trouble now, no?”

Stephanie nodded.

“Zo Denise,” the strange woman continued. “You heff been turned into zer girl no?” Denise nodded. “You vill need to ect quickly eef you vont to go back.” Denise blushed and looked mighty uncomfortable. “Ah. Ziss iss not zo velcome, no?”

She shook her head and once again Stephanie looked shocked, annoyed and more than a little puzzled.

“Eets not zo unusual. You didn’t know zis vos goink to ‘appen did you?” she asked and again Denise shook her head.

“Stephanie. You are in zer greatest danger. Zer men who seek you out are angry. You make zer bargain no? And now you heff broken zat bargain. But you broke zer bargain for luff.” she looked up and gave her a big wide smile, then looked at Denise. “Ahh, young luff. I remember such times, ven I vos much, much younger; zo, maybe not zo long ago really.”

“Zer rest of zis iss not clear. You need to find a smart man ‘oo, ees not so smart and not so old eizer. Eet ees ‘im ‘oo ees be’ind all zis. Zer police are useless. You need to get to ziss sing’s bottom as zey say.”

---

Stood outside, the two girls were completely gobsmacked. Stephanie wouldn’t look at Denise as, as far as she was concerned, Denise had lied and Denise wouldn’t look at Stephanie, for exactly the same reason.

Stephanie broke the silence first.

“I need a drink.”

“I think I could do with one too - maybe two too.”

They walked together past the Palace Pier and across the road to the Hungry Years. Complete with drinks, they say opposite one another at a table.

“Denis?” said Stephanie after a while. Denise blushed.

“So it’s true?”

“What about you and who are you in luff, er, love with?”

Silence and more blushes from the other side of the table.

“You want to stay like that?” asked Stephanie.

“You want to tell me what you were supposed to do?”

More silence.

“I’ll get us some more drinks shall I.” said Denise and went to the bar.

“Okay, truce.” said Denise, feeling the weight of all that had been revealed pressing down. “I used to be Denis up until two days ago…” She told the whole story to Stephanie, who sat with her mouth open most of the way through.

“So now it’s your turn.”

“You want to stay as Denise?”

“Well yes. I don’t know, but I feel it suits me better. There are some things I’m not so sure about and I have a lot to learn about being a girl, er, woman, but…” she shrugged. “And you?”

“I’ve always been a girl.”

“No silly, what’s your story?”

“My brother got into trouble. It was drugs mainly, then some petty theft as well. Next thing we knew, he was into this gang or something and owed them money. I bailed him out once, our parents bailed him out too, more than once, but it got worse.

“Anyway, he died about a year ago of an overdose, but I didn’t believe it. He’d been getting himself together, trying to kick the habit and then out of the blue, he was dead.

“Next thing I know, I am being held responsible for his debt. They told me that I could either come up with fifty thousand or I would have to work to pay off the debt. They said that they just wanted information and I didn’t think that would hurt anyone, so I agreed.

“When the robbery happened at Fellows, I told them about you and last night, Paul, who was the one who I’ve been working for told me I had to silence you. At first I thought I could do it, but I realised that I couldn’t. I don’t know whether it’s love or not, but I couldn’t do it and I couldn’t let them either.”

“Why couldn’t we go to the police?”

“Because I would have to admit to leaking information for the last year or so.”

“Thank you anyway and if it helps, the feeling’s mutual.”

At this point, both girls went red and started examining marks on the table before them.

“I’ll get some more drinks.” said Denise and made a bee-line for the bar.

They stayed in the pub for some time, well hours actually, neither knowing quite what to say to the other as conversations started and stopped, each of them trying to avoid the gaze of the other.

Stephanie couldn’t get her head round the fact that Denise was really a bloke, although she knew that wasn’t strictly true. The fact was he used to be a bloke and now he was, apparently a fully functioning ‘she’, although Stephanie wasn’t to know it to that kind of detail.

Denise on the other hand couldn’t believe that Stephanie would even consider the idea of ‘silencing’ someone and whilst she didn’t quite know what being silenced entailed, she was sure it wasn’t likely to be anything nice and possibly decidedly unpleasant — terminally so.

They staggered back to the hotel and were greeted by the same man who had been there earlier.

“Oooh. Look what the cat dragged in.”

“I could get to thoroughly dislike that man.” said Stephanie.

“Easy tiger. I might let you tear him to pieces tomorrow.” said Denise, giving the man a sly wink.

---

Denise set about the complementary instant coffee in their room as soon as the door had started to close.

“Would you really have killed me?” she asked.

“Dunno. I might.”

“You’re heading for a nights sleep under the pier, you know that don’t you?”

“No. Of course I wouldn’t. I didn’t know that’s what they would ask me to do and then when faced with it, I tried to tell myself that it was no big deal; that people do it all the time.”

“Most people don’t.” said Denise, shocked at the casualness of Stephanie’s statement.

“No well, most people haven’t got a bunch of heavies ready to break bones or kill them either. I thought at first ‘kill or be killed’, but when it came to it, I couldn’t.”

“You have no idea how comforting that sounds.” said Denise dryly going back to making the coffee and spraying creamer all over the place whilst trying to get the little foil lid off the plastic container.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Denis. It’s just that every time I tried to say something, something else turned up. It’s been non stop since Fellows and I really haven’t even had time to get used to being Denise yet.”

“You seem to be doing a pretty good job so far.”

“I haven’t had much choice. It was never my intention to let things go like they have. I only found out that I had changed as it were when we were in the Italian restaurant. I went to have a pee and couldn’t find, well, you know.”

“No. Do tell.”

“Alright I realised I hadn’t got a willy.” said Denise, going the default shade of crimson.

“Really?” said Stephanie sitting up. “Go on.”

“Then I discovered that my breasts were my own and the wig had become my own hair too.”

“Just like that?” said Stephanie sceptically.

“It seems so. I wouldn’t have believed it, but that’s honestly how it happened.”

“Can I see?”

“What?”

“Your bits.”

“Bits?” asked Denise almost sweating with the heat she was generating from blushing.

“Yeah.” said Stephanie and pointed to the area just below Denise’s waist.

“I-I don’t know, I mean you’ll laugh. It’s embarrassing.”

“Why? I’ve got one.”

“Bet yours isn’t shaved though.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did, but not yesterday. I shaved everything from my head hair down before this all happened. It seemed to carry over to when the change took place.”

“Well aren’t you just the dark horse.”

“It’s a bit more ‘Pale Rider’ now I think.” said Denise giggling. She couldn’t deny, this talking about it was getting her pretty hot and wondered whether this qualified as oral sex — sitting around and talking about it.

“Go on. Show me. I’ll show you mine.”

This was getting to sound a bit like a game of doctors and nurses between two young children, but it was certainly upping the temperature.

Denise thought “what the hell” and pulled down her jeans and panties.

“Well your shape is definitely not male.”

“Well duh!”

Slowly, the two garments descended past the thighs and when Denise stood back up, Stephanie had a look that was nothing short of wonder on her face and scooted across, kneeling before Denise on the floor. Denise was trembling and wondered what was next.

“Wow, cool.” said Stephanie and reached across to touch her mons veneris. Denise couldn’t help but gasp slightly, an involuntary spasm causing her to jerk. “Sorry. Are my fingers cold?”

“N-no. Don’t stop.”

Stop?

Stephanie hadn’t even got started and already Denise was like a bitch in heat.

“God, it’s so soft and smooth. I’ve always wondered what it would be like, but never had the guts to try, I mean I do my bikini line and keep it trim, but wow, this is awesome.”

Denise couldn’t believe the feelings that were coming from Stephanie just lightly stroking the top of her sex. She hadn’t got anywhere near the interesting bits yet and already, her knees were only just holding up. She could feel the warm wetness and it was starting to trickle slowly down her inner thighs. Eyes closed, Denise let her head hang back as she stared unseeing at the ceiling and just let Stephanie indulge her curiosity.

“That’s amazing Denise. I don’t suppose mine’s going to be nearly so interesting, but well, here goes.”

Denise slowly tilted her head forward, wondering why the nice feelings suddenly stopped and opened her eyes to see Stephanie yanking her own jeans and panties down and stepping out of them. She stepped out of her own clothes and knelt in front of her friend.

Stephanie was as trim as she had stated earlier. A narrow ‘V’ of short pubic hair was visible above her sex as she stood, legs slightly parted, showing her labia as the cleft disappeared between her shapely legs.

Like her friend had done, Denise reached out and touched her pubic hair, marvelling at the softness compared to men’s pubes.

“This is a lot softer than I expected. Nice.” she said, taking the opportunity to glance up at Stephanie and see how she was reacting. She was looking down at Denise, a quizzical look on her face as Denise went back to stroking her.

It was apparent that Stephanie wasn’t as sensitive there as she was and Denise wasn’t sure whether to leave it at that — a sort of, “she’s seen mine and I’ve seen hers” kind of thing, or whether to take it a stage further.

Curiosity got the better of her and she started to trace her finger nail along the outer lips and down the inner thigh and judging by the way she wobbled, that had a pretty marked effect. So she did it again and was repaid by Stephanie’s lips parting and glistening in the half light.

Denise let her fingers slide slowly and gently in between the lips and Stephanie’s legs started to go. She was forced to hold herself up by resting her hands on Denise’s shoulders and as soon as that happened, Denise started to take it further.

“No, not here, not now.” said Stephanie, trying hard to back away, but finding it difficult with Denise doing such a fine job of teasing her most sensitive parts.

She backed away and Denise looked up at her.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I’ve never done this before.” she said. “I’m not sure.”

“That’s alright. Neither have I.”

“No, but you’ve been with a girl before, haven’t you?”

“I know what you mean Stephanie. I understand and no I haven’t been with a girl like this. I’ve only had sex with one girl and that was pretty uninspiring. I was too afraid to make suggestions and she wasn’t really interested. Needless to say we didn’t last long. In retrospect, perhaps that was what made me think there was something wrong with me.”

“What do you mean, uninspiring?”

“Well, it was all pretty standard stuff — Missionary position I think they call it — with the lights off. I don’t think I ever saw her naked. I never ‘touched’ her and it was all one sided. I jiggled it about for a bit, finished and rolled off. She never asked for anything and I didn’t ask if there was anything I could do for her. I just thought oh well, that was that.”

“I see.”

Stephanie slipped out and into the bathroom and Denise put her panties and jeans back on and sat down on the small two-seater sofa in front of the TV.

She was very subdued by the time Stephanie came back into the room. She had only put her panties back on and curled up on the sofa beside Denise.

They watched some pappy rubbish on the box for a while before retiring to bed. Denise had basically written off anything further happening and was understandably shattered from the travel, the drink earlier and was only too pleased to get some sleep.

Stephanie had some issues to resolve. She wasn’t naturally attracted to girls. Sure she’d fantasised about them on occasion and felt sorry for Denise, who had evidently led a very sheltered life, with little sexual interaction, but she found it hard to reconcile the idea of actually having sex with another girl.

In bed with the lights off and just the soft orange glow of the street lamps filtering through the curtains, they chatted for a while, both of them skirting around anything that could possibly be construed as anything sexual and also, leaving out anything that could be connected to the trouble they had just run away from. In the end, Denise turned one way, Stephanie the other and you could have driven a bus through the space between them.

The next morning however, the two girls were pretty much wrapped around each other, snuggled together in the middle of the bed.

Just as the morning before, Denise woke first and didn’t move a muscle for fear of disturbing Stephanie, or for that matter, losing the closeness they were now sharing.

It was like seeing girls walking down the street, happy to link arms or hold hands without even thinking necessarily about jumping into bed; it’s just that women share a different kind of closeness to men.

With men, it’s all roister-doister and clapping your ‘chum’ on the back, whereas women don’t do that, well not all of them anyway. They can be close without thinking about getting into one another’s panties, although it would be a challenge for a man to think that way.

Just as it was for Denise.

She just lay there listening again to the regular and soft rhythm of Stephanie’s breathing and thinking about what was going to happen in the days ahead. Thankfully, today was a Sunday and there’s precious little one can do on a Sunday, save relax. In this particular instance, relaxing was difficult, knowing what was potentially lying in wait for both of them.

Some time later, Stephanie stirred into life.

“Hi.” she said sleepily.

“Hi.” replied Denise. “How are you?”

“I’m not so keen on getting up that’s for sure.”

“Well don’t then.”

“Nice thought.” said Stephanie, staying exactly where she was, nestled in amongst Denise’s soft body.

Neither said anything, but Stephanie was thinking. She wasn’t into women, leastways not in that sense and yet here she was comfortably cuddled up to someone she knew wanted her and for some reason, wasn’t prepared to push it. She must have the patience of Job.

Regardless of what she thought she wanted, it was nice being close to Denise. She was warm and soft and Stephanie could almost feel the love coming from her. That gentle stroking of the hair without the expectations of sex or seemingly any reciprocation. She just seemed happy to be there and that was nice.

Stephanie moved and looked at Denise whose eyes were closed, but she snapped them open when Stephanie’s movement caught a nipple.

“Yeesh!” cried Denise, almost sitting bolt upright. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“What?” asked Stephanie.

“You caught one of my nips when you turned. I’m sorry. I nearly entered a low orbit there.”

“Which one?”

“The left one.”

Stephanie gently kissed the offended nipple and once again Denise’s eyes closed and she started to purr like a contented kitten.

“Is that better?”

“Almost. I think you might need to kiss it one more time, just so that it knows you weren’t being malicious.” Stephanie grinned and again very gently kissed the nipple, which was now twice the size that it had been.

“Now?”

“Now the other one’s feeling left out. I think you might want to kiss that one better too.”

Stephanie kissed that one too, but with a mischievous glint in her eye, added a gentle bite to the kiss.

“Ye GODS!” exclaimed Denise who tried to sit up, but Stephanie just stayed where she was and pushed her back down, taking the whole of her right nipple into her mouth and sucked, not kissed this time; this was a fully fledged suck.

Denise’s breath left her chest like a hurricane and instead of having to be pushed back into a horizontal position, slumped back whether she wanted to or not. Meanwhile, Stephanie was busy alternating between nipples and all that Denise could do was lay back and think of England — well all the nice things that were coursing through her nerve endings anyway.

Some time later, Stephanie stopped, Denise off to the mixer in a world of her own.

“Jesus girl.” she gasped. “For someone who doesn’t like the idea of lesbianism, you certainly know how to light the fuse.”

“I don’t like the idea. I just can’t think of you as a lesbian. I mean it’s not really your fault that you’re a girl is it. Three days ago, you stood up to pee and if Thursday hadn’t happened, we’d probably never have met. Well we have met and I like you. In fact, it goes a bit further than that and I thought that was what people did when they feel like that about one another.”

“Well, I don’t think I could have looked at it that way, but it gets my vote and as for you my girl, I don’t think I’m going to be able to let you out of my sight.”

“Goody!” said Stephanie and went back to her new found fascination with Denise’s boobs.

As it happens, Denise had to call a halt there. There’s such a thing as over stimulation and coupled with a severe desire to relieve herself she had to get up.

Memories of the day before rushed into her head.

“Er, before I go, where are you going to be when I get back?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” she said and quick as a flash, Denise bolted for the bathroom trying to be out again before Stephanie had time to change her mind.

---

Denise walked back towards the door of the bathroom and could hear a murmur coming from the other room.

Was she playing with herself? Was that what she could hear?

No. It was much more measured than that.

Denise put her ear against the door and listened closely.

Those damned mobile phones. Denis had never needed one. There was no-one for him to phone. That didn’t mean that no-one else had one though.

She was talking to someone and didn’t sound as though she was enjoying it. The main thing Denise kept hearing was “no”. She didn’t know what that meant — other than the obvious, but in the context she was hearing it from Stephanie, there was little to go on.

She waited until Stephanie had stopped talking and the murmur was replaced by a different sound, much less measured and much more worrying. She opened the door and stepped quietly into the room.

Stephanie was still on the bed, her clutch bag before her and a small silver mobile was on the bed before her. She looked up at Denise, her tear-stained face evidence of the phone-call.

“What’s going on?”

“That was Paul.”

“What was?” asked Denise, trying not to let on that she’d been eaves-dropping.

“On the phone. He’s pretty mad.”

“Barking.” said Denise.

“No, he’s after both of us. He wants you because you know what’s going on and he wants me because I didn’t do what I was supposed to.”

“So why did you phone then?”

“Denise. Please, you don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think I understand plenty.” said Denise, her face hardening. As much as she loved this girl, there was no way she was going to stand for being taken for a fool, especially if that meant putting herself in danger.

“It’s not what you think.” said Stephanie, the tears running down her face in torrents. Denise could see that she was scared out of her wits. There was something else entangled in this web of confusion; something that Denise needed to get to the bottom of.

“Go on. I’m listening.”

Stephanie wiped her eyes and sniffed a couple of times. Denise wanted to go and put her arms round her, hold her close and tell her everything was going to be alright, but she knew she had to get all of this out of Stephanie before she could go any closer. The way things were going, there was every possibility that it might not happen at all.

“I told you that my brother was into drugs, but our parents didn’t know that. He was selling them; selling them for Paul and his cronies. I know Paul’s the front man, but the money comes from somewhere else. I don’t know where.” Denise passed the distraught girl a tissue.

“When I said I got made responsible for what Andrew — my brother — owed, what I didn’t say was that they said if I defaulted, mum and dad were going to get it. I didn’t know what he meant by that and after he told me to silence you, I got the picture — in Technicolor!”

She blew her nose and Denise sat on the bed beside her.

“I knew what would happen, but it took a while to sink in. When he phoned, he told me he was watching my mum and dad at their Sunday Bowls games at the local green. He described what they were wearing and that if I didn’t do something quickly, they wouldn’t be playing anymore.

“Now I don’t know what to do. I was doing what I was doing for love, but it was the love of my mum and dad, not for you. I know that’s harsh, but it’s the truth. The way that Madam what’s her face reacted just made that part of my story easy to cover up, easy to keep out of the frame and I have to say, I thought we might even get through this, but now I don’t know and I’m scared Denise, scared out of my mind.”

The tears started again, her face a river of tear-drops. Denise caught her in her arms and pulled her tight. If this was another fabrication, Stephanie was doing a really good job and somehow, it didn’t feel as though she was lying or even exaggerating the truth. For the first time, she thought that Stephanie was telling it as it was.

Denise was disappointed to say the least. She thought that Stephanie was one of the “don’t know” brigade. One of those who didn’t know whether they were one thing or the other; the “take it slow and we’ll see” type, but it seemed that Stephanie was well aware of not being even slightly bi-curious, despite the closeness they shared in bed, the curiosity she saw in Stephanie when she was touching the smooth skin above her sex, the nipple thing just minutes ago. It was all what it was on the face of it, nothing more — truly WYSIWYG.

---

Stephanie continued to sob as she was held and Denise wondered what was best.

She didn’t want to die; well that went without saying, but now they were in a situation where if she just buggered off and didn’t tell Stephanie, Stephanie’s parents would likely as not wind up in a suspicious car wreck and God alone knew what would happen to Stephanie.

Meanwhile, they were no closer to finding out what was behind all of this. Had it just been a robbery, the likelihood of them being pursued to this degree would be minimal. On the other hand, the police had released information to the general public, that they had prevented an arson attack, so that made things a little more complex.

Still, the likelihood of being chased down like animals was not that high, but there was something that Stephanie had said that struck a chord.

Drugs.

Maybe, the money was coming from someone in Smart’s employ, even his family. If that was the case, what happened would have been something else entirely. The arson may well have been a way to raise capital to fund something drug oriented.

In that case, the value of the shop would at a conservative estimate have been worth millions in stock and the building itself, not to mention revenue. Put that towards a deal and the way that works, that investment could have been increased tenfold.

That would certainly be worth chasing someone down for.

It was a chilling thought.

It may also have been pure speculation, but what if Stephanie’s brother had tried to get out of the drugs game? What if he wanted to clean up his act, but Paul and his henchmen had given him no option and his death was as a result of him trying to get the hell out of there?

This was getting scarier by the second and Denise’s one act of ‘heroism’ as Stephanie had put it, had landed her in a real hornets nest of lies, deceit and worse.

Denise shuddered as she thought of the chances of them getting out of this alive. Worse still, she considered the darker possibilities of Paul and his men putting them to work as drug dependent ‘crack’ whores. Their lives would be worse than dying and whose fault would it have been?

If they didn’t at least try to get through this, then they might just as well hold their arms out for Paul and his gang to push the needles in.

Denise was cold at the thought of what was ahead and it angered her that these people can live and breathe and continue so far outside the law that it made them almost untouchable. She even started to feel an element of sorrow for the poor lads who had been hired to burn Fellows down. They probably wouldn’t last inside. Prison was not going to be a friendly place to any of them.

Stephanie had cried herself to sleep and Denise laid her down, pulling the bedding up to her neck. Kissing her softly on the forehead, she calmly got up and started to formulate a plan.

---

Part VI

The Plan

Denise dressed and quickly scribbled a note for Stephanie who was gently snoring away, tucked soundly in bed. She grabbed her jacket and slipped out of the room, leaving a “Do not disturb” sign on the door.

Downstairs at the front desk, the Jimmy Somerville look-alike had been replaced by someone else far less surly.

“Is there an internet café nearby?” she asked.

“It’s not really near, but there’s one in Sydney Street. Do you know where that is?”

“I think so. Is it just down from the station?”

“That’s the kiddie. If not, I’m sure I can think of something else.” he said, giving her a wink.

Denise thanked him and left taking St. James’ Street, across the Old Steine to North Street. Sydney Street was at the end of one of the roads on the right.

It took about half an hour, but she made it and was surprised that even on a Sunday morning, there was still a lot of life in the town. She had visited it quite regularly as a child and whilst so much had changed, there was still so much that hadn’t. Certainly, she remembered it well enough to find her way around.

Sydney Street was much quieter than the area around North Street and she scanned the row of shops, most of which were shut, for somewhere that looked like it would fit the bill.

Needless to say, it was as it just had to be, at the other end.

It took a couple of hours to find what she was looking for and cost a small fortune to print it (that’s a small fortune in real terms, not comparing it to the small fortune she spent on clothes. That was a bigger small fortune).

It felt to Stephanie that Denise had been gone for hours and as soon as she heard the door open, she had flung herself at Denise and was sobbing tears of joy, hugging her tight enough to stop blood flow.

“You had me so worried.” she said. “I know you left the note, but I had no idea where you’d gone or what you were going to do. Where were you anyway?”

“I went to find some things out.” she simply replied.

“What things?”

“Look, shove that in your gob and shut up a minute.” she said, throwing a chocolate bar to her.

“Ooh, chocolate.” said Stephanie and ripped the wrapper off.

Humming a catchy refrain, Denise laid out the printed pages and showed them to Stephanie.

“See?” she said proudly.

“No. What am I looking at?”

“Old Man Smart. That’s him there.” she said, poking the page with her finger. “He’s the one running Fellows while his dad’s at his holiday home in Barbados.”

“What does that prove? It doesn’t tell us what’s going on, does it?”

“Look closely. I had to blow that image up a bit, but I’m sure that’s someone we both know.”

“Fuck! That’s Paul.”

“That’s right.”

“So what does that prove?”

“It proves that they know one another. It doesn’t prove anything about the drugs or the killings, but it does prove that they are not strangers.”

“Drugs? Killings?” said Stephanie amazed.

Denise filled Stephanie in on her idea.

“It all made sense when you said what you said about your brother. You said he was on the mend didn’t you?”

“He was. He was doing really well and then he died.”

“Why?”

“The police said it was an overdose.”

“It probably was, but do you think he would have gone to that much trouble trying to clean his act up and get himself together just to blow it with one more fix?”

“No.”

“Neither did I.” she said smiling. “Then I thought about how they were going about keeping you in check. The threat to your parents and that clinched it.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Suppose your brother wanted out.” she said slowly. “And then suppose that he was more than just a user and a petty thief, at least as far as Paul and his business was concerned. With all that Andrew knew, do you think they just have let him walk away from all that? I mean, he would have known about Paul, about Smart and that would have been another of Paul’s loose ends wouldn’t it?”

“It makes sense.” said Stephanie looking just a trifle wan and pale.

“I know. It frightened the life out of me too.”

She sketched out the rest of the idea and the more she said it, the more she got the feeling that she was on the right track.

“I couldn’t fathom why I was so important to them after I was witness to a bungled attempt at a robbery. I wasn’t really even a witness. I saw men in balaclavas, so I don’t even know who they were. I only heard the bit about Smart. That was all.

“So I factored in the arson attempt as well and still I couldn’t see that in a business as big as Smart’s, it was worth chasing us all over the place. That’s where your brother came in. I kind of put him into the picture too and he didn’t fit unless there was something to do with drugs that linked all three of them together.

“I knew it linked your brother to Paul, but I couldn’t work out whether Paul was just hired help with business of his own on the side, you know, brought in to do specific jobs and the like; the nasty bits, or whether he was part of an established team. When I saw this press release, I realised that I was probably closer to the truth than I imagined.”

“And you put that together from a few snippets of information?” asked Stephanie.

“Well that and an overactive imagination, yes.”

“I have to say, that’s quite impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“I suspect that this was just what Paul was afraid of.”

“The native Americans say that you can’t bury something forever, as given time it will always rise to the surface to be found. Someone would have got to it in the end anyway.”

“Do you think we’ll be able to convince the police of this?”

“I sincerely hope so. I don’t fancy ending my life just yet or winding up as a crack whore.”

“Crack whore?” asked Stephanie, somewhat startled.

“More of that imagination.” said Denise with aplomb.

---

Denise and Stephanie went to the station and the two of them boarded a train to go home.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit early to go home?” asked Stephanie.

“I have a hunch this will be all over soon. I think it’s time to take what we know back to the police and let them deal with it.”

“But Madam what’s her face said not to trust the police.”

“No, she said they were useless, but we can’t deal with this on our own. They have the manpower to sort this out and make it right all ways round.”

“I don’t know. Perhaps we should stay a couple more days and wait until it all blows over.”

“Look Steph. I can understand why you’re nervous about going back, but we’ll have to do it sooner or later. At least this way we have half a chance of getting away with our lives intact. I would imagine your parents might feel much the same way.”

Neither of the girls were comfortable with going back into the lions den, whether it be sooner or later, but the train left the station and Denise felt that whatever the outcome, she wasn’t prepared to keep on running, always having to look over her shoulder. It didn’t seem right.

It was three hours later when they disembarked and both Stephanie and Denise were pleased that this would soon be all over.

“Good afternoon girls.” said Paul.

“I had a feeling this would happen.” said Denise.

“I had to. Don’t you understand? He has my parents.” said a once again tearful Stephanie.

Denise was grabbed roughly by both arms and pushed towards a waiting car. All the way, Stephanie was going on about her parents.

“Will you stop your bellyaching woman? You’re starting to piss me off.” grumbled Paul.

Stephanie sulked, but meanwhile, Denise sat quietly in the back between two goons, neither of whom she would like to have met in an alley in broad daylight, let alone a dark one.

Soon, the car pulled up outside a warehouse on the outskirts of town.

Denise was pushed in first, accompanied by the two goons. They were followed in by Paul and then there was a loud ‘clack’ as Paul switched on the power and several strip lights blinked into life.

The warehouse was huge and they made their way past stacked boxes, pallets of this and that and large machines to what looked like a small office at the rear.

“Mum, dad!” shouted Stephanie and ran to her parents, asking after them and telling them how she and Denise had been in Brighton.

“ENOUGH!” snarled Paul. “So!” he continued, turning to Denise. “You thought you could run did you?”

“It seemed preferable to being silenced.”

“I can see where you get that idea, but at the end of the day, you’re going to be silenced anyway. I don’t like loose ends.”

“Is that what you did with Steph’s brother Andrew?”

“You see, that’s where you all seem to think I’m just stupid and can’t see when people are trying to outsmart me. He tried. Look where it got him! A one way ticket to the grave.” he laughed a callous laugh while his cronies just stood silently, each holding one of Denise’s arms.

“So I guessed right then? This is all just for a drug deal is it.”

“Oh no. It wasn’t just a drug deal. It was going to be the biggest of the century. Of course you put paid to that one didn’t you?”

He walked across the floor and stood toe to toe with Denise.

“Have you any idea how much that cost us? HAVE YOU?”

“I presume it’s in seven figures, maybe eight.” she answered casually.

“Eleven — if you count those after the decimal point.” he said.

“I guess it’s all off now is it?”

“Oh no, you can’t stop us that easily. We’ve got another shipment coming in tonight. You see, that’s what happens when someone like me teams up with someone like Smart. He has the import licence and I have the acumen.”

“It’s not going to work, you know that don’t you?”

“Why? Who’s going to stop me?”

“I think the police may have something to do with it.”

“Hah! They couldn’t find their arses with a map.” he snorted.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” she said.

“Why? What have you done?”

“Me? What can I do?”

“Smart and I have put too much into this to fail now. Neither you nor the idiot police are going to stop this. Tie them up with the others. Smart will want to deal with this personally.”

Paul and his men left them in the small office.

“What’s this all about?” asked Grace, Stephanie’s mother.

“Illegal drugs Mrs. Watkins. Smart has been importing it and Paul has been the distributor. Unfortunately I think Andrew may have got himself involved and was unable to get out in time.”

Grace started to cry and Mr. Watkins, who looked as white as a sheet could do nothing to console her.

“See? I told you we were wrong to come back.” sniffed Stephanie.

Denise said nothing. Her plan wasn’t quite going according to how she’d envisaged it. Then the lights went out and Stephanie wailed as the darkness engulfed them all.

---

They had no idea how long they’d been sitting tied together. All any of them could tell was that it felt like days, when they heard the large doors at the entrance being opened. Voices too far away to be heard distinctly came next and then the door to the office burst open. All four of them jumped and all of them let out a loud exclamation.

No-one could see who had come in as flashlights blinded them, but they were now surrounded.

There was a faint ‘clack’, the overhead lights started to blink on and the four of them could see that they were surrounded by armed police.

“Put those guns down and untie them.” said a man as he strode purposefully into the office. “Denise.” he said and she turned to face him.

“You took your time. I didn’t think you were going to come.”

“We needed to get them in the act of putting the merchandise onto British soil. Sorry about that. Still, all’s well that ends well eh?”

Denise was too happy that all of this had come to an end to be too upset with the policeman and before too long, they were led blinking out into the daylight, escorted by various paramedics and police officers.

“You knew!” said Stephanie. She looked shocked and very annoyed that her friend had let her believe that they were walking back into a trap.

“Of course I did. I couldn’t tell you because there was too much chance that you may have let the cat out of the bag.”

“When?”

“While I was out. I got the information from the internet and emailed it across to the police here. I just needed to know that there was help on its way. There was no way we would have been able to pull it off on our own and once I knew that your parents had been involved, well that just sealed it.”

“You could have told me.”

“No I couldn’t. I needed you to be as natural as possible so as not to attract any attention. They didn’t know me, but they knew you and I’m fairly certain that Paul would have known something was amiss.”

---

It could all so easily have just ended there.

The police had got the bad guys and made a very impressive drugs bust; the hostages were freed, the answer to what had happened to Stephanie’s brother was cleared up and the charges added to the growing list for Paul and Smart. What more could there be?

Well what about Denise?

…And Stephanie?

Did they get together?

---

It turns out that they didn’t, least not to begin with.

Fellows reopened the Saturday after the robbery and everyone was surprised that Denis wasn’t present. Cynthia was promoted temporarily to supervisor — something she wasn’t comfortable with and apart from the workload being higher, everything went as normal.

Denise phoned them on the Monday and explained that things had happened and that Denis wasn’t going to be able to make it.

“Is he sick?” they asked.

“No, he’s not sick, but he’s really not himself right now.”

The woman, a ‘jobsworth’, often found in HR positions, positions within the social security system or local government departments that require customer-facing skills such as hers, demanded that if Denis wasn’t ill, he should come in and explain his absence for the Saturday.

Denise dressed casually in her favourite jeans, t-shirt and blouson and went into the store. She knew exactly where to go and informed the woman that she was there to see Ms. Sharpe.

Denis had never liked Ms. Sharpe. Her over made-up face and thin, permanently pursed lips suggested that she enjoyed pissing people off for the hell of it and her frequent comments of “it’s more than my job’s worth…” just got Denis’s goat. Denise didn’t expect that that would change although he or rather she had.

“Come!” called the voice from behind the office door.

Denise entered shoulders back and ready for anything this harridan could throw at her and full in the knowledge that her job was probably not hers anymore.

“Yes?” she said curtly, not looking up from the piece of paper before her.

“You wanted to see me?” Denise said amiably.

“And you are?” she responded, still not looking up.

Now this was likely to be difficult since, try as she might, up until now she had not been able to say the name Denis. She gave it a go.

“Robson, Den-Den-Denise Robson.” she said and then thought “Oh fuck it! This is who I am lady, you deal with it.”

“Denise? I don’t know…” It was only the addition of an ‘E’ that changed Denis’s name from the masculine to the feminine after all and well, as much of a bitch as this woman was she wasn’t stupid, despite the writing on the toilet walls. “Shouldn’t that be…?” she looked up for the first time to see not Denis, but Denise.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Denise Robson.” said Denise. “I just said that.”

“You’re a…”

“Yes. I’m fully aware of what I am. I used to be the man you were expecting and I don’t expect you to believe a word, but I am now Denise. Now, about that absence. I told you on the phone that I wasn’t feeling myself and you chose not to believe me. Does this answer your questions?” she asked standing before the woman, holding her blouson open and showing off her respectably-proportioned breasts.

“I-I-I don’t know what to say.”

“I didn’t think you would. I didn’t either when I first discovered this, but like it or not, I’m now Denise. I’ve had a really shitty weekend and frankly I don’t give a poop about you or your jobsworth attitude, I need to take some time off.”

“I see.” said Ms. Sharpe, collecting herself, though still not sure what to make of the woman before her. “Will you be returning to work after your absence Denis, sorry Denise?” she asked, drawing ‘Denise’ out like a piece of bubblegum with a thin lipped ‘smile’.

“I don’t like your attitude, madam and unless you want a sexual harassment charge brought, I suggest you climb down off that pedestal you’ve mistakenly put yourself on and keep a civil tongue in your head.

“Well! I’ve never been so insulted.” she spluttered.

“And neither have I. You have no right to judge and you certainly have no right to treat me or anyone else that way. If you want insults, go read the writing in the toilets, there’s plenty there. In the meantime, I would be grateful if you would make the necessary changes to the paperwork with regards to my name and gender. If you need any further confirmation of that, I will see my doctor and get him to furnish you with the necessary documents.”

Denise, flushed with the outburst of anger, however well-controlled it may have been, left the office.

---

It didn’t take long for the case to go to trial and during the hearings there was little time for anything else. The relationship between Denise and Stephanie had changed and Denise wished it hadn’t.

Despite the fact that Steph was almost permanently distracted by what was happening in her life and gave Denise the impression that she wasn’t trustworthy, she felt that Steph’s intentions were honourable and as misguided as she may have been; her heart was in the right place. Denise didn’t stop loving her, even though the feelings weren’t reciprocated.

The police held both girls under protective custody, though they were kept separate and whilst one would have thought that it was an open and shut case, what with the baddies being caught red handed and all, Smart had some pretty clever and expensive lawyers working in his and Paul’s defence and there were fears that the witnesses would be compromised — hence the protective custody.

As the trial plodded slowly on, Denise’s feelings for Stephanie deepened — absence making the heart grow fonder and all that. She had a distinct feeling of loss at being separated from her friend after all they had been through and the refusal to allow contact between them hurt her deeply.

Nevertheless, the wheels of justice ground on inexorably and eventually the final outcome was reached.

Stephanie was exonerated for her part in passing on information since firstly, there were mitigating circumstances surrounding the safety of her parents and secondly, what she did ultimately led to the capture and successful prosecution of Edward John Smart, Paul Phillips and a number of lesser associates. She was however 'let go' by the force.

They were charged and sent down for amongst other things: Drug trafficking, importing Class ‘A’ substances with intent to distribute, murder, kidnapping, attempted murder, embezzlement and a list of other offences that would very nearly be the same length as this account. Needless to say, it’s unlikely that either Paul or Smart would see the light of day on the outside of a prison again.

Denise tried to keep herself to herself after the trial and Stephanie was not receptive to her calls, but being the prosecution’s star witness and what amounts to the linchpin in the case, for sometime after her life wasn’t really her own anyway.

Although pleased that it was all over, the knowledge that she had nothing to move on to coupled with the fact that Stephanie was no longer part of her life saddened Denise. She constantly wondered whether she would have been better off listening to that inner voice on that fateful Thursday evening and leaving things as they were; remaining the boring but ultimately safe Denis.

---

Denise was sitting in her kitchen in a melancholy mood. She felt more alone now than she had ever done and whilst she was more comfortable as she now was, it didn’t alter the fact that she still had no-one close.

She knew that relationships born out of stressful situations rarely lasted but she would have liked to have tried to cultivate at least a friendship between her and Stephanie and wasn’t entirely convinced that Steph, despite her protestations, wasn’t more into her in the first place. She felt that Steph’s preoccupation with the situation was what put their relationship on hold or rather prevented it from going anywhere.

She was startled back into life when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Is that Miss Robson? Denise Robson?”

“It is.”

“My name’s Fuller and I work for Mr. James Smart. He has asked me to arrange a meeting between you both this afternoon, if you’re available.”

Denise was flabbergasted. She’d just been instrumental in putting his son in prison probably for the rest of his natural life and he wanted a meeting?

Of course she agreed and went immediately into overdrive fussing (as she did nowadays) in the bath, out of the bath, before the mirror and generally for good measure.

She still hadn’t got used to the idea of makeup and decided against it which meant that she was ready long before a large black Mercedes arrived outside her front door right on time.

The driver got out and opened the rear door for her and she stepped in.

Inside sat an older man, not unlike a certain Mr. Heffner.

“I’m so pleased you could make it Miss Robson.” he said leaning forward and extending his hand. Denise took it and shook it warmly, but was still more than a little perturbed about what the meeting was in aid of.

“I suspect you’re a little confused as to why I would want to meet with you.” he stated urbanely. “I understand how you must feel, but let me put your mind at rest. That imbecile you helped to put behind bars may well have carried my name, but he was definitely no son of mine.”

“He wasn’t?”

“No. In fact I never wanted to have anything to do with him, but my second wife engineered it as part of the divorce settlement. I took him on and well, had it not been for your quick thinking, I doubt very much whether I would have a business left to run.”

“It wasn't all my doing.”

“No, but you did enough and just at the right time.”

They were driven to an upmarket restaurant on the outskirts of town and together had a wonderful meal before he dropped the bombshell.

“I’d like to you come and work for me.”

“But I already do.”

“You do? Where?”

“I was the manager of the men’s and ladies departments at your store in town. I just happened to be there when those thieves broke in and started unloading the electrical department into their truck. I phoned the police and the next thing I knew, I was mixed up in a whole hornets nest of cops and robbers.”

“My! You have been busy.”

“I know. Then once that was all over, I had to take some time off for the trial and I don’t know whether I’m going to get my job back.”

“I can tell you now that you’re not.”

“You mean I’m fired?”

“No. As I said before, I want you working for me. I’ll come straight to the point. I know who you are and what you have done and anyone who is prepared to put their life on the line for something deserves something in return. I want you to take over from my step-son.”

“Phew! That’s a big jump.”

“You can clearly think things through, you have an ability to function under pressure and I can’t think of a person who has been more loyal. What do you say?”

---

Denise was still buzzing long after she got home and was prone to fits of the giggles for no apparent reason for days after that. She was happy, but the hole that Stephanie filled was still causing her heart to ache.

It had been weeks since she had last spoken to Stephanie and she needed to know what had happened to her, why she refused to answer her calls and why they weren’t still friends. She felt that regardless of her orientation, there was still a friendship there and she would rather have a friend than a reluctant girlfriend.

She tried the phone again, but there was no reply. She was upset that the only person she wanted to give her news to wasn’t there to take it and even if she had been, so much had happened that she wasn’t sure what kind of a reception she would get anyway.

She decided to go out and drown herself in shopping. She had new clothes to buy after all; her new job would entail having to go back to wearing suits and stuff. Mind you, perhaps this time, she could wear something that was a little more exciting than her previous ‘suits’ and you would be hard pressed to call them ‘exciting’ under any circumstances.

She was looking in the window of one shop, when in the reflection, she saw someone she was sure she knew.

“Steph?” she called. The woman turned round and looked at her. The hair was longer and didn’t look as vibrant as it had and the face seemed to have aged somewhat, but it was definitely her. Immediately the recognition set in, Denise’s stomach started to do somersaults and she knew that nothing she felt for Stephanie in the past had diminished.

“Denise?”

It was a subdued meeting. Like neither of them knew whether the other was pleased to see them or not, like they were scared of what they thought might happen.

“It’s really good to see you. I didn’t think I was going to see you again. How have you been keeping?” asked Denise.

“Okay I suppose. It’s been a bit difficult since the trial, mum and dad didn’t take the ordeal well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“How about you? You look as though you’re doing alright.”

“I suppose. It’s not the same though. I lost someone very dear to me after that debacle was all over and I regret very much not having made more of an effort.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I thought she blamed me for not trusting her and getting her parents involved in some very nasty business and I don’t blame her for thinking that way. A lot happened and someone needed to take charge and I think that having done so, I may have ruined a really good friendship.”

They stood looking at one another for a few moments, before Denise could stand it no longer. She engulfed the rather startled-looking woman and hugged her tight.

“I’ve really missed you.” she whispered into her ear. “Please don’t tell me you don’t want to see me anymore.”

A single tear stood in the corners of Stephanie’s eyes when Denise let her go, hoping that her plea would not go unanswered,

“I couldn’t. I’ve had a hard time admitting it, but I’ve missed you too. I know things have moved on, you know, water under the bridge as they say, but no, I wouldn’t like it if I couldn’t see you again.”

“Would you like a coffee? I understand there’s a little Italian restaurant not far from here that does really good cappuccinos.”

“I think I’d like that.” said Stephanie and the two women walked off towards the eastern side of town. They had a lot to catch up on and the conversation had started almost immediately.

As they walked on leaving the shop behind them, Stephanie laughed and without stopping, she kissed Denise’s cheek, threading her arm though her friend’s, pulling the two of them closer together as they turned a corner and were gone.

Fin

I just wanted to spice up the relationship and gave Janice the opportunity to choose how. That may have been a bit of a mistake.....

---

The one thing about relationships is that they are rarely fair.

Take us for instance. I have a good-looking wife and I don’t feel that I’m particularly a bag of spanners either. We’re in our early thirties, well Janice has just turned thirty and I hit ‘old git’ status about three months ago. We’ve been together for over ten years.

It didn’t take long for our ardour to cool and when we went to spice it up, it mainly revolved around Janice to make the moves.

She would do the stockings and flashy underwear thing and for a while it was great. Sex was good, but I honestly can’t say it was any better than it was before. It was like turning up the power only to find that you’re already going flat out, but instead of being on a big old Honda Fireblade, you’re on a little put-put; it’ll get you there, but with little excitement and it’s usually a lot of hard work.

Once again, everything cooled off.

I thought about this for a while and the only conclusion I could come up with was if I made some changes. It seemed the only ‘fair’ thing to do.

I spoke to Janice.

“I know things have cooled off between us sexually and I think I know why.”

“Go on.” she said cautiously.

I could see that look in her eyes and I knew I was going to have a hard time getting this out. I was going to have to tread carefully, as the last thing I wanted was for her to think that even after all these years of thinking she knew me, she didn’t and I was afraid that she’d come to the conclusion she’d actually married a raving pervert.

“Well, I know that it’s always you that makes the effort,” I said. Her eyes softened. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. “And I wondered whether there was perhaps something I could do to spice things up a bit.”

What I’d got in mind was maybe I’d get some sexy pants, like a body builder’s posing pouch or something similar and maybe I’d have to shave my body hair, but I thought, fair’s fair.

She looked a bit taken aback I must say and I wasn’t really sure how she’d taken what I had said, but I thought I was being clever leaving the ball in her court; giving her the option of making the suggestion in the hopes that she would come up with an idea she liked.

“I’ll let you know, but thank you for being so considerate.”

Well it was looking like a promising start anyway.

I waited for days and days and still I had heard nothing. Granted we were busy, what with both of us working, Christmas just around the corner and little time for anything intimate.

My head was doing somersaults though, going from one extreme to the other, from full rubber suits and gas masks, to a little g-string and I was starting to worry as to what might come forth.

I had to keep myself in check as I had to visit the doctor on the Thursday for a ‘pm’ appointment — one of those ‘well man’ checkups. It’s one of those things they do where they basically tap you a few times on the chest, tell you you’re not dead or pregnant and send you on your way. There was nothing wrong with me, but the stress I was feeling waiting for Jan and her ‘surprise’, who knows what the doctor might find?

By Friday, I was so tightly wound, that even if she were to look at me with anything like a come-to-bed expression, I’d have had an orgasm on the spot.

I wasn’t quite prepared for what she actually had planned.

---

Friday evening was normally the night of the week we went out. Very occasionally we’d go out on a Saturday, but Friday night was THE night. I had got home from work late in the afternoon and had fixed a light buffet-style spread for tea, that way we could basically eat whilst on the move, either while we were getting ready or whatever.

When she still hadn’t returned by seven, I was getting somewhat fractious. I had already started on a scotch egg, a few handfuls of peanuts and had a bath. I dressed smart, but casual and figured I would be ready for anything.
By seven-thirty, she was back and it was all I could do not to take her to task for being so late. This was our night out after all.

“How you doing Jan?” I asked.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, and I came up with a solution.” she said, flopping down on the sofa while I got her a beer from the fridge. She was munching on a handful of peanuts when I gave it to her.

“You did?” I replied. I was still trying to simmer down after she hadn’t phoned to let me know she was going to be so late.

“Yup.” she said, without any hint of what it was that she’d decided.

“Well?”

“You’ll see.” She flashed me a wicked grin and after a fairly sizeable slug from the beer can, she disappeared upstairs.

Well I have to say, I was pretty pissed off. This was important to me and I had no idea what she was playing at or anything. I kept looking at my watch and the time seemed to racing away from us, if we were to be going anywhere, we’d have to hurry.

“You going to be long, honey?” I yelled up the stairs.

“I’m in the bath. Just be patient for heaven’s sake.”

“Patience? I’ll give her patience.” I said throwing myself onto the sofa and drinking the rest of my can of beer in one gulp. I went and got another.

I got back and she came into the lounge in the most delicious red baby-doll nightie with almost completely transparent thong. I nearly lost it on the spot. I made a grab for her.

“Not yet darling.” she said mysteriously, adding that wicked little smirk.

“But…” I started, but she just lifted my chin with a neatly manicured fingernail and told me that I had to get ready first.

“But I’ve already had a bath.” I complained. “I am ready!”

“No you’re not, but that’s okay darling. There’s plenty of hot water. Just follow the instructions on the bottle and when you come out, I’ll have your stuff ready on the bed. Now run along, or it’ll take all night.”

I hit the stairs at a dead run and tripped at least twice in my haste.

In the bathroom, I tried to find a bottle.

Nothing there that I hadn’t already seen.

I went into the bedroom and an old fashioned blue-glass bottle lay on the bed. I read the label.

“Ready Maid
Add two drops to a bath of warm water
and soak for no less than fifteen minutes.
Add bubble bath or perfumed oils if required.”

Once again, I got undressed and sat on the edge of the bath as it filled. Then I added two drops of this stuff (whatever it was) to my bath and lowered myself in.

It didn’t seem to smell of anything, so the idea that it was an aphrodisiac was probably out of the question. Sure it was having an effect — the effect of anticipation on an already overloaded libido.

I sank back into the warm water until just my head was out. I had already done my hair and I didn’t think I needed to go that far. As I reclined, I started to feel slightly strange. It wasn’t a bad strange, just different and I could feel it tingling all the way up and down my body.

I was quite turned on by this and eyes closed, I could feel myself drifting. It was marvellous. The tingling sensation got stronger and stronger and I felt myself almost floating.

“Well if this is the appetiser,” I thought. “Then bring on the main course!”

I lost track of all time and had it not been for Janice knocking on the door, I don’t think I would have got out of that bath — at all.

I stepped out and grabbed a towel.

It was at this point that I noticed the changes.

Now when I agreed to put some effort in, I had some kinky underwear in mind; something that we could have a bit of a laugh with, but breasts?

They weren’t all either.

I looked at myself in the mirror and I was not me, leastways, not exactly. I was like a female version of me. I was about the same height, which I suppose makes me quite tall for a woman. I had fair-sized boobs, which I wished I’d noticed earlier. I would have liked to have given them a test run before getting out of the bath and I was completely hairless from the head down, oh and my face too. Conversely, the hair on my head was longer, thicker, reaching almost to my waist.

“Are you out yet?” she asked.

“Yes?” I asked back.

“Is everything alright?”

“I don’t know. It depends how you want to look at it.”

“It worked then?”

“I guess.”

“Well. Come on out.”

I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around me above my ample bosom and headed out of the bathroom.
Janice was outside.

“My aren’t you pretty?” she said seductively and brushed my cheek with the back of her hand, sending tingles not unlike those I felt in the bath, down my spine and I quivered. I also couldn’t help blushing and I looked down. “And demure too!” she laughed. I smiled.

“Well don’t let me stop you. You’d better go and get dressed. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”
This was unreal. I felt like a virgin being seduced by the mistress and I can’t tell you what else I was feeling, but suffice it to say, I was trembling all over.

I walked into the bedroom and true to her word, Janice had laid out what I was to be wearing and boy did my pulse start to race.

There was lingerie that made me blush; not unlike what Janice was wearing, it consisted of a very tiny thong in sheer black and a nightie that was so diaphanous that there seemed hardly any point in putting it on. To accompany, there was a pair of seamed black stockings with a self supporting lace top and a pair of four-inch black patent shoes.

I was trembling before I saw this lot, but the trembles just got more and more pronounced the more I put on. By the time I had pulled up the stockings, I was already close to an orgasm. My nipples were on stalks and even the slightest movement caused electric shocks to course though my entire body.

I carefully negotiated the stairs and found that despite this being my first time in these shoes I didn’t find it nearly as hard as I had thought to walk — part of the transformation perhaps. I stepped into the lounge where Janice sat on the sofa. She had lowered the lights, set candles all over the place and had even put some soft, seductive music on the stereo.

“Come here.” she said commandingly. I went and stood before her, still trembling and still just on the verge of orgasm. “That’s a good girl. Now kneel down.”

I knelt and she opened her legs, drawing me towards her. She bent towards me and planted a kiss on my lips. I opened my mouth to allow her tongue access, fencing with hers and my mind going into a state of near delirium.

We kissed and the passion rose, as I lifted her nightie to pull it over her head.

“Now, now,” she said. “Let’s not get too hasty.” I let the hem drop and continued with the kissing, while Janice reached round the back and picked something up.

It was the biggest strap-on dildo I think I have ever seen.

“You want this don’t you?” I wasn’t sure — at all, I mean that thing was huge! The bath drops though made it impossible for me to refuse and I found myself nodding — enthusiastically.

“Tell me. Tell me you want me to put this on and fuck you with it.” she said.

“Yes please.” I said. I could feel in my panties that I was wet, God was I wet. She only had to wave that thing in front of me and I or rather, my pussy responded by getting hotter and
wetter. “Oh yes please!”

She stood telling me to remove her thong and with trembling hands, I reached up under the hem of her baby-doll and gently pulled on the skimpy undergarment. When it reached her knees she told me to kiss her and without hesitation, I bent forward and kissed her mound. She let out a short gasp.

“Easy.” she said and I stopped, pulling down her underwear the rest of the way, allowing her to step out of them.

“Your turn.” she said. I stood and went to yank off the thong, but she stopped me. “Here, let me.”

God, I could hardly breathe here. I was so worked up that any minute I was going to go ‘pop’. I let go of my thong and she reached forward and gently tugged it down to my knees, then knelt in front of me and pulled them the rest of the way, stopping only to kiss my mound ever so gently. I gasped and my knees nearly gave way.

She turned me round to face the sofa then told me to kneel on it and hold onto the back. I was glad to. The sofa was infinitely more comfortable than the floor had been and as I did this, I could hear the sound of a gentle humming, coming from behind.

I opened my legs and thrust my arse out and felt her fingers slide towards my pussy, spreading the lips to each side and inserting two fingers. Once again I gasped and added a moan this time too!

Then I felt it, the shiny tip of that monster dildo sliding along the length of my pussy lips, before it sank into me to the hilt.

“Holy Shit!!” I exclaimed and she pulled most of it back out. “Nooooo.” I groaned, just as she pushed it back in, its vibrating length sending me into near trance.

Back and forth it slid for some time - I have no idea how long, before she pulled out all the way with a ‘plop’.

“I think it needs more lubrication.” she told me. “Would you oblige?” I nodded, knowing what it was she wanted of me and I turned around and started to lick the length of the shaft and knob, starting at the base and running my tongue along its full length.

I could taste my own pussy juice on the black rubber and it drove me on, making me lick it greedily and hoping that it wouldn’t be too long before I would get to taste Janice’s too.

Wrapping my lips around its tip, I began to slide right down as far as I could without choking, pulling back to the tip and leaving a glistening trail of saliva behind me.

“That should do, now turn round again.” I did as I was asked and turned about, thrusting my arse back towards her. This time though, she didn’t insert it into my pussy, but I could feel the tip against my puckered ass. It hurt to begin with; that massive member stretching my hole as it slid slowly into the depths of my bowels.

I was completely wanton by now and was thrusting backwards against the forward thrust of the vibrating member that was invading my rear. Back and forth, back and forth it went, sawing in and out of my butt before she withdrew it again only to replace it into my pussy.

I was almost disappointed, but not for long as she inserted a vibrator into my back passage, twisting and thrusting, twisting and pulling as her pelvic thrust took up a counter rhythm in my pussy.

It wasn’t long after before moaning and whimpering, I came again and again, losing all control, flopping forwards against the back of the sofa gasping for air and shuddering violently.

Good God, I had never felt anything like that before, but judging by Janice, it wasn’t over.

“Come here.“ she ordered and I turned shakily to see that she had removed the strap on and was laying back on the sofa with her legs spread wide, knees almost on her chest. “Lick me.” she ordered.

Christ, I thought she’d never ask, I thought and almost dived at her. Was that where the expression came from?

I started at her anus, twirling my tongue around it, feeling it twitch and pucker before opening slightly. I took the opportunity to push my tongue in as far as I could, but it wasn’t going to let me.

I slid up slightly and found her pussy. If I thought I was wet, I was nothing compared to Janice, hers was sopping and I had a field day, licking the juice from her, whilst probing her rear with my middle finger.

She was starting to buck as I began pushing my tongue deep into her, then removing it and swirling it up to her clit and then back down to her hole. I let a little dribble of saliva run to her arse and slipped another finger in, beginning the process over again.

“Wait!” she panted and handed me a floppy pink rubber phallus. “Use this.” she said and laid back again. How many of these things had she bought?

I pushed the pink dong into her arse. I move it gently at first, back and forth before locating the strap-on and using that for her pussy, pushing it in as far as it would go and doing exactly the same with the dildo.

“Yes!!” she moaned and gradually, I increased the pace until both were sawing back and forth at an unholy rate.

”Yes! Yes! Yes!” she panted, in time with the rhythm I was producing with the two toys.

I turned my attention to her boobs and took one nipple in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it and biting down, then sucking, increasing the suction, then biting again, whilst still pushing and pulling on the toys.

It took no more than half a dozen of those coupled with the dildo action before she came, throwing her legs forward and clamping them together, causing me to jump out of the way. Suddenly, she unclamped her legs and the pink dildo popped out of her arse as she reached down and yanked the strap-on from her pussy then fell back panting hard. If hers was half as good as mine, I think we may need to rest up for a minute or two.

Janice sent me to the bedroom and followed behind with an armful of assorted toys.

I was a bit sore after the shafting I had received, but I wasn’t prepared to stop yet. She dropped the toys onto the bed and I went for her, but she pushed me off, saying she wasn’t ready.

Well I was and I wasn’t prepared to wait.

I knelt before her and opened my legs as far as I could. I looked her straight in the eyes as I let my left hand trace down to my pussy, while the other pinched and tweaked at my nipple.

I sank two fingers straight in then pulled them out and licked them as seductively as I could, before replacing them and adding another. I was away to the mixer, pushing my fingers in as far as I could only to remove them and rub, tease or tweak my clit.

I let go of my nipple and reached behind to and insert a finger into my arse. I could see Janice starting to breathe more raggedly and noticed that she was starting to play with herself too. I dived at her again, hungry for more of her pussy.

I reached out for a dildo, vibrator or whatever I could get my greedy little hands on and pushed it into her, while tonguing her clit for all I was worth.

“Wait,” she panted and twisting round, we got into a good old sixty-nine, both of us pushing and pulling on dildos, vibrators or whatever, I don’t know and licking until our jaws felt like they were going to fall off, orgasming it seemed, time and time again.

I thought that would be that, but she looked at me with a wicked smile and reached under the pillow, retrieving a double-ended dildo. My eyes went wide, for not only was it incredibly long, but it was as wide as I have ever seen. She put one end in her mouth sucking at the end of it then doing the same with the other end. Taking it out of her mouth, dripping with saliva, she pushed it into my pussy. I squealed.

There I was laying, legs akimbo with this huge red double dong hanging out of me when she positioned herself at the other end and slid onto it. With deft motion, she was pulling out of her while at the same time, pushing it into me, only moments later to reverse the action.

I was off again, heading for another blinding orgasm, working my clit as gently as I could now with my fingers.

We fell asleep on top of the bed and when I awoke, I was back to normal, surrounded by sex toys and Janice and still wearing the baby-doll.

---

I have to say I had a sore bum and I was more than a little embarrassed by wearing the nightie. I went to take it off.

“No, leave it.” said Janice.

“Okay.” I said, but I felt really self conscious, especially with the stockings.

“Are you going to make some tea or coffee?”

“I hadn’t planned to, but okay.” I went downstairs. The candles were guttering and spitting after having been left the night before, so I blew them all out. I also retrieved the thongs and wondered whether I shouldn’t put mine back on to finish the look.

I looked down at myself and apart from the fact I was still completely hairless, both bodily and facially, I was pretty much as I thought I should be. I did like the feeling of the flimsy material of the nightie-set that Janice had bought for me against my smooth skin and actually couldn’t resist putting on my thong. I stood in the kitchen in stockings, thong and a baby-doll nightie, making instant coffee.

Strangely, it didn’t feel odd. Perhaps that was because of last night.

I returned to the bedroom to find Janice under the covers and the array of toys we had shared the bed with last night had been hidden away. Janice must have known what I was thinking.

“I’m too sore for anymore today.” she said smiling sweetly. “But you look very nice this morning.”

“Why thank you. As do you. It was good, wasn’t it?”

“Blindingly good.” she replied.

We lay there, side by side and under the covers we were holding hands. Every so often I would look at her or she at me and we’d giggle. I did feel naughty in that nightie.

“Do you think Candy can come out to play again tonight, if I’m not too sore?”

“Who?”

“Candy.” said Janice giggling. “Can she come out to play?”

I smiled. I liked that. I had a new name and it was Candy. “I guess so. I mean I see no reason why not.”

---

After last night, the thought of a repeat performance was making my legs weak and my head was probably best described as on another planet.

Janice was quite cool about it, but then she hadn’t been ‘changed’ in quite the same way, so for me, the whole experience was something else entirely.

Anyway, the nervousness subsided as the day wore on and while Janice went shopping, I fiddled about in the garage not really doing anything to speak of, but biding my time until later.

Janice returned with the weeks groceries. I offered to help retrieve it from the car and got a flat “No!” She seemed a bit curt and I was shocked, but then her face softened and she said that she’d got stuff in the car she didn’t want me to see.

“Fine,” I said. “No problem.”

By the evening, I was actually quite mellow, but when bath time arrived, the pulse rate was starting to rise with the anticipation. Janice went first and I spent my time pacing. I was now at the stage where all I wanted to do was be Candy again.

I added the prescribed two drops of the liquid, but this time I added some of Janice’s bubble bath as well. I wanted to be as feminine as possible when I emerged in twenty minutes or so.

I relaxed and the smell of the bubble bath was quite intoxicating. Coupled with the tingling sensation that came with the ‘additive’, bath time was definitely becoming more fun.

I heard Janice pass on the landing.

“I’ve put your stuff out on the bed Candy.” she said and giggled as she went off down the stairs.

I soaked for longer than the prescribed time, but for some reason, the necessity to get in, get done and get it over with I usually employed, didn’t happen. I suppose Candy was responsible for that.

I got out of the now lukewarm water and looked at myself in the mirror.

There was a definite pride I was feeling about the way I looked. There was no trace of manliness there at all and I wondered what on earth they put in that stuff to make it so effective.

I brushed my hand across my nipples and shivered, feeling that sense of heightened sensitivity that is normally associated with girls. Lord I was loving this and it was only my second go!

I dried off in the bathroom and sauntered out across the landing to the bedroom. All of a sudden, Janice’s secret purchases became all too clear.

A complete new outfit lay on the bed.

There was the classic ‘little black dress’, plus a new pair of ankle boots, fishnets, a lace underwear set and without looking, I presumed a thong rather than panties. I was guessing that Janice had a preference for those on me or rather Candy.

I dressed and brushed out my hair.

“I’ll do your makeup when I’m done, darling.” said Janice.

Makeup?

Well, I suppose that’s all part of being female. I didn’t even think about it yesterday and realise now that I could have been a lot more alluring with some on. Being Candy just makes me feel so sexy and anything I could do to heighten that feeling is fan-bloody-tastic in my mind.

I went downstairs and sat on the sofa and continued to brush my hair. This was something I never thought about before, the feeling of having your hair brushed or even brushing it yourself; heavenly.

Some time later, Janice came downstairs and she looked quite the stunner. She was in a mini dress, similar to the one I was wearing, only shorter and was wearing lingerie of some description, though she wouldn’t show me. I just got that ‘patience’ thing again.

We went through the makeup routine and when it was done, Janice showed me in a mirror and it was, well, startling.

“What’s all this for?” I asked, thinking that last night didn’t require all this nonsense.

“Well, we stayed in last night didn’t we? I thought we’d hit the town tonight instead.”

I almost fell over.

“We are??” I squeaked.

“Yes. We’re going out - you and I.”

“You must be mad.” I thought, but once again, one of the effects of this ‘potion’ was causing me to be compliant when told what to do. It did show in my face though.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“I don’t know that it’s such a good idea, I mean look at me.”

“I have and if we weren’t going out, I could eat you up here and now.”

“Now that sounds very nice, let’s do that.”

“Let’s not. I haven’t been out all week and I want to go out.”

I had to give in at that point.

Yesterday I was shakin’ an’ a tremblin’ because I was so sexually charged, but today, I still felt horny as hell, only now I was shakin’ an’ a tremblin’ because I’m scared shitless. I’ve never gone out like this before.

“Nobody’s going to know.” said Janice to reassure me.

---

We arrived at a bar in town, I think it was the Kings Head, not that it matters, at about eight. I was almost petrified, but Janice (an old hand at going out in women’s clothes) took me under her wing.

I felt self conscious because I was at least reasonably good looking and I knew what men were like. I knew also that we were likely to be hit on and I wasn’t sure how Janice was going to react to that.

When she returned with the drinks I asked her.

“Oh, I certainly hope so.”

“Why.”

“Imagine the fun.” she said. Now I was starting to get a little scared. Janice was one thing, but a full-grown man on heat, I think not. “We don’t have to do anything do we?”

I felt better now.

The last thing I wanted was to start getting mauled by some drunken letch and have to fight my way out of things. It also dawned on me as an afterthought, that if things happened in the same way as last night, it might be a little difficult explaining how there came to be a man in the bed where Candy should have been.

I was having my doubts about Janice’s ideas about ‘not doing anything’ too. I had after all seen her drunk or even worse for wear and it’s at those times that she’s most likely to let her libido rule her head. As for me, I had no idea what I was likely to do.

Several drinks later and I was felling decidedly mellow. I was starting to feel that warm sensation, signifying I felt that I was safe and sound. This pub wasn’t so bad and I felt in control.

Janice threw that out of the window though when she returned from the loo with two blokes in tow, both of whom sat at the table, one, Jeff, making definite eyes at Janice and the other? Well I’m sure he, Alan, could have easily been swayed.

We chatted and I felt my hackles rising. I could tell these two thought they’d scored. I ‘suggested’ to Janice that we go to the ladies.

“This wasn’t what I had in mind.” I said simply.

“Oh relax!” she drawled. The drinks had gone to her head and I felt I had to do something before the situation got completely out of hand. So much for her libido ruling her head, she was barely able to stand. She tottered about and was about to fall, but I was there and caught her.

“Come on then. Let’s get you out of here.”

“I want my toy box,” she giggled, grabbing a handful of my left boob. “Get me my toy box.”

It was one of those ‘demands’ and after the bath stuff, I had little choice but to obey. I pulled her arm over my shoulder and ‘helped’ her out of the ladies.

We got to the table where the two chaps were sitting expectantly waiting for our return. I could feel the next sentence coming before it arrived, though I couldn’t stop it. I think I was reddening before it left my lips.

“Sorry gents, but we have a date with a box full of dildos.” I frowned, wondering “did I really say that out loud?” and watched Alan dropped his glass into his lap. He jumped up trying in vain to brush the amber liquid from his trousers, while Jeff spluttered and sprayed a substantial mouthful over Alan.

With Janice more or less ‘non compos mentis’ I grabbed our coats and made for the door as the two men tried to sort themselves out.

I poured Janice into a taxi and scooped her out at the other end.

“Thanks mate.” I said to the taxi-driver and person-handled her back in doors.

The evening was an unmitigated disaster and I wasn’t pleased. I had got all dolled up and for what?

Thanks to Janice demanding her toy box, I was already hot ‘n’ horny and like Meatloaf, it appeared I was all dressed up with no place to go. Janice on the other hand, was snoring like a God-damned chainsaw and I was left wondering what the heck to do with myself.

I tried unsuccessfully to wake Janice and in the end, I covered her over with a blanket and buggered off to bed. I was laying there, the feelings emanating from my pussy were hard to ignore and I had no alternative but to start without Janice.

It’s not worth giving a blow by blow account here, since I was pissed off and believe me it’s a really strange feeling to feel like that and horny at the same time. I brought myself off as quickly as I could (which as it turns out was about forty-five seconds) and went to sleep.

I was woken some time later as Janice got into bed.

She had managed to get undressed and snuggled in with me. I was just happy we didn’t do anything with the two blokes. Anyway, curled around one another, we drifted off to sleep,

---

The next morning, I got up for a wee.

“Arrrrrgh!!” I yelled.

“Wasssamatter?” mumbled Janice.

“Look!” I said. She opened her eyes and the next thing I know, she was bolt upright.

“That shouldn’t happen.” she said.

“You think?” I asked. “What am I going to do?”

“Fucked if I know.” she said and fell backwards onto the pillow, moaning loudly.

There was no way I could sleep. I went back into the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

Now, not only did I still have waist-length hair, I was also still sporting my or Candy’s mammalian protruberances, as Frank Zappa put it.

Now I was in the shit.

---

I was still studying the small print on the bottle of potion Janice had brought back on Friday when she finally made an appearance.

“You made it down here then?”

“Shhhhhhhh!” she shushed and looked a complete mess.

“There’s coffee in the jug.” I said and went back to the bottle.

Janice slumped in the chair opposite, her eyes barely even piss-holes in the snow. I felt sorry for her, but at the same time, I didn’t. I was far too busy worrying about my breasts.

I’d read the bottle over and over and nothing.

I was at a complete loss.

“Where you bought this, were you told anything?”

“Just to read the instructions.”

“Well, is this it?” I was referring of course to the ‘two droplets’ statement I had read. It seemed a bit too simple to be called instructions, more like directions.

“Oh. I think there was something else.”

“Hallelujah! Well do you think you can find it?”

“Later, can’t you see I’m suffering?”

“Suffering? You’ve got a bloody hangover. I’m in dead shit here. If I don’t get this cleared up, I can’t go to work.”

“Why?”

“Hello? Earth calling Janice, earth calling Janice. BOOBS you prize pillock!”

“Shhhhhh! Please. I have a headache.”

“Well I’ve got tits. My tits beat your headache. Now fetch.”

“You’re a miserable old fuck this morning aren’t you?” she said, stumbling around for her purse.

I declined to offer any further comment on her present state and in no time, her purse was emptied over the table. She grimaced at the noise then slowly began moving things around.

Without a word, her finger propelled a piece of paper across the table towards me. When she’s like this, even snails pace becomes an exaggeration.

I took the paper and unrolled it.

“Does exactly what it says on the label,
providing you do exactly what it says on the label.” I read.

That was helpful. Not!

“Blah, blah, blah - AHA!” I said scanning down a list of unintelligible ingredients

“Caution! May cause subtle side-effects:
In rare cases, some residual effects may linger.
If this happens, do not reuse until effects have ceased otherwise further side effects may ensue and become permanent.
Side effects may take up to fourteen days to dissipate.
Always read the label!”

“Bloody Hell!” I gasped.

“Shhh.”

“Oh fuck off.”

I was definitely up shit creek without the proverbial.

“I’ll have to phone work, tell them I’m ill or something,” I said thinking out loud.

“I’m dying.” said a small voice from the other side of the table.

“That’s your own fault.”

It dawned on me that the hairlessness may also have been a side effect. That would explain how I still have the hair and boobs. I should have realised, but in my haste to ring the bells thanks to not having to shave again, I should have realised that that was part of the transformation and that I should have returned to being a hairy man, just like before.

So then I’d got into another bath still under the influence of the side-effects and as a result, was now under the influence of further side effects; some, all or none of which may or may not remain permanently!

---

Janice and I avoided one another for the rest of the morning, as far as was possible and I sloped off to the garage to be alone with my thoughts.

I’d guess it was lunchtime when a much more alive and well-looking Janice came in quietly.

“You want anything to eat?” she asked. Her voice had all the hallmarks of a much longer sentence that started with “I’m sorry”.

“I suppose.”

“It might not be that bad, honey, I mean, it might all be gone by the morning.”

“That’s true.” I said, trying to think positively.

I walked back to the house, Janice holding my hand firmly. I felt like shit. I was blaming her for all the crap I was feeling now and really, it wasn’t her fault. I did love her and she did what she did because I asked her to.

We ate a small lunch of sandwiches and I wasn’t the best company.

“Jan?”

“What?”

“Would you still love me if this was permanent?”

“Of course.” She came round to my side of the table and wrapped her arms round me. “I’d love you any way you were.”

I felt better, much better.

We went to bed that night and Janice snuggled up to me, her hands wandering all over my body.

I could feel the tingling coming from my boobs, turning me on more and more.

I turned to face her and she reached down to my groin and started to massage my member. I was getting all sorts of feelings from it, but it didn’t harden.

She went down on me and while she was doing that, I began eating her, but after a couple of minutes, we realised that nothing was going to happen, not from that end anyway.

I cried myself to sleep as she held me.

---

The next morning, I awoke and the boobs, long hair and hairless body were still evident. I didn’t even have any re-growth round my crotch, on my legs or under my arms to let me know that things were on the mend.

I phoned work and told them that I wasn’t well and that I was going to see the doctor.

“Doctor?” enquired Janice.

“Well, I might be off for a fortnight and I’ll need him to sign me off. Plus there’s the other problem.”

“Ah.” she said, nodding knowingly.

She thought I was very brave and I didn’t like to tell her that I hadn’t gone yet. There were still six hours between now and when my appointment was. It was well long enough for me to back out, but I did go when the time came and Janice joined me. I wore a coat to try and mask the boobs, but I could do nothing to hide them completely. The stares were a little disconcerting.

“Ah, Mr. Jenkins.” said the doctor. “Haven’t we just seen you for the ‘Well man’ check up?”

“Yes. Last week.”

“So what seems to be the problem?”

“This.” I said and lifted my sweatshirt. The doctor’s eyes bulged and he spluttered a couple of times.

“My God, man. You’ve got huge ti- er, breasts!”

“I know and that’s not all.” I told him about the other ‘problem’.

“And this all came about how?” he enquired. I told him, obviously leaving out the sex scenes.

“Ah!” he said. “I’ve heard about this stuff. Damned dangerous messin’ with that stuff, if y’ask me. Shouldn’t mess with it.”

“Thanks.” I said depreciatingly.

“Yes, well. There’s nothing I can do old man.”

“What?” My eyebrows nearly shot off the top of my head. “Surely there’s something.”

“Not me. I’m a medical doctor, not a witch doctor.”

The doctor did sign me off for the fourteen days I needed to see whether I was going to return to normal, but it never happened. I retained the boobs, the hair and the hairlessness, but things did get better.

---

I returned to the doctor’s at the end of the fourteen days and we had a good long chat.

“I suppose it’s worth trying.” he said dubiously. “I wouldn’t, but then I wouldn’t have messed with the stuff in the first place.”

“I know.”

“If it all goes well, come and see me and I’ll get the paperwork changed.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

Well, that just about sums it up.

What did we do?

Well I’ve been taking baths almost daily; baths with the potion in that is and I’m now very nearly Candy full time. I suspect it will only take another couple of days to get there. Fortunately, the submissive thing is the only thing that wears off, (for which I am truly grateful) otherwise I would be in all sorts of brown smelly stuff now!

Janice is being very supportive, but I suspect a little more pleased than I had thought she’d be. I’m not sure about that, but the doctor has changed all the paperwork and I am now Candy Jenkins — female.

Fin

Christmas in the Cabin by the Lake

---

Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf on Tuesday 1-2-2007 at 6:25 am, this retro classic Christmas Special was pulled out of the closet, and re-presented for our newer readers. ~Sephrena
 

Author's Note: Hopefully, this won't be my last, but it probably will be for a while. Thanks all for your support and interest, but work (real work) beckons...

 
 

Andy Newmark, 35, bachelor and struggling author stepped out of the car and breathed deeply as the pine-scented, Monday afternoon air rushed at his nostrils. Mist was rising from the lake before him, shrouding the far end in ethereal mystery.

The scenery was stunning. From the car, parked to the right of the cabin, he could see down the sloping garden and across the huge, nameless body of water that covered acres, surrounded by evergreen trees. Sadly though, there were just fourteen days until Christmas and still no sign of snow.

Though the day was grey and cold, it did nothing to dampen Andy’s spirits as he hauled his suitcases and sundries from the boot of the car and took them across the gravel to the main cabin door, dropping them by his feet as he fished out the keys from his pockets to open up.

Inside, it was warm and welcoming and he took in the last of his possessions as the rain started to fall. Closing the door with a smile he went to the fireplace to build up the fire for the evening.

Sat in a comfortable chair in front of the cheery hearth with a steaming mug of coffee, Andy looked out over the lake at the rain-disturbed surface as tear-shaped droplets ran down the large French windows and daydreams overtook him with thoughts of the conversation that brought him to where he was...

He had delivered what he thought was a perfectly good manuscript to his friend and publisher Harvey Bloom some weeks previously and had followed that up a week after that with a visit.

It had not gone the way he thought it should.

He had expected to receive criticism, that was usual, but it was worse than that. Andy sat in front of Harvey’s desk, his slender frame dwarfed by the overstuffed chair, waiting for the ‘review’. Harvey hated it and tossed it negligently onto the desk explaining that it wasn’t fit to put anyone’s name to, let alone Andy’s.

“You’ve been writing professionally for how long? Five years? You’ve produced so much better.” he said.

It was hard love Harvey gave, pulling no punches and Andy didn’t take the news well.

“You’re trying too hard. Trying to force things and the flow’s not there.” said Harvey, seeing the state his friend was in. “You need to take a break.”

“I wish.” said Andy. “I just can’t afford to. I’m barely making ends meet as it is.”

“Use my cabin.” his friend replied. “You might as well. I don’t and it’ll be beautiful over Christmas.”

“I’d love to Harv’, but going away is just too expensive.” Harvey got up and sat on the corner of the desk opposite Andy.

“It’s not that expensive. Look, you’ll be getting the cabin free, so all you’ll need is expenses. Even you can stretch to that, can’t you?” Harvey said and beamed at Andy. “It’s an offer you can’t refuse and I don’t think you should even try. Go. Take a break. Christ, take a month; longer if you want. It’s quiet, secluded and has a view to die for. It could be the inspiration you need to get to that best seller. I know it’s in there somewhere.” he said tapping Andy’s head. “You’ve just got to let it out.”

Andy was brought back to the present as a log spat a glowing ember onto the floor at his feet, fizzling out almost immediately.

“A view to die for?” he said out loud, staring back at the view through the French windows. “You certainly got that right.”

The next day after a comfortable and restful night, Andy got his laptop out, plugged it into the mains and sat at a table he’d moved in front of the French windows. He stared out into the mists that once again rose from the lake’s dark waters and prepared to write.

By lunchtime, he’d written nothing.

By mid afternoon, the light outside was fading and still Andy found himself staring at a blank document.

“BLAST!” he shouted, clicked his laptop off and went to the fridge for some beer. That was that day gone.

The next day was the same and the one after that. By the fourth day, Andy had drunk himself into a stupor by late evening and had written nothing. In fact, everything he had written was swiftly erased, deleted and nothing but a blank document faced him on his computer screen.

The weekend was approaching and the weather had worsened. It was raining most of the time and the wind whipped through the trees. His trip into the local town for supplies was a case of running from his car to shops and staggering back as fast as he was able, getting wetter and wetter as the wind blew the rain almost horizontally across the roads.

Back at the cabin, his car full of purchases, he wrestled against the elements to get bag after bag inside and out of the weather.

Darkness fell early thanks to the heavy cloud cover and by about five in the evening after a hot bath, he was comforting himself in his dressing gown in front of the fire with a brandy, when a loud ‘CRACK!’ followed by a ‘FIZZ!’ was heard from just outside of the cabin as the lights went out.

The cabin was dotted with candles presumably for that very eventuality (Andy knew that Harvey wasn’t a particularly romantic person). He lit one and cupping his hand protectively around the guttering flame, sought out a torch. He made his way outside to find the electrical supply which was fixed in a box on the side of the cabin. Opening the door on the front, he peered around inside to see if he could see something obvious wrong.

There was a blinding flash and a roaring in his ears. His whole body stiffened and flew backwards through the air, slamming against the trunk of a tree some distance from the cabin.

---

He had no idea how long he was ‘out’, but when he awoke, he was in strange surroundings. There seemed to be a smell of perfume in the air; a perfume he didn’t recognise, though would find difficult — no, impossible to forget.

The door to the room was ajar and a weak sliver of light filtered through the gap. As he tried to move, he realised just how much he ached. The first time he tried to sit up, he passed out.

He awoke some time later with the smell of that same perfume strong in his nostrils and opened his eyes as a dark-haired woman dabbed his brow with a damp flannel.

“Where am I?” he asked weakly.

“You’re safe and well.” said the woman with a husky, sensuous voice. “Actually, you’re not so ‘well’, but you’re getting there.”

He almost berated himself for having used such a corny line to open with and nearly laughed out loud when the next question to filter into his befuddled mind was, “What happened?”

“I can only assume you were hit by a bolt of lightening.” she said gravely. “You’re lucky to be here.” she continued, applying the cold flannel to his brow. “I just happened to be passing when I saw the flash. You were lying unconscious on the wet ground so I brought you up here.”

He drifted back off to sleep as the woman continued to cool his brow and when he awoke, the silvery-grey light of daytime poked tentatively through the window. Once again, the woman was there.

She had a wonderful figure and her tight jeans accentuated the curve of her hips and that perfect bum. Her breasts weren’t large, but even the somewhat oversized and shapeless blouse couldn’t detract from her appeal. She was gorgeous and would have been even if she’d been draped in a tarpaulin.

“You decided to join us at last then?” she asked. Andy smiled ruefully, hoping she hadn’t noticed him staring at her and tried to sit up, but he still smarted in places he didn’t know could hurt and sank back down into the bed.

“H-how long have I been here?”

“Three days now. Seems that whatever happened knocked you for a six. It’s a good job I found you and brought you here. The road from town up beyond your cabin is impassable now. The river burst its banks the evening you were struck and by now, your cabin will be under about four feet of water. I managed to make it up over the bridge past the river when I got you, but it was a close call. Nothing else is going to get through and it could stay that way for days, maybe a week.” She smoothed the duvet and sat on the bed beside him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better.” he replied weakly.

“Well, there was nothing broken that I could see, so you should be up and about soon.” she said. “And since you’re going to be my guest, perhaps we ought to introduce ourselves. I’m Sarah McKenzie.”

“Andy, er, Andrew Newmark.” he said smiling. They shook hands.

It wasn’t until she left the room that Andy realised he was naked under the duvet. She must have undressed him before she put him into bed, forgetting that he had only been wearing a dressing gown at the time of the accident. He went very red at the thought of being seen by her in nothing but his birthday suit.

---

Thanks to Sarah’s ministrations, Andy was much better within a couple of days, though the aches and stiff joints would have to be ‘worked’ out.

“It’d be nice if I could get up now.” he told her.

“Ah, there’s a slight problem there.” she replied.

“Which is?”

“You don’t have anything to wear.”

“What about what I was wearing?”

“What, that silly little dressing gown? It was pretty well buggered when you got hit by that lightening bolt.”

“What the hell happened?”

“Like I said, you got hit by lightening during the storm.” she said. “You’re lucky to be alive at all. Fortunately for you, it was only your dressing gown that didn’t survive.”

“Doesn’t seem that I can get out of bed then does it?”

“Oh no, you’re not getting out of it that easily. You’ll have to wear some of my stuff. I should have something that’ll fit you.”

“You’re having a laugh.”

“I’m serious. You can’t stay in bed. There are things to do and I would appreciate some help doing them until you can get back into your cabin.”

“But, I can’t wear girl’s clothes.”

“Why not? Who’s going to see? There’s only me and you and hopefully it’ll only be jeans and underwear anyway.”

“That’s more than enough isn’t it?” he muttered and trembled as she bustled out of the room in a very business-like fashion.

Was she serious?

Did she really expect him to wear her clothes?

Would they fit?

What would he look like?

He didn’t have long to wait. Sarah was back in no time with an armful of clothes.

“You’re bloody serious!” he said incredulously.

“Of course.” she said smiling sweetly and handed him a pair of ladies briefs.

Andy grabbed the cotton briefs and giving Sarah a stern look, pulled them on under the bedclothes, grimacing all the while partly due to the residual discomfort and partly due to the fact she had no intention of leaving the room while he dressed. Sarah on the other hand found it all very amusing.

Still very much embarrassed, Andy slipped out from under the duvet.

“Er, you might want to put those on the other way round.” she said looking at his crotch.

“Have I got them on inside out?”

“Back to front actually — nice!” she said as he twisted to see the cheeks of his bum poking out either side of the narrow panel, which should have been at the front and was riding up between the cheeks of his bum.

You could have fried eggs on his crimson face and he quickly slipped back into the bed to rectify the situation, peeking frequently to make sure he was putting his legs through the right holes and had the orientation correct. Sarah meanwhile was laughing out loud at his attempts to do flips and twists to get into her underwear.

The attempt was made doubly difficult as the front panel of the briefs was, as the name suggested, brief. Compared to the back, there was far less to scoop his personables into and this took longer than he had expected. First he slipped out of one side, then the other and then the fact that he was putting on a pair of ladies briefs hit him and he had a harder problem to deal with — much harder.

With his hands over his nether regions, he slid back from under the duvet as Sarah was wiping tears from her face.

“It’s not funny.” he said pugnaciously.

“It is from this side.” she said, giggling. “Anyway, it’s not like you’ve got something I haven’t seen before.”

“Yes I have. It’s mine and you definitely haven’t seen that before.”

“Haven’t I?” she asked, one eyebrow rising dangerously.

He went beetroot again, realising that yes, she had seen him in the altogether.

“Ah.” he said.

She handed him a pair of worn but perfectly serviceable jeans, but as much as he struggled, he couldn’t get them done up and gave up after it was clear they weren’t going to fit.

“Try this.” she said and handed him a mid-length denim skirt. “I was a bit narrower when I used to wear the jeans, perhaps this will be more your size.”

“I can’t wear this.” he said immediately.

“It’s that or wandering around in knickers and much as I like the thought, I don’t see it as particularly practical or warm.”

He pulled it up and did it up around the waist, muttering all the while about things to do with indignities and what was ‘appropriate’. It was a touch tight, but it was fortunate he was as skinny as he was. A plain blouse went on last of all.

Standing there in her clothes, he didn’t feel as out of place as he’d imagined. True it wasn’t an outfit that was naturally matched to his gender, but it was in no way uncomfortable. In fact, the reverse was probably true, with the exception that it was now pretty breezy around the soft bits, well the softening bits anyway.

“It’s alright, but it lacks something.” she said and left the room.

When she returned, she was carrying a bra and some tissue paper.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“Well, you don’t look right at the moment.”

“Of course I don’t. I’m a man in women’s clothes for Christ’s sake. What did you expect?”

“You can look better. Take it off.”

“What? All of it?”

“No silly, just the blouse.” He removed the blouse and she slipped the bra around his waist. The feeling of her touching his bare skin while he stood there in a skirt and her knickers, her body so close with the smell of her perfume, was sending him into a bit of a trance.

“Slip your arms in.”

Lifting his arms, she guided them into the straps, then pushed a couple of balls of tissue paper into each cup and held the blouse out for him to slip his arms into the sleeves.

He pushed one arm through, then turned to get the other in and met her face to face, their noses barely an inch apart.

He froze, wondering whether he should kiss her, smelling her fragrance filling his nostrils. He moved forward and touched his lips to hers; soft, full, inviting.

She pulled on the blouse, jerking him even closer to her and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him soundly and the longer it lasted, the more the passion rose in both of them, or in his case, as far as it could given the obvious constrictions.

She pulled away suddenly, leaving Andy stood, lips puckered and eyes closed.

“This is wrong.” she said, somewhat breathlessly.

“Why?” he asked, opening his eyes.

“It just is.” she replied and bent down to pick up the sandals she’d dropped on the floor. “Try these.”

Andy was bemused not knowing if he had done something wrong. Whatever, he felt a definite spark there and a noticeable ache in the fork.

He tried the sandals that had a very small heel and since they seemed to fit well enough, they left it at that and he followed her downstairs.

The first thing that struck him was the fact that the clothes he was wearing felt so good and made him feel good too. He had to confess to being less disturbed than he thought he’d be by what he was doing. He was in a strange woman’s cabin, well a woman he barely knew, wearing her clothes and actually feeling comfortable about it to boot.

The skirt touched him in a way that trousers never did as he moved and it was strangely intoxicating, feeling the freedom around the legs. The lightness of the underwear that seemed to caress him into place rather than strap him into the usual armour-plated prison he was accustomed to.

The effect went deeper though and he found himself changing his behaviour to try to be closer to that of a woman. Some of it was on an unconscious level, reinforced by the gentle constraints of the bra, the light feminine touch of the briefs and the smoothness of the blouse, whilst in other ways, it just seemed appropriate.

“See. It’s not so bad is it?” she asked him, noticing with a note of both amusement and no small amount of smugness too, that he wasn’t complaining about what he was wearing.

The next day, she brought him clean clothes and this time, he didn’t make any fuss about being dressed in a skirt and blouse, although he did get a tad turgid around the jollicals when putting on the knickers, which were pale lavender coloured and more difficult to keep within the confines of due to there being less of them than those he had been wearing the day before.

Again Sarah helped him with the bra. He had tried, but seemed to make a complete pigs-ear of it, so she stepped in and as happened the last time, he found himself almost nose to nose with her and okay, he hardly knew her, but knew he wanted to get to know her a lot better. He tried for a kiss, but this time, she turned away.

Day three since he regained consciousness was the best day weather-wise that they had had in the last fortnight. It was bright and the sun even made an attempt to come out once or twice. There wasn’t a lot that could be done outside as it was still really squishy underfoot, but there was a need to replenish the logs indoors for the fire and Andy was prime target for axe-wielding duties.

In a pale green cotton blouse and bottle-green corduroy skirt, Andy began chopping the wood and after some forty-five minutes of swinging the long-handled axe, he figured there would be enough to last a couple of lifetimes.

“Thanks.” she said. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I think that job has already fallen to you.” he said smiling and leant forward and they kissed long and hard.

“You know, you do look very sexy in a skirt and I think it suits you, despite what you may think.” she said.

“Do you really think so?”

“Not many! It’s like having a girlfriend — with an added bonus, especially knowing what’s in my knickers.” she told him.

“I see. I never had you pegged for one who would like an effeminate man, but well, well, well.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh no?”

“No! I don’t see you as effeminate at all” she said adamantly. It was Andy’s turn this time to raise an eyebrow, wondering how he could be viewed as masculine in his current ensemble.

“Well, not really.” she added after a moments thought. “Maybe.” she said finally, adding a wicked little grin which caused them to laugh and Andy to chase her into the cabin.

He grabbed her, spun her round and glued his lips to hers. They kissed again, but it didn’t last as she pushed him away.

“You smell bad. You need a bath!” she said. “You go and get on with it and I’ll put some fresh clothes out for you.”

He went into the bathroom muttering about smelling when it was SHE that started it and SHE who had given him the wood-chopping duties.

She walked unashamedly into the bathroom with an armful of fresh clothing as he was undressing and he nearly broke bones trying to cover his privates. She giggled and left him red-faced, looking like a cartoon character on a saucy seaside postcard.

He scrubbed himself clean using her soaps and her shampoo, noticing the definitely feminine scent that they gave off. He sniffed deeply, thinking about how nice they smelt. His eyes went to the pile of clean clothes on top of the laundry basket where a shiny-looking pair of the briefest briefs in red with a scalloped lacy edging lay topmost on the pile and the earlier conversations came back to him…

“…you might as well look right …it’s like having a girlfriend, with an added bonus…” He looked down his body and saw the fine but unmistakeable hair that covered his legs and torso.

“If she wants me to look right…” he said to himself.

It had been three full days of dressing and to a lesser degree acting like a female and as he looked at his hirsute body he knew what was required. After shaving his face and with trembling hand, he began removing his body hair.

It took much longer than he thought. He never realised how many square miles of hairy skin he had and how difficult it would be to shave it off, as the razor kept clogging. It seemed to last forever and as much as he removed, it seemed as though there was still just as much left to do.

All in all, it took nearly forty-five minutes and Sarah was nearly hoarse trying to get him to come out of the bathroom.

He started getting dressed and was surprised by her choice of underwear. Impossible but true, the knickers were even skimpier than those he had been wearing and it was only possible to contain himself by tucking himself back between his legs, but when he finally looked in the mirror at the red satin-like material surrounded by smooth, hairless skin and flat front, instead of the manly bulge, he got a rather unexpected thrill.

The skirt she had given him this time was shorter too, falling to just above the knee and looking at his smooth calves, he knew he had made the right decision. The feeling too, was making his manliness somewhat uncomfortable in the tight confines, getting more noticeable by the second as the hem of the skirt swished this way and that against his more sensitive legs.

He finally managed to master the bra and finished off with a short-sleeved blouse Sarah had left. His hair he brushed into a spiky sort of style, which in his opinion was about as close to feminine as he could get without a wig and apart from the lack of makeup, he felt he looked quite the part, quite the young woman.

He left the bathroom after cleaning what looked like a Wilton carpet out of the bath and headed downstairs, marvelling at the feelings that were accosting his senses by the truckload.

She noticed almost immediately and her eyes went wide.

“You said I needed to look the part.” he said by way of an explanation.

“You certainly do now.” she said advancing on him, running her hands over his smooth arms and unbuttoning the blouse. She pulled each side of the blouse to one side, exposing his hairless chest, the bra rising and falling with his increased breathing rate.

“My heavens!” she said in a hoarse whisper, running he hands over him. “Is it all like that?”

“You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” he said and took her by the hand leading her towards the bedroom where one thing led to another and the next thing they knew, they were at it like a couple of rabbits.

---

Laying there in the afterglow, Sarah asked what he was doing up at the cabin.

“Christmas break.” he answered simply. “My publisher sort of forced me into it.”

“Well, I’m glad he did.”

“So am I. What about you?”

“I live here. I’m not really interested in the hustle and bustle of city living, so I decided to get out of the rat race. I more or less support myself. It can be hard at times, but mostly it’s quiet and tranquil. The quality of life up here is so much better I think.”

“I envy you. This has been my dream for years, but I never seem to have to money to do it. It’s crazy. You need to have money in order to live without it. It doesn’t seem right.” he said.

“Why don’t you spend Christmas here, if you can that is?”

“Are you sure? You hardly know me.”

“I know you well enough to have slept with you.”

“It was hardly ‘sleeping’ now was it?” he stated, grinning and she giggled.

“No, not really, but there’s still time.” she said.

---

It was decided. He would spend Christmas with this beautiful angel.

They went to visit Harvey’s cabin and discovered that the road was still flooded. They had to leave Sarah’s truck about half a mile up the road and entry to the cabin itself was through water that came up past their knees.

Some items were floating, bobbing about on the surface of the cold water, while other things had clearly sunk. Much to Andy’s chagrin, there appeared to be no sign of his laptop and locating his clothing seemed like a lost cause.

“Looks like you’ll have to stay en-femme.”

“What?”

“Dressed in my things, er, as a woman. At least for the time being.”

That was the first time it hit him. The dressing up was something he found he enjoyed about being with Sarah — aside from Sarah herself that was. It had been less than a week, but he found that he had actually stopped even thinking about the fact he was dressing in her clothes; dressing femininely, or acting in a feminine manner.

“That’s okay.” he said with a shrug.

“You’re getting into it aren’t you.” she asked.

He blushed. “I suppose I am, but it doesn’t seem unnatural with you. I don’t suppose I could do it back where I live. I’d probably get grief all the time for a start. I guess there’s no-one here to do that is there?”

“See. Living out here does have its plus points.”

“I suppose.” he said and added “Aside from losing all my clothes and my laptop. Shit!”

“You haven’t lost you clothes. They’re just ‘unavailable’ at the moment.”

“No but I have lost the means to write.”

“Does that mean I get you all to myself?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at him. His stern face softened ending in a broad grin.

“Yes. Yes it does! I can’t call it a holiday if I’m doing what I would normally do all the time can I?”

“Good! Come on then. Let’s go and get some coffee. This place needs to empty out anyway before we can get round to sorting it out.”

They returned to her cabin and spent the lead-up to Christmas being like a domesticated couple.

She made mince pies and he put up decorations. The rest of the time they spent cuddled up before the fire talking or playing games, oh, or in bed!

When Christmas Eve arrived, they had a decorated tree, tinsel, holly and of course Mistletoe, which each of them spent far too much time chasing the other with and laughing heartily, before and after the kisses or whatever else the mistletoe led to.

They were like a couple of school children, with butterflies in their stomachs, waiting for the big day, even though neither had a present for the other and the only things under the Christmas tree were the mince pies, that combined their cinnamon and allspice smell with that of the small spruce that Andy cut to stand in the lounge.

It was perfect.

On the night of Christmas Eve, they went to bed as a couple and Andy was over the moon that he had been given the opportunity to come out to Harvey’s cabin and have the best two weeks of his life with a woman he couldn’t have dreamt of if he tried.

Never mind holidays, this Christmas ranked at the top of the ‘all-time best’ Christmas list too. Having the chance to spend time with such an extraordinary woman in such idyllic surroundings (despite the flood, being struck by lightening and losing his laptop) and to discover the joys of simple pleasures was just the best.

It had also been a voyage of discovery for him. He found delight in things he never thought he would and as far as the cross-dressing was concerned, that was just one of the best things ever. It had changed the whole concept of sex, putting things on an even keel. He spent just as long getting ready for her as she did for him.

Undressing each other, right down past the underwear, was something he would find hard to forget although he was already trying to think of alternative methods of losing his body hair as shaving seemed to take forever and Sarah was quite forthright about him keeping his skin smooth and not feeling like a scouring pad.

---

Andy awoke Christmas Day to find himself alone and disorientated in a bed that wasn’t the one he started in. Images of Sarah, her cabin, skirts, briefs and blouses flashed through his mind momentarily, as his dream-world of the unconscious melted away, leaving him grasping at memories that slipped through his fingers like smoke.

The door opened. “Ah, Mr. Newmark.” said an unfamiliar voice. “You decided to join us at last then?”

Those words sounded oddly familiar.

“I’m Doctor Lovelock.” he said, peering at him through half-moon glasses whilst taking his pulse.

“Where am I?” asked Andy.

“This is St. Mary’s Hospital. You’ve been comatose for about three days now. We weren’t sure you’d come around, but here you are.” said the doctor, checking things off on the chart. “Just in time for Christmas it seems!”

“Comatose? What happened?”

“There’s evidence you were struck by lightening in the storm a few nights ago. I should imagine you’ll feel a bit sore for a few days maybe as long as a couple of weeks, but you’ll live.” said the doctor. “I have to say, you appear to have healed remarkably quickly despite your injuries.”

By the time doctor Lovelock left him, the memories of the last two weeks at the other cabin, as so often happens with dreams, had washed completely from his mind and he was confused at the feeling of loss that had lingered even after the images were gone.

For two further days, they kept Andy in hospital for observation and on the third he couldn’t wait to get out of there. Even if he didn’t do anything and just rested as the doctors had suggested, the cabin offered better distractions and a cold beer sounded like pure nectar.

One thing that he found strange was the fact that his legs felt hairy and itched as though he wasn’t used to it, a feeling that also manifested when he scratched under his arm. He just wasn’t expecting there to be any hair there and he couldn’t work out why.

He was taken straight home from the hospital on the afternoon of the fourth day in a taxi and in a borrowed dressing gown. It should have been the morning, but in true hospital fashion, they seemed incapable of letting people go on time, which may explain why there are so few available beds. Anyway, away he went, back to the cabin, ordered to take it easy at least for the next few days.

With the taxi-driver paid and himself dressed (which for some reason felt oddly uncomfortable), Andy’s first inclination was for that cold beer and upon opening the refrigerator, he was hit by a wall of bad smells.

Everything seemed to be wearing furry green overcoats and he discovered that nearly all of the food he had bought on his previous outing had spoiled, needed to be replaced due to the power outage.

He remembered that he was supposed to be resting and that driving wasn’t one of the things that the doctor had put on his list of things to do, but what else was he to do? He couldn’t stay in the cabin without food could he?

As far as the power was concerned, it was a simple blown fuse and after replacing that, he drove to the local grocery store and bought heaps of stuff he thought he might want for over the Christmas period. He spent more money than he meant to, but having already shelled out a small fortune on the taxi, he was beyond caring.

It turned out that he was just in time, as the shop was about to close for the night and armed with a chicken and some fresh(ish) vegetables, drinks, sweets, sliced meats, snacks and other assorted nick-knacks, he left the store and started back to the cabin.

On the way, he noticed an old pick-up truck that was pulled up at the side of the road, its bonnet up and copious quantities of steam poured from the radiator into the headlight beams.

Slowing down, he noticed a woman who was stamping her feet, kicking its tyres and cursing at the vehicle, which didn’t seem to be responding to her in any way. After a particularly vicious kick to the hub-cap, the lights blinked and went out.

“Can I help?” he asked pleasantly. The woman eyed him warily through the open window as he made no attempt to get out of his car.

“You’re not going to offer to have a look?” she asked.

“What me? You’re joking. I don’t know anything about them. As far as I’m concerned, fixing them is up there with Pythagoras and his hippopotanuses! I’ll happily give you a lift though.”

She couldn’t help laughing and hopped into the car.

“Where to madam?”

“Well I was heading for the shops.”

“Uh-huh. They were closing up as I left I’m afraid.”

“Shit!” she exclaimed. “I knew I should have gone earlier.”

There was a smell of perfume permeating the interior of the car that seemed to stir something within him; memories, though he had no idea from where. In addition, it suddenly felt wrong to be spending Christmas alone.

He took a deep breath and said “I’d be happy to share.”

“What?”

“I have a boot-full of things for me, but I’m sure it’ll stretch to both of us.”

“I couldn’t…” she said, but Andy just put the car into first and headed up the lane.

She wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as she thought she’d be and before she knew it, she was giving Andy directions to her cabin, which was further up the lane from Harvey’s, though in the dark, Andy didn’t seem to notice.

“I suppose it would only be fair to introduce myself.” he said looking at her in the near blackness of interior. “I’m Andy, er, Andrew Newmark.” There was a ‘DING!’ of recognition as if he’d said very thing that before.

“Emma.” she said then yelled “WATCH OUT!” and Andy snapped his head round looking out of the window as the car was veering off the road and heading along a grassy verge. The car swerved a couple of times as he regained control.

“Oops!”

Somewhat shaken, but nevertheless still in one piece, they got out of the car and proceeded to get Andy’s purchases into the cabin.

The cabin seemed familiar, but Andy didn’t pay too much attention, he figured that maybe there was little difference between the cabins along the shores of the lake.

The thing that did seem to have a profound effect was every time Emma was in the room, he was filled with a haunting sense of déjá  vu; the perfume affecting him on almost a spiritual level. It was starting to get to him; a tantalising memory that was almost there then gone.

“You’re a life-saver.” she said as she started to unload the bags of groceries. There was another silent ‘DING!’ in Andy’s head. Another one of those ‘heard before’ lines or the sense that he had been in this very cabin before, sensations that were starting to come thick and fast.

They sat together on a small cottage-style two-seater settee in front of the fire. The only seat on the cabin apart from a straight-backed wooden chair that wasn’t comfortable at the best of times. They drank a few beers and watched Emma’s portable television, a luxury that wasn’t available to Andy in Harvey’s cabin.

The picture started to break up as a drumming noise started to become more and more apparent above them.

“What the hell…?” he asked, looking up at the ceiling.

“It’s just the rain.” replied Emma, getting closer as a loud thunder-crack boomed overhead.

The rain increased and soon they were sitting trying to watch a television picture that more closely resembled a black and white cat in a snowstorm on a dark night, than a television programme.

“They said there’d be heavy rain on the forecast earlier. Didn’t you hear that?”

“I haven’t had access to a television, so no. I had no idea.”

“Last time there was rain like this, the river down the road burst its banks and there was an almighty flood. Nothing got through and it took over a week to clear.”

The ‘DING!’ sounded once again silently in Andy’s head as the drumming got louder.

Thunder was accompanied by lightening and Emma was getting tense, moving almost unconsciously towards Andy with every boom or flash. The drumming on the roof was so loud that it drowned out even their thoughts and the television had long since been turned off.

“Would you stay here tonight?” she asked in a small voice. “I don’t think I want to be here on my own.” Andy looked at her, her face pale as first a flash of lightening lit the room through the curtains followed by the boom of thunder that shook the place to its very foundations.

He didn’t want to tell her how uneasy he was feeling, the thoughts that he had just spent several days in hospital due to having been struck by lightening. He didn’t want to tell her that he didn’t want to be on his own either and he REALLY didn’t want to tell her that he was very literally scared.

“Okay.” he said and the look of relief on her face was obvious.

---

He slept on a makeshift bed on the lounge floor and woke up early the next morning cold and sore, though much of that was due to the residual aches and pains from his ‘accident’ a few days before.

Unsurprisingly, it was still raining and it had got much colder as the wind whistled through the trees and around the cabin. The fire had burnt itself out the night before and there was next to no wood piled by the side of the fire.

Having dressed, he went to the kitchen and put some coffee on, then used the back door to go to the woodshed and grab some split logs. He was half way through the door before he realised that he instinctively knew it was there, that he knew that there would (or should) be logs in there. There wasn’t a woodshed at Harvey’s cabin, so how did he know about this one?

The wind was blowing a freezing north-easterly chill into the cabin as he stood there with the door open. Shaking his head in a vain attempt to rattle out the confusion, he stepped outside and closed the door behind him, slithering around in the sodden earth between the cabin and the shed.

Moments later, he emerged with a large armful of logs and was just about to open the cabin door when he slid and landed flat out on his back in the mud. It took four attempts to get back up and by the time he was vertical again, he was covered from head to toe in very sticky, wet mud, front, back and sides.

The sound of laughter didn’t impress him much either. Emma was standing in the doorway a smile that nearly went from ear to ear.

“It’s not funny.” he said pugnaciously and she just doubled up with laughter again as another ‘DING!’ sounded loudly in his head. Her laughter was so infectious, that he quite forgot his dilemma and started laughing too and behind the face of the woman in front of him, he could see a face that he recognised.

Sort of just behind the features of the beautiful face of his hostess, was another not unlike hers, but different enough to notice. In the eyes there was sadness, but joy at the same time. It was difficult to know that was the case, but Andy could feel it, he just didn’t understand it. Before it faded, the face seemed to mouth something. Was it “goodbye”?

“It is funny, but we’re going to have to get you out of those clothes.”

“And into what?” he asked, blinking and shrugging the vision from his mind.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure I’ll think of something. In the meantime, get out of those wet things, shower off that mud and put this on. I’ll not have you dripping that stuff all over the cabin.” she said, handing him a pale-yellow towelling dressing gown. “You go and get on with it and I’ll put some fresh clothes out for you.”

‘DING!’

There was something going on here, something very familiar he thought. Not all of it, but a lot of it was starting to ring bells in his head. He couldn’t escape that feeling of déjá  vu and it almost scared him that other face in Emma’s.

There was something else too; the perfume. Where had he encountered that before?

He stood in the shower as bits of mud and general detritus slithered down his body into the bath, thinking about the last week and where it had gone. It felt like it had lasted much longer and whose was the face he had seen?

Andy switched off the shower and stepped out of the bath, drying himself and pulling on the dressing gown. Before he left the bathroom, he looked into the bath and saw something that looked like a carpet on the bottom of the tub.

‘DING!’ went that little bell again and he shuddered. What was going on here?

He padded barefoot into the lounge and sat down on the settee, his eyes focussed on nothing, staring blankly into space and his head awash with part visions, part memories and the feeling that whatever was happening wasn’t over yet.

“I don’t know that I have anything of mine that will fit, but I did find these.” called Emma from the bedroom. “They’re not meant for you, but I can’t see an alternative until you stuff is clean and dry.” she said as she walked to the lounge. “They belonged to my Aunt Sarah, but they look as though they’ll fit you.”

‘DING!’ That little bell in his head went off and suddenly, the whole episode with Sarah came back into his head. Perhaps it was the mention of her name or maybe it was the culmination of all those snippets he felt he’d heard or seen before, but there it was, right in the forefront of his mind, live and in colour.

He wondered whether or not he should tell Emma about Sarah, but if he did, would she believe him? The phone rang before he had a chance to make up his mind anyway.

“That bad?” she said down the phone. “Past the bridge… Uh-huh… Impassable? I see… Okay, thanks for that.”

Emma sat in front of him on the wooden chair.

“I have some bad news.” she said. “It looks as though the river flooded last night and everything below the bridge is under water.”

‘DING!’ went that bell one more time and Andy knew what was coming.

“The authorities have suggested that we stay put as they don’t foresee the water level receding for the next few days, so it looks like you’ll be spending Christmas here.”

Andy was able to put Sarah’s name to the other face he saw on Emma’s and somehow he started to understand as he sat, his blank expression replaced with a smile. He looked at the woman before him and wondered just how much of his dream would be repeated — so much already had and as if to answer that unasked question, she handed him a bottle-green corduroy skirt and a pale green cotton blouse.

THE END.

Notes:

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Dawn Rising

 © 2011 Nick B

This is a work of complete fiction. Please don’t think it’s ever going to happen to you.

---

Philip's life with Brenda had not turned out the way he had expected, but he'd made a promise

“Philip?!” she shouted. “Philip? Where are you?”

“Coming, dearest,” the small man replied.

Philip raced as fast as his legs would carry him out on to the patio where, spread out on a sun lounger was Philip’s wife, Brenda. Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed as he approached.

“Where have you been?” she demanded. “I had to call twice and you know how I can’t be kept waiting.”

“No, dear,” Philip replied obsequiously. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I was–”

“Never mind that now. It’s eleven-thirty, time for my drink–or had you forgotten?” she said, her face becoming more shrewish as she waved him away with an almost negligible flick of her fingers.

Philip was almost bowing as he backed away with an, “At once, dearest”.

“I should think so,” said Brenda, as she picked up her Barbara Cartland and rearranged her massive form to best fit the straining sun lounger.

“How could I have been so stupid?” Philip muttered as he ran full-tilt into the kitchen, quickly snatching the kettle from its base and filling it with water–not too much mind; no sense in over-filling it and wasting energy–or time.

He looked at the small bag before placing it in the cup, with its little piece of string and tag displaying its contents. In this particular instance, it was some fruit concoction.

“Don’t know why she can’t just stick to some good old ‘English Breakfast’ tea,” he muttered. “Proper tea, not this stupid bloody herbal nonsense. It’s not tea at all. It’s just a con.”

With a loud ‘click’ the kettle switched itself off and once the water had ceased bubbling, Philip carefully poured in the water, stirred once then picked up the little china cup and saucer to take it through into the garden and Brenda.

“How can she drink this? It smells disgusting.”

Philip trembled as he approached his wife, the tea cup rattling slightly as he placed it on the table beside her.

“It’s about time. You know, it’s eleven thirty-eight. I should have had this nearly ten minutes ago.” She placed her book on the wrought iron table beside her and regarded her husband with a level gaze.

“I don’t think you care,” she accused. “Here I am at death’s door and you can’t even keep to a schedule. You know how important it is to keep to a strict schedule.”

“Sorry,” he replied, his head bowed. “It’s just that I was–”

“Yes well I expect you thought that whatever it was you were doing was more important than my health.”

“That’s not true at all, my sweet,” he began.

“Don’t you ‘my sweet’ me,” she said, picked up her book and completely ignored him.

Philip returned to the house, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his head bowed and his eyes moist.

He knew that her behaviour was nothing to do with her failing health, which although not being hindered, it was not being helped by the faddish herbal infusions she seemed so intent upon drinking. What she needed was to stop lying around all day, but was she going to listen? She wouldn’t listen to the doctor’s advice, so it was highly unlikely she’d listen to his.

She was massively overweight and she knew it.

“It’s glandular,” she’d asserted, but the doctor had told both of them in no uncertain terms it wasn’t. He’d also told her categorically to cut down on high fat content foods and whilst Philip had tried to keep her on a strict diet, he’d never managed to get it off the ground.

“What the hell’s this,” she’d demanded. “I’m not eating that rubbish. I wouldn’t even give it to a rabbit.”

To appease the doctor, she gave up having milk in tea–in fact, she’d given up tea entirely in favour of the herbal concoctions she insisted on.

“To help reduce cholesterol,” she explained, smiling.

However, she continued to pile butter on her toast, had three servings of full-fat ice cream a day and chocolate because, “It’s my only vice.”

Philip had attempted to replace her normal ice cream for some less fatty–though no less expensive–variety, but she saw through it. He tried to substitute butter for that stuff no-one can believe wasn’t butter, but somehow, she knew it wasn’t and demanded he replace “that muck” immediately.Worse, when he cut off her chocolate supply, anyone would have thought he’d tried to murder her.

Finally and despite all forms of reasoning, she flatly refused to exercise–in any form.

“The doctor also told me to get plenty of fresh air,” she said. “That’s my compromise.”

Both the doctor and Philip had tried everything they knew to get her back on a healthier path. Even taking her to a convalescent home where her diet could be strictly monitored didn’t work. Before the end of the first meal, they’d phoned and demanded she be removed for fear of permanent damage to the staff and other ‘guests’.

Where did it all go so horribly wrong?

She and Philip shared many interests in the beginning, not least of which was the rambling; taking picnics in the countryside and enjoying days out in the fresh air. However, there was one thing he didn’t share with her: The fact that he was convinced he should have been born a girl.

This was something he discovered very early on when he and his little sister, Rebecca played dress up. They spent hours pretending to be fairies or princesses or even fairy princesses and there was nothing he liked better than to see himself in a pretty party dress or fairy wings. However it wasn’t something he grew out of. In fact, it was something that became more consuming. That was until he met Brenda.

In those days, gender and sexuality were not as clearly defined as they are today and the fact that he loved Brenda with all his heart made the idea that he should also want to be a woman rather difficult to swallow. He therefore made the decision that she would never know about that side of him; that he would never succumb to the temptation of wearing women’s clothes or pursuing that element of his nature. In fact, he promised.

Those early years were the best he could have dreamed of and it was clear that they were two souls very much in love. She had such a joie de vivre, but after the miscarriage of their child, she began putting on weight and with that came a space between them that nothing seemed capable of bridging. Sex disappeared to become something that could only be described as a fond memory. Five years later, they began sleeping in separate beds and later in separate rooms.

Seeing the love of his life change so, made him question his choices. It’s only natural that when something goes so horribly wrong, one begins wondering whether ‘the other choice’ would have been better; a real case of the grass being greener on the other side, but he had promised and a promise as far as he was concerned was for life. ‘Till death do us part’ meant something to Philip.

He tried to put his best foot forward, but no matter how much he tried to convince his beloved Brenda that things could be different; could be better, nothing changed. In fact, as time wore on, she worsened in both her health and her attitude. Nothing either Philip or a succession of doctors tried had any impact on her whatsoever.

***** *** *****

Brenda’s weight increased, as did her size. She’d long since left the pretty clothing behind in favour of more comfortable ‘utilitarian’ sweat pants and oversized t-shirts or sweatshirts and in an effort to make her feel more like her old self, Philip suggested she wear something ‘nice’, but after unsuccessfully attempting to don a particular blouse only to find she couldn’t even get her arms into the garment, she flew into a rage and took all her clothes from the wardrobe and chest of drawers.

“Doesn’t look as though I’ll be needing those anymore,” she stated, ordering Philip to, “Get rid of them”.

“But Brenda,” he reasoned. “If you’d just try and follow the doctor’s suggestions, you’ll lose the weight and–”

However, she would not hear of it and watched with emotionless eyes as Philip gathered up her entire wardrobe–save the numerous plain grey sweats–and consigned it all to black bin-liners. It was an emotional moment and maybe the precise moment that signified that the change in her was irrevocable.

If it was hard for Brenda, it must have been doubly hard for Philip. He had sacrificed something within him for his beloved Brenda’s happiness. Being presented with bag after bag of clothing, some of which had been unworn, whilst most had seldom been worn was a huge temptation.

Dutifully he took the bags away, but they went no further than his bedroom; not because he anticipated her changing her mind, but because he couldn’t resist and after going through all of it, he was able to squirrel most of the items away into his wardrobe and chest of drawers.

Although he would have been perfectly safe, perfectly at liberty to indulgehimself with a trip into femininity in his own room, he’d made a promise and intended not to break that promise.

He already felt as though he was breaking his promise by keeping all her clothes in the first place, but although he regularly took items out and laid them on the bed ready to wear in the privacy of his room, he never managed to summon up the courage to actually put any of them on. He would simply look at them and sigh once or maybe twice while handling the soft undergarments, the brightly-coloured skirts and dresses or the silky nightwear, before returning them to their drawers and hangers.

***** *** *****

Having taken the herbal infusion to Brenda, he walked into his bedroom and regarded the lingerie, skirt and blouse that had been neatly laid out on the bed. However, once again, he refused to break that promise and simply ran his hand over the fabric of each garment before sighing and returning them to the drawer or hanger from whence they came.

He sat on the edge of the bed, tears beginning to form in his eyes as the sobbing began. For the longest time, he wondered how much longer he could maintain the pretence, the lie. He’d never once broken the promise he’d made, but as time had drifted by and Brenda had become less and less approachable, he began wondering whether keeping that promise would be possible.

For years–decades even–he’d maintained his faithfulness, not only to Brenda but to his promise and had seemingly received nothing in return; nothing that amounted to much more than a slap in the face. Maybe it had taken him several decades to come to the conclusion that he needed something for himself and it scared him that it was only a matter of time before he finally succumbed to the call.

“Philip?!”

The voice was shrill, urgent

He ignored it. This was important to him; important for him to get to grips with what was whilst deciding what will be.

Something strange caught his attention.

Had it been a sound?

No.

There had been no sound whatsoever and that’s what caught his attention. Several seconds had passed since Brenda had called out his name and she should have called again, but there had been nothing.

He rushed to the garden to find his wife lying still on the sun lounger, her arms hanging limply by her sides and her Barbara Cartland novel lying on the ground beside her, its pages like butterfly wings, fluttering in the gentle breeze.

“Brenda?”

There was no answer. No breath passed between her lips and no sound came forth.

Philip knelt beside the still, recumbent form of his wife, the tears beginning anew as he took her hand, drew it towards him and kissed it softly, just once.

***** *** *****

The ambulance arrived in due course and Philip watched, unable to speak as the paramedics attended his wife.

“I’m so sorry …” the paramedic said solemnly as his colleague covered her inert body and pushed the gurney through the house to load her into the back of the ambulance.

Philip stood silently watching as they disappeared, leaving no traces, save the still fluttering novel that rested just inches from where her outstretched hand had fallen. He picked up the book, closed it and brushed its covers before placing it upon the table and walking inside.

Later, Brenda’s death was deemed to have been as a result of massive heart failure, due to being morbidly obese.

***** *** *****

Philip tried to move on with his life, but despite Brenda’s antisocial nature and aggressive attitude, he found he missed her. For weeks he never even looked in his drawers or wardrobe, finding his new situation difficult to come to terms with. Mostly, he missed the sound of her voice calling for him and its removal from his life left a cold empty space.

Spiralling into depression, Philip went to see the doctor.

“I can find nothing physically wrong with you,” the doctor told him. “What I think you need is to join a group; to be with others who are also grieving the loss of a loved one.”

“I don’t need that,” Philip retorted. “It’s all bloody psycho-babble and flim-flam.”

“Philip, Philip,” the doctor said calmly. “It’s not like that. It’s just a workshop to give people in the same position as you some ideas about what to do. Brenda’s passing has wrenched a large hole in your life and now you need to fill that hole. It’s not about replacing her, but a way to fill your time and stop you going any further down the road you currently find yourself on.”

Philip didn’t like the idea one bit. He’d seen plenty of films and TV shows that portrayed this ‘workshop’ as some stupid tree-hugger bloke patronising a bunch of sad-o people who seemed to lap up his rubbish.

However, as the day for the workshop arrived, he couldn’t think of anything better to do and decided to give the workshop the benefit of the doubt.

“Let me say first, that I’m truly sorry for the loss each and every one of you are feeling right now, but all of you need to find ways to move on,” said the young woman at the front of the class. “It may not be what you want to hear, but there’s a big wide world out there and whether you like it or not, each and every one of you are still part of it.”

That certainly got Philip’s attention. He’d been expecting some limp-wristed character like Harvey Bains from Waiting for God, who’d soft-speak his way into telling everyone nothing. This was to the point–blunt. He liked that.

“Many of you will have had hobbies or interests that over the years have fallen by the wayside. Perhaps now is the time to restart them.”

She’d already got his attention and whilst her suggestion appeared simple, it had never occurred to him and already, his cerebral mechanisms had whirred into life.

“You’ll need to get out too,” she continued. “That’s very important. Staying in all the time is just a way of psychologically refusing to accept the passing of your loved one by remaining in the atmosphere you associate with them. Getting out reinforces the fact that you can move on and the more time you can spend away from that environment, the less you’ll find you need it.”

Somewhere in the back of Philip’s mind, a light went on and he was transported back over forty years to memories of Brenda and him in jeans and hiking boots, walking through the countryside, his back-pack full of the picnic they could look forward to, whilst they sat gazing out at the scenery.

That was how he wanted to remember Brenda.

“Perhaps if your hobby or interest isn’t strictly the outdoors-type, maybe there’s a way you can combine it with something that is,” she said. “Perhaps if you’re into collecting things, you could combine it with visiting car boot sales. They’re an absolute treasure chest of things to discover, both for collectors and for those who want to get rid of stuff they don’t feel they’ll need anymore. Going to them would not only get you out and about, but you never know what bargains you may find or who you might meet.” A serious look returned to her face.

“As you are now, it’s too easy for you to just waste away at home, so the more you can get out and about; meet with others and try and move on with your lives, the better it will be. Many of you will have been with your partners for some considerable time and feel that you’re beyond new things, but you’re wrong. Margaret Rutherford didn’t play her famous ‘Miss Marple’ character until she was seventy, so there’s time for all of you yet.”

Philip had to concede that the workshop wasn’t all ‘flim-flammery’ after all. It was just sound, solid, sensible advice that may have appeared to be basic common sense, but in the case of the people there–him included–the simple things weren’t always as obvious as others may have thought. Despite those early misgivings, the workshop had given him motivation, something that right then, he was lacking. It had also given him a new sense of optimism: that it didn’t matter how far on in life you are, things can still happen.

***** *** *****

Over the following weeks, a change came over Philip. He was out nearly every day visiting places old and new and he seemed to find himself smiling far more often than he had in years. He bought a camera–something he couldn’t afford when he and Brenda used to walk those routes–and took photos.

His life before he lost Brenda had been full, but full in a way he didn’t like. He didn’t like the way it made him feel and he especially didn’t like watching Brenda’s decline, helpless and unable to prevent the inevitable.

Out in the countryside, with the birds singing and wind in his hair, he began rediscovering a lust for life he thought had long since passed him by. His mind became full of the sound of laughter, the memories of the times he and Brenda spent together before all this began.

Back at the bungalow, he found himself in his bedroom staring into the wardrobe where alongside his clothes, Brenda’s clothes had been hung and a lump rose in his throat. Shaking his head, he went to the chest of drawers and pulled on one of the drawers to reveal more of her clothes, neatly folded in piles; stockings, knickers, bras, camisoles, nightwear and other items, each of which brought back memories.

His mind replayed images of Brenda; that once happy face that turned to one of scorn and that once lithe body, ballooning and finally being pushed away, lifeless on the gurney.

“This is wrong!” he cried. “So, so wrong. It wasn’t always like that.”

***** *** *****

Philip left the house and its memories and got into the car, driving out beyond the usual places that he and Brenda used to walk, while images of the boy and his sister and Brenda’s worse side continued to plague him.

“Keep away from me!” he shouted, paying little or no attention to where he was going.

He had no idea how long he’d been driving, but he pulled off the road as tears made it impossible for him to drive any further.

Getting out of the car, he looked about him.

He was in a car park that looked strangely familiar, but it wasn’t one that he’d visited frequently. Perhaps they’d come up here once or twice many years ago, but he couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter as to begin with, the place he’d found himself in did not immediately bring back those memories and for the first time since Brenda’s death, he was truly alone with his thoughts–his own thoughts.

Looking about him, the place felt odd. It didn’t sound right either. It was eerily quiet; devoid it seemed, of birdsong … or wind. Not even the fairly powerful gusts that had been buffeting the car on the way there seemed to register–there was nothing save the sound of his footfalls.

Through narrow paths between the trees he walked, not really paying any attention at all. The paths seemed endless, but he couldn’t stop walking, twisting his way through the trees and bushes–this way and that, that way and this.

As dusk began changing day to night, he stopped and once again looked about him, squinting in an attempt to see through the failing light. He was scared. He had no idea where he was and had changed direction so many times he wasn’t sure how to find his way out either. Nothing seemed to ring any bells and still he felt that eerie silence that had dogged him since he first came out into the woods.

His heart leapt as through the thinning bush, he saw light. Not a bright light, but it flickered like a beckoning finger, drawing him like a moth to a flame.

“Where there’s fire, there’s bound to be people,” he said, beginning to feel a little more upbeat and he made his way through the vegetation towards the source of the light.

When he finally found it, he wished he hadn’t as he stumbled on to something he felt he wasn’t supposed to see.

About a dozen women–all naked–danced round one of the biggest bonfires he’d seen. It must have stood over ten feet tall, casting a ruddy glow over the skin of all the women as they cavorted and whirled around it to an oddly haunting melody.

Philip ducked down out of sight and watched as slowly the tempo rose. With that, the dancing became wilder with the women joining in with shrieks and wails, continuing their circling of the fire while it appeared that they were touching each other, stroking; sometimes in places he didn’t think they ought to have been touching.

Suddenly the women and the music stopped and another woman in a long black gown with a deep hood that covered her face stepped into view, turned and began staring directly at Philip. He couldn’t see her face, but he could feel her looking at him–it made all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and icy shivers run up and down his spine.

He backed away, scared. How did he know the person in the hood was female and how did she know he was there? Surely she couldn’t have seen him through the gloom. Nevertheless, it appeared that she had and as he continued to back away, he realised he was actually getting closer to the fire, closer to the woman in the gown and the more he tried to back out, the closer he got.

“Philip,” the voice said as the woman in the gown beckoned him forward. He didn’t know how she did it, but her voice sounded as if it was coming from right next to him, yet she had to be at least twenty or thirty yards from him.

“Philip,” she repeated. Was she next to him? He jumped and despite moving backwards, he was close enough now to feel the heat of the fire, hear the crackling of the wood as it burned.

“Philip,” the voice implored and whether he wanted to or not, he felt himself drawn to her, unable to resist. Before he knew it, he was kneeling before her, looking up at her, looking under the hood, yet seeing nothing.

“Rise, Philip,” she said, lifting a hand.

“H-how d-d-d’you know my n-name?” he stammered.

“I know much about you. I know of your unfailing love for someone who treated you despicably.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” he said, defensively.

“Perhaps,” she said with an almost imperceptible sideways inclination of her head and shrug of her shoulders. “Nevertheless, you remained faithful. Why is that? Why did you not seek love elsewhere; seek to feel the touch of another?”

Philip couldn’t answer. Had years of being subjugated taken his will? Had he anticipated a miraculous turn-around in her? An inner strength to follow doctors orders and eventually return to her former self?

“It was never going to happen, Philip. She was a lost cause.”

“She was never a lost cause,” he spat. “I loved her until the very end.”

“Ahh,” she said, nodding. “But had she lived on, would you have managed to keep that promise?”

Philip’s head bowed and for what felt like the longest time, he thought long and hard. “I don’t know.”

The crackling of the fire was all that he could hear, but at the same time, he could feel her eyes boring into him, reading him like an open book.

“I admire your honesty and for that I feel your sacrifice will be well received.”

Philip went cold. Fear sprung up within him and he began trembling, trying with all his might to move, to escape his fate, to run and never look back.

She laughed. “Now is not the time to run, Philip,” she told him. “For tonight, I shall set you free.”

As the pale purples and crimson splashes of cloud, barely visible through the ring of trees surrounding them, succumbed to the inky black velvet of night, the women rose, taking Philip’s hand. He fought, but whilst in his mind he wrestled, pulled, pushed, kicked and screamed, on the outside, his body simply did as it was told.

A short distance from the fire, the women removed his clothing. As his inner turmoil continued, several of the women anointed his body with fragrant oils, while in his mind, he headed for a meltdown, unable to prevent them from doing anything, unable to resist and unable to leave.

“Bring him to me,” the Priestess commanded.

Philip was led back near to the fire, where a rude altar of stone had been erected and draped with a silky purple cloth. Upon the altar stood an ornate chalice, a pair of candlesticks and an ornate dagger, its blade glinting in the firelight.

Philip’s heart began pounding, as he caught sight of the dagger as coupled with word ‘sacrifice’ meant just one thing. Yet the feeling of helplessness was soon overtaken by acceptance, of knowing that no matter how much kicking and screaming he may do, it would not alter the outcome one iota.

“You are calm at last,” the Priestess remarked.

“Would panic make a difference,” he asked.

Although he couldn’t see it, he could feel the faceless person in the hooded robe smile. “No, I don’t suppose it would.”

Two of the women–whose nakedness still disturbed Philip–cleared the altar and obediently, Philip walked to it, lying down and hoping against all hope that his death would be painless, but the panic rose in him once again as the Priestess seemed to know just what he was thinking.

“There is no guarantee, Philip,” she said. “Even I cannot see that far.”

Somehow, she didn’t instil in him that sense of foreboding he'd expected and as she stood before the altar, the dagger in her right hand, he tried with all his might to relax and try to accept what was happening–as bizarre as it was–with some element of dignity.

“Philip,” the Priestess intoned. “Your life has been one that has been wasted, which is what has brought you here to this place on this night.”

She raised he arms. “Hear me Goddess Hecate …” she began.

“Hecate we beseech thee,” the others intoned.

They say that right before death, your life flashes before your eyes and so it was with Philip as he stared up at the stars in the sky, only dimly aware of what was going on around him, the Priestess’s intonations sounded like no more than a drone in his peripheral hearing.

He saw images going right back to his childhood, of him and his sister, of school, of Brenda and of the Priestess bringing her hands together above her head, clasping the dagger in both hands.

“Hecate we beseech thee,” they all intoned, as the Priestess plunged downwards with the dagger in an almost slow motion arc towards his naked chest.

***** *** *****

There was no pain, although it was something of a shock, looking down to see the gold and jewel-encrusted dagger being drawn from his chest, the small rivulet of blood that ran down his ribs suddenly and inexplicably reversing course and running back up, across his chest to recede into the hole the knife had made.

Then there was the hole itself. No sooner had the Priestess removed it and the blood returned, it began closing, seamlessly ‘zipping’ itself together, leaving no trace whatsoever of its penetration through the skin.

“Wh-what?”

“I’m sure it will be a little disorientating to begin with. I understand, my child, but it’s done now. You may rise.”

Swinging his legs round and sitting up, he felt different, odd. There was a subtle imbalance he wasn’t expecting, confusing feelings, not just those about his shoulders, but everywhere. His very skin felt different, his eyesight–sharper, the sensation of touch new and unexpected.

He looked around at the assembled women–still naked–but this time, their nakedness did not instil that same disturbing feeling within him. In fact, seeing the women smiling made him want to smile too.

“I believe your sister named you,” the Priestess said, throwing back her hood. “Welcome Dawn.”

‘Dawn?’ Philip thought, his confusion rising steadily. He did remember that name and the images of the little boy playing dress-up with his sister jogged more of those memories, however, there was a subtle difference with the way he–er, she remembered things as the little boy and his sister had been replaced by two sisters playing dress-up.

“But …?” he began, looking at the Priestess, mentally wrestling with the new sound his voice made.

“Sadly not even I can turn back time itself, but I am able to turn back the clock in a manner of speaking. Your family, friends, neighbours–anyone you have met or know will all know you as Dawn, a twenty-two year-old woman.”

“Woman?” she squeaked.

“Isn’t it what you have always wanted?”

“Well …” she began and she had to think carefully about what she said, but the Priestess was quite right. It was what she had always wanted. “Yes.”

“Of course,” the Priestess added. “Your little sister is now your big sister, but I’m sure you’ll adapt.”

“But I thought–”

“That I had intended to sacrifice you, to take your life? Well I did, didn’t I?”

Dawn looked at the striking woman before her, her face screwed up in thought.

“I took an old, wasted life and replaced it with another. You’re restarting from where yours and Brenda’s issues first began. Do you not recognise this place as the very place you proposed undying love? That point where you made the promise, where you sacrificed your life for her; sacrificed your needs for her needs. Anyway, it’s getting cold up here, and shouldn’t you be getting home?”

Dawn looked about her; at the tall trees that encircled the small clearing and upon looking back, noticed that the Priestess and her naked followers had gone and as she glanced about her, so too had the clearing, replaced instead, by the car park, her nakedness replaced by a pink-trimmed, grey jogging outfit complete with pink trimmed white jogging shoes, her long blonde hair, tied back in a pony tail with a pink scrunchy.

Shaking her head, she returned to her car, the memories of a previous life, fading as she opened the door …

El Dia De Los Muertos
AKA
All Souls Day

 © 2008 Nick B

Just slap me soundly for forgetting that the wonderful Gabi did the proofing and tweaking on this. Thanks Gabi

Writing an account of something that happened is hard enough, but where magic or a miracle is involved, it becomes something that is universally decried as being unbelievable.The expression ‘truth is stranger than fiction’ should have no bounds; no measured line that can be crossed, but in truth, it does.

The fact is; truth is stranger than fiction.

The mother who finds superhuman strength to lift the truck off her child or seemingly miraculous cures of terminal illnesses–they are all fact–believed and at the same time miraculous.

Yet why will no-one believe this?

Well, they haven’t so far and yet here I am; living proof of the fact that yes, it really happened.

---

My name is Julian Davies–or Jules to my friends and about a month ago, I was just an ordinary bloke, living my life in the way most ordinary blokes live their lives…
 
 
I met Karen about three years ago and she was the best thing that had ever happened to me. She had stunning looks, was kind, considerate, open minded and, best of all she was my soul mate.

Our sex life was the best I’d ever known. She was keen to try new things and whilst thankfully we didn’t go as far as inviting other people into our relationship–even just for a quick bit of slap and tickle, we did get into the realms of role play.

At first it was just pretend–you know, like I would pretend to be one character and she would pretend to be another. Sometimes I would be the dominant one but mostly, she would and it seemed to work well, but after a while, it kind of got stale. I would always see her and she me, so it lost a bit of the attraction and excitement.

That was until she turned up one evening with a nurse’s uniform. Not only was it a nurse’s uniform, but…

It was a nurse’s uniform made of latex.

The appearance of this ensemble on her was nothing short of amazing. It was a kind of mint green, fitted tight at the top and bleeding into a pencil skirt at the bottom. It also came with cream-coloured accessories in the form of the hat and apron with a bright red cross on it–very medical.

At this time, our roles involved each of us playing our given gender, but now with the added stimulus of the latex that fitted like a second skin on Karen, accentuating all her curves and bumpy bits.

I could see it excited her–two very prominent reasons were the giveaway–but she said the feeling was out of this world–quite unlike anything she had ever worn before.

The texture was something else for me too. My hands could glide over it and see the reaction from Karen instantly, so much so they made me want to laugh–it was a nervous reaction, but she had already got to that stage where she had thrown caution to the wind and despite the fact that she was supposed to be the domineering nurse, I had to steer things somewhat because she was away to the mixer–and who could blame her?

God, that outfit got some use and she never seemed to tire of it either, though having said that, neither did I–I mean tire of seeing her in it.

She looked fantastic in it for starters; her long red hair, the surgical green of the uniform with its bright red cross and later the addition of stilettos…

My goodness, I only had to think about it and I was almost there.

Of course, with use came familiarity and I could see that whilst it was still exciting, the sparkle was starting to wane, so I ordered a surprise. In due course, it arrived in the post in the obligatory ‘plain wrapping’. I was more interested in watching her reaction when she opened it than in seeing for real what the package contained, I mean, I knew what was there and had known from the beginning–seeing it in–sorry on the flesh was all I was interested in now.

She started to unwrap it and as the paper was shredded, thrown willy-nilly over her shoulders in this mad panic to get at the goodies within, the box appeared and I was readier than I had ever been; painfully so…

“My GOD!” she purred. “You are a dark horse aren’t you?”

Dark horse? I don’t think so. I didn’t actually go into a shop and buy it. Apart from the credit card number, delivery address–oh, and my name, I bought it anonymously.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

No answer was forthcoming, but I judged that from her flushed appearance and the fact that after a swift “thank you” and a peck on the cheek, she had fled to the bathroom with the item in hand, I think she liked it.

Back she came some minutes later and I nearly exploded on the spot.

The outfit this time was a black latex catsuit. It zipped up the front and was skin tight from top to bottom. A pair of black four-inch high-heels, and that flame hair tumbling across her shoulders finished the ensemble and she looked like a wet dream.

I had held something back and said that if she asked me nicely, she could have it.

“What?” she demanded, her hands on her hips, feet slightly apart and that catsuit gleaming, looking like the mistress of the night.

“This,” I said and handed her a matching mask with the little kitty ears.

“Purrrrrr…” was all she said, donning the mask before me.

Thus began a very exciting period in our lives. We didn’t need exercise as we were getting enough with all the horizontal jogging that was going on, not forgetting of course every other angle right up to vertical you could think of. Thankfully, we didn’t have a chandelier or a hammock.

Then things started to get really interesting, as now we had two outfits and the only thing we hadn’t tried was for both of us to be dressed ‘appropriately’ and as it happens, I wasn’t the one to make the suggestion. I mean, sure, I adored the feel of the latex–on her–but it had never crossed my mind that I should be wearing it too; but I suppose it was only a matter of time before it happened. It just wasn’t as I thought.

I was bathed and ready for bed and as far as I knew, nothing was happening. I mean they say, ‘once a king, always a king, but once a night’s enough’, but I wondered how many people actually have sex every single night–other than on their own?

I was in the bedroom and in she walked. She was wearing black patent stilettos, the catsuit–polished and shining brightly, the mask and a frown. “Oh, that won’t do,” she said in a very business-like way. “Stand up.”

I stood, pondering on what delights she might have in store for me this time.

“That’s no good at all. Turn round.”

I turned round, totally naked and started to snigger. “This is no laughing matter,” she said authoritatively and slapped my backside–hard.

“Ow!” I grimaced. “There’s no need for that.”

“Shut up and stand still,” she commanded.

The next thing I knew, I was being blindfolded. The laughter had gone and now I was apprehensive. I had no idea what was coming and although I knew what Karen was like with regards real dominance–she wasn’t that good at keeping it up, this time there was an edge to things–an edge I found more than a bit disturbing.

With the blindfold in place, I was ordered to sit and shoved backwards to land heavily on the bed.

“What’s going on?” I asked; about to lift a corner of the blindfold, just to see whether there was something I should know about and a sharp and rather painful slap on the back of the hand, narrowly missing my nose, prevented further toying with that.

“Stand up.”

Stand up, sit down, slap here, slap there? What was she getting into? I am definitely not one for pain, spanking, being tied up or real Sub-Dom practices. It’s one thing to touch on the softer edges of it whilst in play, but this had run full-tilt across the line in my opinion.

“Lift your foot,” she barked, poking my left ankle with what felt like her foot. I lifted it and wobbled. I felt a sting as she slapped my bum.

“Hey!” I cried. “What was that for?”

“Quiet! Now lift your foot.”

I did as commanded.

“Now the other–and no clowning around.”

I did that too.

I felt something light and soft being pulled up to about mid thigh then a hand on my John Thomas, which immediately started to get curious.

“That’s enough of that,” she said coldly and slapped my arse hard. Down went JT like a sack of shit. “That’s better.”

She pulled, or pushed–I’m not altogether sure of which way round she was standing, but JT ended up between my legs and the panties–I knew that’s what they were as I didn’t own anything that felt like these–were pulled up the rest of the way.

She pulled them up tight–very tight and I could feel JT getting squeezed into my crotch–an odd sensation to say the least–followed by the feeling of being sprayed with something up my thighs, torso and up to my shoulders. The spraying could then be heard elsewhere and moments later, I was told to lift a foot.

I lifted my left foot, being careful this time not to wobble and believe me, when you don’t want another slap on the arse; it’s surprisingly easy to do.

This time something soft and very smooth, yet at the same time very cool was drawn up to my calf and I was told to lift the other foot, which I did, concentrating hard on not swaying, wobbling or anything else that could find another one of her hand prints on my fundament.

She seemed, much to my dismay, to be concentrating on one cheek, which meant that every slap stung worse than the one before. I wondered whether she had been taking lessons, but whatever it was, I didn’t much care for it.

Whatever I had stepped into was drawn up to my waist and as it got further up, I could feel it tightening; pulling around my legs from just above the knee, up my thighs, over my hips, finally to tighten around the waist.

Was this what I thought it was?

Next, my arms were steered into what felt like sleeves; first the left and then the right. The top half–I presumed–was then pulled into place and I felt a zip being pulled up to just below the nape of my neck.

I knew what this was. The light smell of the outfit, the texture–it was the nurse’s uniform and just one thing remained–the nurse’s hat, or whatever the technical term is. Is there one? I don’t know.

When the blindfold was removed, Karen stood before me and told me what to do–every move and everything she wanted me to do to her and not once did she return any of the favours.

Needless to say, my jaw afterwards felt like it had been welded open and my tongue felt like it had been ten rounds with Lennox Lewis, but she was happy enough–happy and sated by the looks.

She was asleep before I’d got back from the bathroom and I was left thinking about what had happened.

Silently, I slipped out of bed and got back into the outfit I had been wearing for her. It was the first time I had really had the opportunity to look at myself before it all came off–even though I didn’t.

I twirled and posed in front of the mirror, watching as the skirt shifted when my legs did, moulding itself to every curve and contour. I felt like a schoolgirl being flirtatious for the first time and realising what it was doing to the boys, while my heart pounded like the Kodo drummers in my chest.

I loved the way I looked–flat from the waist down; the fact that the latex, however soft, worked to cinch in my waist and give me some slight curvature. I found myself blushing at the thought of liking how I felt, what I saw–even without makeup.

I figured this was one of those things where, because I had had no release while, I think, Karen went through several, I was still hooked up with the role I had been playing, but strangely, although I was excited, it wasn’t quite the same–which had nothing to do with the fact I was firmly tucked between my legs.
 
 
That night’s role-playing wasn’t repeated and after the strange thoughts and feelings that went through my head afterwards, I thought it was probably for the best. Karen didn’t mention it either–which was no bad thing. She had treated me like dirt, using and abusing and whilst some may get off on that idea, I didn’t.

I like a bit of force during the act of ‘making love’, like, you don’t want it the same tempo all the way through and sometimes, it’s nice if there’s no guessing who’s in charge, but not to the degree that she took it.

It’s just not for me.

I do like it when Karen takes control, because I’m just not the assertive kind. If anything, I’m definitely submissive, but on the soft side of submissive. It’s not that I don’t trust Karen–far from it, but I don’t have any interest in Sub-Dom practices, which last time I felt went closer into S&M and even the blindfold dropped into that category in my opinion.

---

The next time my playing a feminine role came up in conversation, I felt it necessary to mention that I wasn’t all that keen on the idea of her being all bossy; slapping and spiky.

“Didn’t you like it?” she asked, almost incredulous at the very idea. I think she had had a really good time and assumed that I did too, but considering she paid me no attention whatsoever aside from barking orders, I can’t see how she arrived at that conclusion.

“Not really, no,” I replied, shrugging and downplaying the negative.

I had to say how I felt–even if it risked all this sexual liberation being halted. I don’t suppose a woman would be all that enamoured of some guy trying to stick his parts where the sun don’t shine if she wasn’t into the idea and would probably be quite vocal about wanting it to stop–damned sharpish. So I didn’t see anything wrong with expressing a dislike of her treating me the way she did.

“Was it the outfit? You really looked quite cute.”

“No it wasn’t the outfit. It was all the spanking and slapping and the ordering around.” I surprised myself there. I didn’t think I would be quite so blatant as to admit to not being uncomfortable in a nurse’s outfit–a rubber one at that.

“I wanted to make it more realistic,” she said.

As if realism had ever played a part in our sex. It was all make believe and for me, make believe was just fantasy and, in my books, fantasies don’t hurt. I felt that if she wanted to get all domineering to that extent, perhaps we should have laid down some ground rules first.

“I don’t mind the realism; it’s just…” I paused, wondering whether this was where the fantasies exited and we went back to a very boring ‘missionary position’ and all the lights off kind of sex. “Can we leave out the slapping and stuff?”

“Only if you’re a good girl,” she said, giggling.

I was completely caught off-guard by that last comment. I know I admitted to not being uncomfortable in the outfit–in fact I would go so far as to say that I really liked it, but now, all of a sudden, I had to be a good girl. Just what did she mean by that?

I wasn’t sure and needless to say, sex didn’t occur that night. I knew I’d blown it by telling her I wasn’t keen on the more ‘exotic’ parts of the proceedings–like most of it if I’m honest. Still, the sleep would do me good since we’d had so little of it over the recent months.
 
 
The ‘no sex’ thing didn’t last for long, but unfortunately, the outfits didn’t come out and when we did indulge in some hanky-panky, I have to say, it was a bit like she was just lying back and thinking of England. Missionary position and lights off flashed through my mind.

I began questioning whether the slap part of the ‘slap and tickle’ was too much to bear and the answer was ‘not really’. It didn’t really hurt. True, it stung quite a lot, but it was more hurt pride, you know, being suppressed to the degree, that she was by far the dominant one, rather than me.

Who was I kidding?

She had always been the more dominant of the two of us.

Now I had to get around to asking her about the catsuit and since I figured that the idea seemed to die a death thanks to my honesty, I didn’t quite know how to broach the subject. A few alternatives went through my mind, but I wasn’t sure how they’d be received.

I decided in the end to just come straight out and ask. It seemed the simplest way forward.

“What’s happened to the catsuit?” I asked, trying to be as offhand about it as possible. I don’t know whether I succeeded either.

She looked at me, nearly choking on a grilled sausage. Perhaps dinner time wasn’t the best time to ask.

“Nothing. Why?” she asked.

“Well, it’s just that you don’t seem to wear it anymore. I thought you liked it.”

“I do. I was just having a break that’s all. You know, ‘too much of a good thing’ and all that. Anyway, hush,” she said and turned her attention back to the TV.

“Right,” I said, nodding.

So she was still into the idea, but I still had that ‘if you’re a good girl’ thing bouncing around in my head and wasn’t sure what it meant–if anything or whether or not to actually do anything about it, I mean, like, take the initiative.

This could be something that could seriously backfire if it wasn’t received in the manner in which it was meant.
 
 
I decided that since she could up the stakes in our little game, then so could I. I took Friday afternoon off to get some ‘chores’ done.

I stood outside of Boots the chemist for what felt like hours, just plucking up the courage to go in and get some hair removal cream. I figured that being a good girl meant getting as much of that fuse wire off my body as it was possible to do and since it seems that it covered a vast proportion of my chest, arms, bum and legs, I needed to be a little smoother–like the good girls are.

I was so embarrassed at the prospect of going in, picking up a box of whatever product it is and showing it to a cashier for her to look at me and snigger whilst chewing on her bubble-gum, but it didn’t happen–leastways, not to my face anyway.

The next job on the agenda was to get some underwear and having had no reaction in Boots, I figured going into a clothes shop like Marks and Sparks and picking out some lingerie ‘for the wife’, would be just as easy.

Well it wasn’t.

I expected a forty-plus year-old woman to come and see if she could assist, but it all went Pete Tong when I described my wife as being approximately my size. The sideways glance and raised eyebrow told me all I needed to know about what she thought of my attempt to get a ‘present’ for the missus. Still, I continued with the charade and as time went on, she, kind of, mellowed slightly.

I think what I bought was sexy yet still quite tasteful–a matching bra and thong in black, which was almost transparent and a couple of packs of white seamed self-supporting, glossy stockings to go with the uniform. Not a lot, I’ll grant you, but be fair, I was doing this in person for goodness sake. My dad wouldn’t even buy mum’s tampons–even though it was an emergency. I thought I’d done quite well by comparison.

I suspect you’re all wondering why I didn’t buy on-line as I had with the catsuit, but the thing was I wanted to get this all going this weekend. I wanted to find out whether Karen was off the idea of the role-playing or whether it was just a minor setback as she realised she went too far last time.I decided I needed to be slightly assertive to get the ball rolling; this was my way of making the first move.

Back home and it was time to put the plan into action, starting with the removal of the body hair.

How come they show it on the ads as being so simple? It was far from it in my opinion. I tried to smooth it all on like the instructions said, but it wasn’t that easy. Perhaps I needed practice.

Anyhow, with the lotion or crá¨me applied, I stood there in the bathroom looking like a buttered version of the incredible Hulk as viewed through the wrong end of a telescope. It wasn’t as if I could do anything while I was ‘cooking’ either. I just stood there like a lemon while the application began to sting; burning almost and it was at that point that I figured that it was time it came off, so I fired up the shower.

As per the instructions, I rubbed in moisturiser and was pretty much blown away by the feeling of my skin without the hirsute covering I was used to. It was tingly in a really pleasant sort of way and nicer to look at.

I checked under my arms too and because, as I have already said, having a slight frame, none of this looked out of place. In fact if anything, it looked more fitting.

Hang on.

Did I just think what I thought I thunk?

I sat on the bed and even that felt different.

Was I taking this just a smidgeon too far?

Was I trying to save something in our sex life that had already died a death?

We had tried it and it was fun, but the impetus died out and perhaps I should have just left it there, but something told me that it wasn’t over yet.
 
 
By the time Karen arrived home, I was ready. I was dressed as I normally would, but I had made some prior arrangements before.

Maybe it was the thought of failure or rejection that had my heart rate going like the clappers, but I felt I was on a roller-coaster here that had just crested a hill. There was no stopping what was going to happen now.

---

After a simple dinner, I set things in motion.

“How about a nice hot bath to soothe away the week?” I asked, rubbing her shoulders. She moaned slightly, as I continued to massage her shoulders and neck.

“Are you going to run it for me?”

“No problem,” I said, mentally clapping my hands together thinking this was all going just as planned.

A few minutes later I called her up to the bathroom.

“You want to join me?” she asked, batting her ample eyelashes at me and smiling seductively.

“Er, no, thank you,” I said quickly, trying not to be distracted by the offer. I had something else entirely in mind. “I’ll just go clear up the dinner stuff. You have a nice soak.”

She pouted, then gave me a really chaste peck on the cheek and disappeared into the bathroom. The door closed and I waited just for a moment…

“Oh wow!” I heard and scampered off to the kitchen. Obviously, the candles and bubble bath hit the right note.

Phase one complete.

I cleared away the dinner things in record time and snuck back up to the bedroom to get changed and put phase two into action.

Looking back, I almost wish I had tried this lot on before this time, but I wanted it to be a surprise for both of us. I think it was I who was getting the biggest surprise right now.

I took the thong and started to pull it up my legs.

JT got instantly curious and wouldn’t give up–or down… whatever.

I sat down, the thong almost where it should have been but with JT misbehaving, tucking him back was going to be next to impossible. They can’t make stuff for space rockets as hard as he was. Pulling on the stockings just made it worse. I was alright up to the knee on the first one, but as the glossy white stocking started to stretch as I pulled it further up, JT was getting to the point where he was almost painful.

I could have done with a slap.

It seemed to work last time.

The second one just seemed to make it worse.

The bra wasn’t a real problem as I had seen my mum and other women do their bras up in front then spin them round to the back as they should be, but this just added to the pain and discomfort I was feeling from the nether regions.

So there I was, bra on, thong–check; stockings–check and a pair of socks rolled and stuffed into the bra cups to add to the illusion, but with a major problem–JT.

I ran downstairs, dithered then back up again only to find him still poking like some personal flag-pole out of the top of a black thong with a particularly nice bow on the front. What was I going to do?

I sat on the bed, my heartbeat rising to an all-time high as I knew that it wouldn’t be long before Karen was out of the bath and somehow, I had to try to disguise JT in order to put on the dress.

This was not looking good.

My fears were unfounded as soon enough–probably due to the thought of failure– JT retreated with an almost detectable pout for being ignored and I was able to gently pull him back between my inner thighs and pull up the thong, which was pulled up and over my hips, almost crushing JT in the process.

I applied some of the spray to the dress then to my exposed skin and to the dress, stepping into in and sliding it gently into place, before slipping my bare arms through the sleeves, onto my shoulders.

Then I was like a dog, trying to chase its own tail in an attempt to get to the zip, which was easy to pull up part way, but not so the rest. Nevertheless, try, try, try again was the motto for the day–well, either that or have the whole plan fall apart after so much work. No thank you.

Eventually, I was ready–giddy after all that spinning round in circles trying to reach the zipper, but ready and I retrieved the catsuit, spraying the inside ready for Karen to don upon exiting the bath and ensuring it was nicely buffed, before donning my hat and retreating to the lounge for the call I knew I was going to get.

As an extra bit of excitement, I found a pair of strappy sandals in the bottom of Karen’s wardrobe that I tried on a whim and was dead surprised to find that I could actually get them on. I didn’t know that not only were we within an inch of each other height-wise, but that our feet weren’t that far apart in size either.

So it was downstairs and an agonising wait for that call, which wasn’t too long in coming. When I finally managed to negotiate the stairs in a skirt that was barely wide enough for my legs let alone upward motion and never mind the shoes, I stepped into the bedroom, trying to look as demure as I could.

There was an audible gasp from Karen as she sat there with the catsuit over her lap and her jaw round her knees.

“Have I been a good girl?” I asked, trying to remember to look down and still keep an eye on her reactions.

“I think so–maybe,” she replied. “Turn around and let me look at you.”

I stepped fully into the bedroom and slowly twirled around.

“My, my,” she said in a throaty, sultry sort of voice. “Haven’t we been busy?”

“Yes miss,” I replied, keeping my eyes downcast.

Another slight gasp escaped those luscious lips.

Somehow, the catsuit seemed to get forgotten and Karen went to work on me, rubbing my breasts and then sliding her hands down over the smooth latex dress to my thighs, kissing my face and neck, gently tracing the tips of her fingers over the smooth, glossy stockings from the calves up.

JT was straining; threatening to burst through the gossamer confines of the thong, but Karen was there, sliding the skirt up, inch by inch, getting closer and closer to the stocking tops, my smooth thighs and oh God…

When she saw the thong, she purred like a kitten, trying hard to get to the waistband to pull it free, but the skirt wouldn’t go any further. In the end, she slipped her finger under the thin material and pulled it to one side, allowing me to spring free and almost give her a right hook on the chin.

“Goodness. Am I really having that much of an effect?” she asked, but I didn’t have the brainpower to take control enough to answer.

She chuckled slightly and lowered her head.

Seconds later, we were sat up in bed and I was trying to look anywhere that didn’t have her anywhere near. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise, it could happen to anyone,” she said in a most conciliatory manner.

I felt such a pillock. There I was, dressed right up to the nines, feeling like a million dollars–though Euros or pounds would have been better and what happens?

She didn’t even get anywhere near me and I was going off like a bloody Roman candle.
 
 
The next day, I was still feeling subhuman.

“I’d like to try that again–if you are agreeable,” she said while we snuggled that morning.

“I don’t know…” I said, worried of course about the same thing happening and feeling even more useless.

“If it’s any consolation, I think I have an idea–until you get more used to this. I expect it was a bit of a sensory overload last night. I can’t blame you. The effect was stunning. I like you much better with none of that fuzz all over your body.”

“Thank you,” I said and kissed her.

“And by the way,” she added. “I’m sorry about the other time. I kinda went overboard a bit. I just got wrapped up in the moment.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I assured.

---

Her plan or idea was pretty simple and basic as I was to find out later, but first, she had some things apparently she needed to sort out.

So that was it, she went off to the shops and left me feeling like a bit of a twit, on my own, with nothing but the abortive memories of last night for company.

I know she’s said it didn’t matter, but it did to me. I must have been like an over-wound clock, just waiting for that one extra turn of the key, to spring all my cogs and gears–although, I don’t necessarily feel that’s the best way to describe what happened.

By the time she returned, I felt really depressed.

“I think you’ll like this,” she said, dumping a bag on the table and flopping down on a chair.

“Coffee?” I asked

“Oh please. I’ve been looking forward to one of your cafetieres since I got back in the car.”

I put the kettle on and prepared the coffee, plunging it and pouring the hot dark liquid into two mugs. I sat at the table and passed one to her.

“What’ya got then?” I asked.

“It’s a surprise. I think you deserve it since you gave me such a wonderful surprise last night.”

“Oh that,” I said sullenly, looking away from her.

“Hey, don’t be like that,” she said, sliding her chair closer to mine and taking my hand in hers. “You have no idea how much I appreciated that gesture. It must have taken a lot of courage.”

I shrugged.

“Well anyway, I liked it and I have a surprise for later.”
 
 
The ‘surprise’ came after I had bathed, although that was something of a surprise in itself since she’d put a load of bubble bath in and the smell was decidedly feminine.

I had no idea she liked the idea of transvestism in the relationship and now my worry was just how far was she going to take it or expect me to take it?

When I’d finished, she was there with a whole load of cosmetics.

“Well, you can’t sit around naked, get some clothes on.”

I knew what she meant and faced the same difficulties as yesterday. Just as soon as the thong had started to slide up my legs, something else started a rise in sympathy.

She giggled. “Was it that difficult yesterday?” she asked. “No wonder you went off like a cruise missile.”

I blushed.

“I think you’ll have to do something about that,” she said and pushed me out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.

“You’re not suggesting…” I squealed.

“I am and you will.”

I did.

It was a little odd what with her just in the next room, but needs must when the mistress she is driving as they say and within a couple of minutes, I was back before Karen’s vanity. It actually didn’t take that long, but I figured a pause for some effect might well allay any questions about a swift one off the wrist.

“Alright, let’s try the stockings. Wow, these look expensive,” she said holding one up.

“I don’t know really. They seemed appropriate for the outfit, so I got some,” I replied, pulling each of them on.

“Nice, but you’ll learn,” she said.

I blushed again.

She began applying foundation to my face. “You don’t have much, but this will cover whatever shadow is there from your beard.”

“Huh! Beard? I worked with a guy once whose beard grew so fast you could almost watch it. He’d arrive in the morning with quite a boyish complexion; by lunchtime needed to shave. By the time we went home, it was long enough to call a beard.”

“Maybe you’ll have one like that one day,” she said, starting with some blusher.

“God, I hope not. I was already nearly five years older than him.”

“Blimey.”

I had to stop talking while she added eye shadow, liner and mascara.

I liked the next part–a lot.

She did some things to my hair. I thought she might have bought a wig, but apparently there was no need, finishing me off with a spiky hairdo, that really brought out my pixie-like features and with the makeup, the whole thing looked very natural.

“It’s time for a prezzie, I think. Now take those stupid socks out of that bra.”

I did as I was told as she produced two pink ‘jellies’. She slid one into either cup and told me to put the dress on. Thanks to tucking JT out of the way in the beginning, we managed to get it all ready and done without interference.

The effect was astonishing. I looked in the mirror and was stunned into silence, even going so far as to feeling faint and having to sit down, flushed.

“You like?”

“I think that’s an understatement,” I muttered, the moulded nipples, just forming two peaks inside the dress and giving the overall look one of complete realism.

“And now for the piece de resistance,” she said and with a flourish, produced a pair of black stilettos.

“For me?” I said, or very nearly said anyway. I think the actual phrase would be impossible write.

“Put them on I want to see how they are on you.”

She was almost like a teenager, dressing up with her friends at this point, whilst I couldn’t stop shaking. I didn’t want to say anything– I think I already needed to change the thong, but I slipped my feet into the shoes and did my best to stand up.

“You’ll get used to ’em,” she said, offering her arm to steady myself.

I stood back from the mirror and gasped. Before me stood a woman. Granted, she wasn’t going to take any prizes in a beauty pageant or anything like, but there was no trace of masculinity there. According to my reflection, I was all woman.

I didn’t know quite how to take this.
 
 
The giddy schoolgirl I had seen the first time had gone, but that same feeling of elation was there again–more so. Butterflies were doing the Red Bull air-race in my stomach and as I stood there before the mirror, I knew this was not going to be the last time I’d be doing this.

---

That’s how it all started, or rather how it progressed from one thing to another.

Karen’s help–or rather insistence in that first transformation was kind of the catalyst that started me on a road from which–for me at least–there was no return.

For about nine months or so, she treated me more like a woman than a man and for me this was no problem. I liked being the other woman in her life and as time went on, I got more and more used to being referred to in our own company as ‘girlfriend’.

However, for her it was just a passing phase; merely another way to add spice.

She had apparently grown out of wanting a girly-boy, but what she hadn’t done, was ask me how I felt about not being part of that anymore. Consequently, I knew nothing about her change of feelings towards what I was doing or we had been doing.

I saw nothing wrong with dressing whenever the mood took me and she as a result, grew more resentful, but it finally came to a head around the end of October.

“You like dressing like a woman don’t you?” she asked.

“I do. I get to see the person I think is the real me.”

“It’s just pretend. You know that don’t you?”

Perhaps as far as she was concerned it was, but for me… “It’s not!” I denied, with more than a trace of defensive and defiance. I felt like a child denying that his fort was actually just a cardboard box.

“You can’t keep on like that you know,” she said, quite matter-of-factly.

I didn’t know why. No-one knew and if they did, would many of them have cared?

“Look, it was a lot of fun while it lasted, but don’t you think it’s time to move on?” she asked.

“What you mean like–us two?” I asked, incredulous at the thought that she would want to break up with me.

“No. What I mean is find something else to–well, you know…”

I did know, but I liked being the other woman. I had never found anything else that made me as sexually charged as being that other woman did, but more than that, I felt comfortable–right–complete. “But I like this,” I said. “It’s who I am.”

I could go on for hours justifying why I should be allowed to continue, but at the end of the day, it’s my decision and my life, so really, it’s not up to anyone else to decide for me.

“It may well be who you are, but it’s not what you are. If you like it so much, why don’t you make it permanent?” she asked.

“I do wish I could stay this way,” I admitted, which was true. For me, the changing from one persona to the other was getting tiring–passé. The more I changed into my female alter-ego, the more I wanted it to stay that way and the harder it became to change back. In my heart of hearts, I knew that being Julian was harder now than being…

I didn’t even have a name for her. Jules had always seemed to fit either way. Anyway, I had been finding it more and more difficult to be Julian and every time I looked at myself in the mirror at the pale soft skin that had once been marred by that thick coating of hair, the more I knew that this was the way I wanted it to stay.

“Why can’t you?” she asked.

“Because…” I said, but I couldn’t think of a reason why. It’s not as if it’s out of the ordinary these days.

“I think you and I need to talk,” she said finally and I could see by the look in her eyes that it was either the femininity or her.
 
 
My heart was torn. On the one hand there was Karen–light of my life, soul mate and the woman I would have been quite happy to spend the rest of my life with and then on the other sat femininity. I didn’t know which to choose.

I think she recognised my inability to make that choice there and then as perhaps I should have and I could see disappointment written all over that beautiful face. I could see the loss; the heartbreak and I wanted to tell her that I would never change again–but I couldn’t.

“Look, let’s go out to dinner tonight and we can have a chat. What do you say?” she asked and I could already feel the lump getting bigger and more intrusive in my throat as tears welled up in my eyes.

“Alright,” I replied.
 
 
It was a dark and sombre night and as we made our way through the countryside towards the restaurant, it didn’t feel right to have the radio or a CD on, so the majority of the journey from our house to the Wayfarers Inn was in silence, but I just had to go open my mouth, didn’t I?

We had just turned onto Sherborne Causeway and I couldn’t keep what I was thinking to myself. “This is it, isn’t it?” I asked, thinking I knew what was going to be the reply.

“Not if you don’t want it to be,” she answered simply.

Not if I want to give up the only thing that has made any sense to me other than her. I wanted the best of both worlds. “But of course I don’t want it to be. I want things to stay as they are.”

“And I can’t do that,” she said, glancing at me from the driver’s seat.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Jules, I know we’ve had fun, but it’s not just the icing on the cake now or gravy. It’s breakfast, dinner and tea,” she said as the black countryside sped past outside.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that it’s fine sometimes, but you want to be like that all the time.”

I knew what she meant. She had opened a door for me and I sprinted on through, not even bothering to close it behind me.

“So?” I asked, although it was kind of dumb. “It’s not been an issue before.”

“I know, but I want a boyfriend, not a girlfriend. I want Julian and nowadays I can’t even see the man I fell in love with.”

“But I am Julian. That hasn’t changed.”

“Are you? Look at yourself–well, okay, it’s dark in here. When we get to the restaurant, look at yourself. Even though you’re dressed in men’s clothes–on the outside, you’re only a facsimile of the Julian I knew. You look more like a woman now–all the time. In fact most of the time, you act more feminine than I do.”

The silence hit again for the next couple of minutes. I was trying to find something to say to her that wouldn’t inflame or start arguments, but actually as selfish as it sounds, I knew she was right. I just didn’t want to admit it and have everything come crashing down around me.

I could see lights poking bright fingers over the other side of the hill we were rapidly approaching and it wasn’t until we had nearly crested it that it became apparent that the lights were on our side of the road.

“Look out!” I yelled at the same time as Karen screamed, but the lights continued to come straight for us and there was nowhere we could go. I heard the screeching of the tyres on the tarmac as Karen screamed again, turning the wheel wildly; trying to avoid the unavoidable.

I screwed my eyes tight shut and braced for impact…

---

I opened my eyes and much to my surprise, I wasn’t dead. I didn’t even feel bad, just–odd.

I checked myself, you know, patting myself down. It didn’t appear as though I’d broken anything–not even a nail.

“Jules?” the voice said. “There you are.”

I looked around me for the source of the voice–Karen’s voice.

I was stood in a vast open area that appeared to be knee-deep in mist, with no trees, hills or buildings of any sort, but weirdest of all there was no sun either; just this flat, ambient light that seemed to illuminate the nothing.

“I thought I’d lost you.” she said, coming towards me.

We embraced and I was once again reminded of her scent, her hair, the warmth of her body against mine and the fact that I didn’t want to let her go.

I knew that being feminine was something that felt so right to me, but then so did she. She meant more to me than anything else in the whole world–more than life itself and to give up the feminine thing was a small price to pay to have someone like her in my life.

“Karen. I love you and I can’t face the thought of you not being there for me, with me. I know we were supposed to be doing this at the restaurant, but I don’t want to–”

She stopped me with a finger laid gently on my lips.

“Hush,” she whispered. “Just hold me for a moment.”

The tears were falling from my eyes like some sort of minor monsoon as I held her in my arms. All that arguing in the car and for what?

At this point in time, the feeling of her so close, so warm and comforting was all I needed to reassure me that I was making the right decision.

“I’ve been unfair,” she whispered as we stood, the mist swirling about our legs. “I was the one who introduced you to that side of you and I should have realised that it’s who you are and I don’t want to change that. You took to it like a duck to water–absolutely naturally,” she said, sniffing back tears.

“But I don’t want to–” I began, only to be met with another “hush, just listen.”

“What I’m trying to say, Jules, is I love you. I’ve always loved you and will always love you.”

“You make it all sound so final,” I said, a catch in my voice.

She smiled. “I just want you to be what you’re supposed to be. It was what you wished for.”

Why was it I was sensing a “but” here?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just want you to be happy,” she said and let go of me, floating backwards, that look of despair and love etched on her beautiful face.

“Wait!” I cried, the tears falling even faster now and that lump in my throat starting to catch as I felt myself being pulled down.

I could see Karen’s form receding into the mists as I descended, the translucent vapours drawing me further and further into whatever it was I was being drawn into.

“I love you, Jules,” she cried.

“I love you too…”

---

I have no idea what or where that place was–even if it was real.

Perhaps it was a near death experience, but it didn’t seem to match any of the stories of that sort of thing that I had heard.

I could still see Karen’s face in my mind and the tears started again.

“Doctor, I think she’s coming round,” a voice said from very close by. I didn’t recognise it and I didn’t open my eyes for fear of losing sight of Karen.

“Can you hear me?” another voice asked.

I nodded.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to risk that final image of my beloved being taken away from me; to dilute it or to lose it altogether.

I felt a thumb on my eyelid and it was drawn up, exposing me to the real world once again.

“Noooooo!” I cried and the waterworks began again in earnest.

“Nurse, administer a mild sedative. We’ll come back later.”
 
 
The next time I regained consciousness, it was from a dream; a dream that seemed to be snippets of things Karen and I had done. It wasn’t just sex play either–hardly any of that, but holidays, weekly shopping; drinks in the pub with mates, getting ready, the smell of her perfume…

Again the tears came and I didn’t know whether I would ever see my beloved again.

I know we had had an accident and I knew that I was in a hospital, but I had no idea of the extent of my injuries–or Karen’s for that matter. I knew I was pretty well bandaged–especially about the head, but other than that…

As far as Karen was concerned, all I knew was that in the dream from which I had originally woken–if dream be the correct term–what she had said, suggested something final, something that had put a full-stop at the end of this chapter in both our lives and I mourned even the thought of it.

Despite not actually knowing whether she had survived, I was sure the dream had been real; that she had not in fact survived. I could still pull the image of Karen into my head, the many facets of her personality; those looks, how she moved–everything and now I felt it was time to face the truth–whatever that was.

The doctors and nurses smiled as the met me, congratulating me for waking up–coming to–coming out of the coma–whatever.

“What about–” I began; my throat croaky after having been comatose for however long it had been.

“I’m sorry,” said the nurse.

Despite ‘knowing’ I cried and cried.

The nurses left me for some time with the curtains drawn to come to terms with the fact that I was now alone; that I had lost the person who meant everything to me and now, I was in the process of coming to terms with it.

I just want you to be happy…

Now was that voice in my head, or did I actually hear it? Anyway, how was that supposed to happen when she wasn’t there to share it with me?
 
 
I was sullen and unresponsive for a while as I lay there, wondering how on earth I was going to find anyone like her, but for some reason, it didn’t feel like the end.

I just want you to be happy…

Again, those words kept coming back into my head and the more I heard them echoing around in my brain, the more confused I became.

Then one day, a nurse arrived to tell me I was ready to have the bandages taken off my head. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Pretty ropey,” I said, trying to give her a smile.

“Hardly surprising under the circumstances, but you’ll be alright,” she said in that jovial manner most hospital employees have, which they feel will put you at your ease.

She started to unravel the bandaging and as the crepe strip started to come away, I started to wonder what life would be like from now on, seeing that I was single once again.

The bandages seemed miles long and I had to keep brushing the hair out of my eyes.

“I’ll bet that feels better doesn’t it? It’s going to be a bit hard going brushing through all that hair of yours, but I’m sure you’ll manage. I love the colour,” she observed, smiling as she gathered up the rolls of bandage and left, her shoes squeaking on the polished floor.

All that hair?

As far as I knew, I had longer than short hair in a sort of mousy brown–nondescript really. How long had I been here?

I pulled a handful round to be able to look at it.

RED??!

---

And that pretty much brings me up to date.

According to the hospital, I came round on November the second–All Souls Day or in Mexico, El Dia de Los Muertos–the day of the dead and I don’t know whether that has any bearing whatsoever on what happened that night or subsequently, but all I can do is be thankful–I’m still here.

I’ve had the devil’s own job to keep from going completely crazy, knowing that I was the one who should have died in that accident, not Karen. In fact, I am the one who died. Yet here I am and the mere thought brings on some pretty wild and philosophical debates in my head.

I have only one course of action now and that is to make sure that I make the best of this start I have been given; to honour Karen’s memory and her wishes, for there is no way that considering what’s happened, I can deny that the ‘dream’ was not the truth or real–whether you out there believe me or not.

God bless you, Karen. You will remain forever in my thoughts.

I love you.

Jules.

The following all started by accident.

“By accident?” I hear you say. “How can something like that be accidental?”

It’s simple actually.

It all stems from that old adage: “be careful what you wish for” and for Gary Jones, no truer words were e’er spake.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1

Gary and his girlfriend Valerie or Val as she preferred, were classic ‘couch potatoes’; their evenings mapped out by TV programmes. Admittedly, Gary had things he liked as did Val and whilst their tastes did overlap, Gary hated girly stuff.

That was until ABC started Extreme Makeover. Suddenly names like Bill Dorfman, Jon Perlman, Garth Fisher and Michael Thurmond became household names to him and Val and after just one show, Gary was hooked. They would arrange their meals around this TV show whenever it was on and since age was creeping up on them, not to mention the fact that both felt their bodies could be a great deal better, they were both able to identify with many of the applicants.

The end results were always stunning.

One though was especially astounding. Gone was the ugly duckling, the bad teeth and fried-egg boobs, replaced by the beauty that stood before the camera.

“This has exceeded even my wildest dreams. Everything I could have wished for and more,” the recipient said.

“Huh! Lucky so-and-so.” grumbled Val.

“No shit! Even I’d feel that was ‘everything I could have wished for and more’,” snorted Gary.

“Would you now?” asked Val, her eyebrows sliding up her forehead a couple of inches. Gary looked at her slightly shocked, before realising that she wasn’t entirely serious.

“We-ell,” he blushed. “I quite like the idea of breasts.” He grinned and pushed ‘breast-shapes’ out with his hands from under his t-shirt.

She shook her head. “Is that all you think about?” she asked.

“Well no, not all … well, okay, pretty much, but there’s beer and one or two other things that occasionally pass through my mind as well …”

“Really?” she asked, her eyebrows rising still further. “Such as?”

“Okay, you got me sussed,” he admitted, standing up and posing in much the same way as the woman on screen. “I admit it. I really wish I had a body like hers. It’s not just the tits.”

“You’re impossible!” she laughed, slapping him playfully on the shoulder and they hugged, still laughing together.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Gary awoke feeling decidedly odd. Bleary-eyed, he pulled on a dressing gown and stumbled into the bathroom, plonking himself on the toilet seat as was his habit first thing rather than risk missing the pan. Getting up afterwards, he caught a glimpse of himself as he walked past the mirror hanging over the basin.

‘Blimey!’ he thought. ‘She’s stacked.’ This was an appropriate comment, since apart from being dark-haired and brown eyed, the reflected image did bear a resemblance to Skyler, played by Pamela Anderson in the TV comedy, ‘Stacked’, though admittedly, not quite so ‘stacked’. This didn’t register fully until he reached the door, some three tenths of a second later, where he froze, his large, long-lashed eyes going very wide.

He shook his head, feeling long, tousled hair undulate with his motions.

“What the …?” he muttered and moved backwards towards the mirror.

“Holy cow!” he whispered, hoarsely.

“Oh, do you like it duckyboots? I couldn’t help overhearing you last night. I think I did rather well and it’s all real, no fakery there darling. Better than that woman on the telly don’t you think?”

“What? Who said that?” Gary exclaimed, spinning round and narrowly missing crashing down on the bathtub due to the redistribution of weight, most notably just below his shoulders at the front — lots of front … lots.

“Now don’t you just look peachy when you’re flustered, sweetie?”

Standing by the lavatory, was a man, least it looked like might have been masculine — sort of. He was about five foot five, clipper-cut silver-white hair and quite round. He had a stud in at least one ear that sparkled and a cherubic face. Definitely male, but then again ...

Perhaps it was the pink tutu, glossy white tights, purple Doctor Marten’s, cotton wool-covered cardboard wings strapped to his back and a wand with silver, glitter-covered five pointed star on the end that made it difficult.

“Who the hell are you?” Gary demanded turning and looking directly at the … er, ‘thing’ in the little girl’s ballerina costume.

“Well that’s a nice welcome I must say.” it replied, pouting. “Some people just don’t appreciate the effort. I’m your fairy Godfather of course.”

“Godfather?” Gary exclaimed. “What have you done to me?”

“Answered your wish and aren’t you just darling.” it lisped. “Positively ravishing — for a woman!”

“Wish? What wish?”

“The one you made last night, lovipoohs. You know, right at the end of that telly programme.” He waved his wand in that typical ‘fairy’ movement, where with a very limp wrist and pinky-finger raised, the wand swished through the air leaving a trail of sparkles behind it. When it stopped, there was a flash and a cartoon-style TV set appeared floating just above the bathroom floor showing him and Val and the last few moments of Extreme Makeover where Gary posed, the man’s entire movement culminating in the thrusting outwards of his posterior, flicking the rear of the tutu into the air with a flamboyant flourish.

“You wanted to have a body like hers and well, here I am and there you are. Aren’t you pleased?”

“Oh shit!” said Gary, dropping heavily on the edge of the bath, his face pale. The wand was swished again, leaving more glittery trails in the air as the TV ‘poofed’ out of existence with a flash and a puff of blue smoke. Gary rubbed his eyes, blinking. The man was still there.

“That’s not what I meant … I am dreaming aren’t I?”

“Not a dream, sweet-cheeks,” he lisped in a sing-song manner then added in a more serious tone, “A dream come true.”

“You’re my fairy Godfather you say?” Gary quizzed, the concept of a masculine version of a fairytale princesses magically coming into reality in masculine form — if that be an adequate description.

“In the flesh — so to speak,” he said twirling girlishly though clumsily, the wand leaving glittery trails as if to add emphasis to the move.

“You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” he said petulantly, striking a pose once again poking his butt out behind him.

“Joking? No, but I’m afraid I’m finding it very difficult to take you seriously in that get-up.”

“I thought it was appropriate,” he said girlishly, flouncing the frills of the tutu, the wings on his back giving a slight flutter as he jiggled.

“Appropriate for what?” asked Gary, finding it nearly impossible to maintain his composure.

“Being a fairy Godfather, silly!” he camped.

“Emphasis on the ‘fairy’ I presume?”

“Now, now. No need to be catty.”

“So how many wishes do I get?”

“How many? There is no ‘many’. I thought you’d be happy with this one.”

“But it wasn’t really a wish. It was just idle banter, you know, we were messing around”

“It wasn’t?”

“No.”

“Well it sounded like a wish to me otherwise it wouldn’t have worked.”

“Well okay, I said, “I wish”, but I didn’t really wish.”

“A wish is a wish.”

“That’s rubbish! I’ve wished loads of times to win the lottery, but it never happened. I’ve wished umpteen times to get that special job, but that didn’t happen either. Where were you then and why did you suddenly decide to grant this of all wishes?” Gary demanded, hotly.

“Er … It sounded real enough to me,” the little man said, defensively.

“But you didn’t check before you unloaded a full-blown sex change on me?” asked Gary. “No ‘are you sure’ dialog box to okay?” The little man looked at the floor, pushing some vagrant specs of dust around with his toe.

“No,” he said, finally.

“Right; that’s what I thought. Well, it’s obviously been a huge mistake sochange me back.”

“Can’t,” the little man said.

“What? I’m stuck like this?” Asked Gary, his dark eyes widening to the size of serving platters as the little man looked more and more unsure of himself.

“Ah …” he said cautiously. “I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t go away.” The little man looked agitated and with a ‘phut’, he vanished.

Gary sat down on the edge of the bath, head in hands.

“What am I going to do?” he asked rhetorically.

Moments later, there was the sound of arguing, well, bickering really; like two people having a bit of a to-do at the other end of a long tunnel. The sound got closer and closer followed by a flash then a ‘poof’ noise and out of the smoke stepped a skinny man in a gold lamé jacket, skin-tight leather trousers and a shiny satin shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest; a gold medallion nestled, sparkling in the ‘V’. He was carrying a clipboard and had a biro behind his right ear. He also didn’t stop berating whoever it was he was giving the ear-bashing to.

Seconds later, there was a slight crackling in the air, a small wisp of smoke and out of it fell the little man, who crashed to the floor just in front of Gary’s extremely pretty feet. He too was arguing the toss, but his ranting was cut short upon impact with the bathroom floor.

“Ow! Bugger!” he exclaimed.

“Impressive,” Gary observed wryly.

“I’ve told you before, Cedric, not to do that. You haven’t had the practice.”

“But you did it,” the little man responded, with a pout while smoothing his clothing.

“Yes Cedric, but when I do it, I look good. Wouldn’t you agree Mr Jones?”

“What? Me? Don’t bring me into this. I just want to get back to normal,” Gary said, watching the proceedings with interest and no small amount of confusion.

“Ah yes. About that …” the skinny fellow began, flicking through pages on his clipboard. “What appears to be the problem?”

“Well, Duh!” Gary said, his temper becoming once again inflamed. He stood and opened his gown, displaying his all too feminine figure. “Even you called me ‘Mr Jones’.”

“Ah.” the skinny man said, blushing various shades of crimson.

“That’s what he said,” Gary noted, sitting back on the edge of the bath and throwing an accusing look at Cedric, who immediately went and stood behind the skinny man, peeping out from behind his left arm.

“Ah,” the skinny man repeated.

“So you said — twice,” Gary pointed out. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

“To be frank Mr Jones, there’s not a lot we can do at this moment.”

“What?! This was his mistake not mine. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, I mean, there must be millions out there who would give their eye teeth for something like this to happen to them, but I really don’t want this and haven’t done from the beginning. I told Clarence that.”

“It’s Cedric.” the pouting little man said, poking his tongue out at Gary, who studiously ignored him.

“Whatever. I told him that in the beginning. So why can’t you just undo what you did and let me get back to my life?”

“Magic doesn’t work like that. Each time it’s used, it sends out ripples.”

“And your point is?”

“Let me explain. It’s like when you drop a stone into a still pond, the ripples move outwards. Well magic works the same way. The magic is the stone and the pond is your world. The ripples the stone makes upon entry represent the magic as it ripples outwards. The time it takes the ripples to dissipate depends on the magic performed. We can’t create more magic in your specific pond until after those ripples have dissipated and the pond is once again still. Changing you was big magic and it takes longer for the ripples in your pond to settle.

“Now if we were to change you back, it would be like dropping another stone into your pond before the ripples had gone — before the pond was once again still. The ripples would mix up and become distorted. There’s no telling what might happen if we did that.”

“How long before you can do something?” Gary asked, getting to his feet. The skinny man sucked in through his front teeth like a mechanic trying to work out how much he could overcharge his customer for something that really didn’t need doing in the first place.

“It would probably take a month.”

“A month?”

“Maybe two, it depends.”

“TWO MONTHS?!” Gary dropped back to the edge of the bath with a muffled ‘thud’.

“Look, I understand how you feel, but magic takes time to settle and we have to let it settle.”

“But what happens in the meantime? What am I going to say to Val, the people I work with? No-one’s going to believe this.”

“Ah, now we can help you there.”

“Hallelujah!”

“We can cast a spell that will cause people who know you to accept that you are who you are, what you look like etc, but it will mean that you will have to wait the full two months before you can be changed back.”

“And no-one will know that I wasn’t er, like this before?”

“They may have a feeling there’s something different, but they won’t know what and they won’t dwell upon questioning you.”

“That’s a start at least.”

“It’s the least we can do, after all, you’re right, it was our fault.” the man with the clipboard said, looking daggers over his shoulder at Cedric who immediately cowered. “We should have been a little more thorough before we started shooting spells of at the hip — shouldn’t we Cedric?”

“I told you Stephen, I distinctly heard him wish …”

“Yes well. If that is all, we’ll be off,” Stephen announced, cutting Cedric’s excuse off by clapping his hand over the little man’s mouth.

“Actually, there is just one more thing.”

Stephen removed the biro from behind his ear again and flipped the pages to a blank one. “Yes?”

“You couldn’t help out with the wardrobe could you? I don’t have anything — and I mean anything except this dressing gown — to wear.”

“That’s no problem, Cedric?”

“My pleasure Stephen.” said the small man, inclining his head. The little man went through the same ritual as before as he waved his wand, the sparkles building to a crescendo and both he and Stephen vanished.

“Now that was impressive,” Gary conceded.

“Thank you.” replied a hollow-sounding Cedric from the ether.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Gary still wasn’t wholly convinced he wasn’t dreaming. He opened the front of his gown to stare at the body reflected in the mirror.

It looked real and as he slid his hands from hip to breasts, it felt real. He gasped slightly as his delicate hands moved across his nipples, leaving them firm and tingling, the darkened skin around them, crinkling and producing yet more tingles as the temperature rose.

“Phew!” he said breathlessly. “I never thought …” He imagined he must have been feeling pretty much the same sensations as Val when he played with her tits. It was a whole new ball game or should that be a game without balls now?

I know what you’re thinking and yes, he did try out the rest, but rather than take this account into the realms of pornography, let’s just say that he ended up with a look of wonder, jelly legs and found himself sat once again on the edge of the bath, a warm feeling all over, and once the feelings had subsided, a silly grin on his face.

Just from this one um, ‘trial run’ shall we say — oh come on now, be fair. You can’t expect to give someone a whole new toolkit and expect them not to at least try them out can you? — Anyway, as I was saying, his little ‘experiment’ was a real eye opener for him. It gave him a sensation that rocked his world, or nearly took his legs out from under him. It was much a more intense sensation than he’d experienced as a man and his mind was racing at the thought of more of the same when it came to him and Val together — which would no doubt up the intensity some.

Drawing his dressing gown tightly round him or her I should say, she tip-toed back into the bedroom, slipping quietly in to her side of the bed, hoping not to disturb Val as she lay sleeping.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

“YOU DID WHAT?” asked Don, the head fairy Godfather through gritted teeth as Cedric and Stephen stood before him like two schoolboys before the headmaster. “What were you doing casting spells alone?”

“Well, he wished,” Cedric explained, shrugging, his fake fairy wings fluttering gently as he did so.

“It was a mistake, sir,” Stephen explained, quickly stamping on Cedric’s foot, who suppressed a squeal. “I should have been there.”

“It’s a bit more than a simple mistake don’t you think?” asked Don, his face already flame red, the veins on his neck standing out like heavy-duty industrial drainage pipes. “A mistake is turning the onion into a red carriage and not a blue one or giving someone a white tuxedo instead of a black one. This is a … a … I don’t even know what to call this.”

“Travesty?” offered Stephen helpfully.

“This is really bad alright.” Don agreed, returning to his seat and drawing himself up to the desk. “How’s he taking it?”

“Not too well,” Stephen said, seriously. “He wasn’t terribly impressed and wanted us to change him back there and then.”

“I’m not surprised.” said Don from behind his large oak desk. “You didn’t try did you?”

“I explained why we couldn’t do that.”

“I presume you put the usual blockage spell into force.”

“We did,” Stephen said, beaming at having got that right. “I told him we couldn’t change him back but told him that we would put a spell in place so that people wouldn’t know he hadn’t always been that way.”

“Good, good!” said Don relaxing back into his chair. “And his name now?” he asked.

“Gary.”

“Yes, I know what his name was. I asked what it is now.”

“Gary,” Stephen repeated, his voice wavering slightly at the end of the second syllable as he realised that he had forgotten this part.

Don’s face started to redden again, the veins standing from his neck. This time, the older man was starting to shake noticeably. Cedric and Stephen started to shuffle towards the door.

“Ye Gods!” he exclaimed.

“He didn’t ask us to change it, Don.” said Stephen defensively.

“He shouldn’t have needed to ask, you bloody idiots. He didn’t ask to be changed at all. You should have got this right. After all, just how many women do you know called Gary?”

“Well, not ‘Gary’, but there is Arnold and Rudolph.” Cedric offered, starting to count some off on his stubby little fingers.

“Who?” Don enquired.

“Arnold and Rudolph. They like to be called Candy and Cindy at the weekends.”

“Real women.” Don said, shaking his head.

“Ah,” Cedric said, shoving his hands behind his back. “Sorry.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Stephen said.

“You’d better. I don’t want to have to call in the Godmothers. We’ll never hear the end of it.”

“You can rely on us, sir!” said Stephen enthusiastically.

“I bloody-well hope so. I’ll be watching you two and woe betides you if you screw this one up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Gary awoke with sunlight streaming through the bedroom window, the memory of a strange dream in her head. She shuffled to the bathroom and sat on the toilet, rubbing her eyes and trying to remember details. Next thing she knew was out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash and as she turned her head, she saw Stephen.

“Argh!” she cried, jumping up and displaying her totally naked body to the skinny man. “Don’t you ever knock?”

“Arrrgh!” shouted Stephen jumping back and covering his eyes.

“Arrrrrrrrrgh!” shouted Cedric, dropping into the bathroom from just below the ceiling, crashing down into the middle of the floor. “Bugger!”

“Oh my G– It’s all real,” Gary said, clasping her head in her hands.

“I’m afraid so,” Stephen said, sympathetically. “Um, you might want to put something on.” He threw a towel to Gary who tried in vain to cover herself before both realised it was only a hand towel and barely covered her breasts. Stephen picked a bath towel off the rack and threw that one over.

“Thanks. You really need to do something about him. He’s either going to hurt himself or someone else.”

“I know. I’ll get to that later. Meanwhile, we have something else to attend to.”

“What’s that?” Gary asked.

“Your name.” said Stephen, once again flicking through the pages on the clipboard.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s er, hardly fitting is it?” said Stephen looking suggestively up and down Gary’s new body.

“Oh … er, no; I suppose not.”

They all hushed as footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs.

“Is everything alright in there?” said a very concerned Val from outside the door.

“Yes; yes, it’s fine. I’ll be out in a minute,” Gary assured. She turned to the two fairy Godfathers in the room and whispered “Whatever you’ve got to do, you’d better do it now and do it quietly.”

“Do you have a favourite?” asked Stephen in a low whisper.

“Favourite what?” Gary quizzed, screwing up her face in consternation.

“Name. Try and keep up, we haven’t much time.”

“Listen Stephen, I’ve had this name for over thirty years now. I’ve never even had to think about another.”

“Yes, well, it’s not good enough at the moment. Perhaps if your name was Tracy or Dana or something else that can easily be feminised if it isn’t already kind of unisex, but Gary? It’s already difficult enough as it is.”

“Alright, alright now shush. Let me think,” Gary said holding her hands up. She thought for a moment, but it’s one of those things that unbidden, names and other words stroll around in the brain all the time. You want one of them and they all seem to hide under rocks and such. Moments later Gary made a decision.

“Angela.”

“Angela? Are you sure?” said Cedric, not entirely convinced.

“It’s the best I can do at short notice. Not only that, but my mind sort of went blank. It’s all I could think of.”

“I think it’s splendid!” Stephen whispered with a grin.

“I’m not sure,” Cedric disagreed, his index finger on his lips and looking thoughtful. “I mean, he doesn’t look much like an Angela does he?”

“It’s ‘she’ and Angela’s Fine!” Stephen corrected through clenched teeth. “Now quiet; I’ll deal with you later.”

“Oooooh! Don’t get your knickers in a twist luvvie. I wasn’t the one who forgot the name was I?”

“No you’re just the one who got us into this mess in the first place.” Stephen said, clapping his hand over Cedric’s mouth before he could say anything more and the two of them vanished.

~~~~~~~~~~~

  “Your tea’s getting cold Angie. Are you going to be long?” Angela turned and looked at the bathroom door in wonder. It had worked. The two strange men had actually done it, though she supposed that compared to the sex change, changing someone’s name was a walk in the park. The sound of it coming from Val’s lips though, made it sound so much more real somehow.

“Just coming,” she called and took off the towel, wandering naked into the bedroom. She was self conscious about it, but she figured that Val would think nothing of it.

“Good morning.” said Val, leaning towards Angie for a good morning kiss.

“Morning you,” Angie said as their lips met.

It wasn’t passionate, well not particularly and as they pulled apart, there was a strange look on Val’s face. It was kind of enquiring, if not incomprehension, something just short. Angie couldn’t quite work out what that look meant and she wasn’t exactly encouraged by it. She just fobbed it off as her being slightly out of sorts, after all, a lot had happened in a very short space of time and it was only to be expected that she wasn’t going to be one hundred percent, plus she was having to put all her trust in two people that thus far had been anything but successful in their endeavours.

Things settled down as they drank their morning cuppa and chatted. At the end, Angie was starting to feel a little more relaxed. When they embraced, Angie’s heart went into overdrive. She had an idea of how this was going to go, how she was going to feel and had been looking forward to it.

Let’s give them some privacy at this point shall we? I mean, it’s bad enough that they should be being watched when they weren’t expecting it, by two inept fairy Godfathers let alone the tens of thousands of you out there. So can we skip the heavy breathing and things that you wouldn’t be comfortable telling your mothers about, to meet up with them after they had showered, admitting only that Angie was not disappointed.

Val showered first, leaving Angie with another silly grin on her face, thinking that if the last um … while — I’m not going to tell you how long it lasted — was anything to go by, being a girl may not be so bad after all. All those things she had considered as being negatives were melting away as the warm glow of her and Val together re-ran through her mind; the closeness, the tenderness, the lack of hurriedness and the gentleness all culminating in something that ordinarily Angie would have considered would only have been achieved in a drug induced state.

“It’s all yours,” Val announced as she returned from the bathroom to dress, still drying her hair with a towel. Angie showered and by the time she had finished and dressed in jeans and t-shirt, Val was already downstairs.

Angie made some coffee and sat at the table with Val who was looking somewhat distracted for some reason.

“Is it something I’ve done?” said Angie, worried that the spell had been broken and suddenly Val knew what was happening.

“No,” she said, looking at Angie with distant eyes. “Nothing you’ve done. I don’t know I just feel a little out of sorts.”

They drank their coffee in near silence, Angie not knowing what to say to the one person in the world that she really needed to be supportive. Of course with the drama of the previous few hours, it was only to be expected that she would be apprehensive, but nevertheless, she put on a brave face, smiled at Val a lot and the two of them prepared to go to see Lynn, Val’s mum.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Lynn was typically A-typical. She was not the mother-in-law from hell that so many men complain about. If anything, she was completely the opposite. She was kind and understanding, even when they were going through rough patches. When they got to Lynn’s, Angie was nearly petrified. She knew that if anyone would be able to see through this obvious deception, she would.

“Come in, it’s good to see you both,” she said, kissing each of them twice on the cheek before leading them through to the lounge.

They enjoyed a good old chinwag and for possibly the first time in all the years they had been together, Angie didn’t feel like a fifth wheel. Perhaps it was this new female form, giving her more of a predisposition towards more feminine forms of chatter. Whatever it was, she felt more at home at that moment than at any other time.

It all came crashing down around her ears when Val went to make some more tea and bring in some biscuits.

“Alright Gary,” she said sternly. “What’s going on?”

“Gary? But you’re not supposed to be able to see. No-one is.”

“I know. I’m not supposed to be able to do a lot of things, but miraculously I seem perfectly able.”

“I wasn’t trying to be facetious. I was just told that no-one would be able to see through what I am and just accept it.”

“And a very good job whoever did this did too, nevertheless, it’s not who you are — or were, is it?”

“No.”

“So what happened?”

Angie, nearly in tears now, outlined all of what had happened over the preceding hours, adding that of course she didn’t want to stay that way, but it was going to take a couple of months before the spell could be undone, by which time, she could hold it back no longer and tears ran freely as did the sobbing.

“What’s going on?” Val asked, bursting into the lounge.

“Nothing, it’s alright. Angie was just getting something off her chest. How’s that tea coming along?”

“Fine. The tea’s fine. It’ll be ready in a few moments,” she said and left the lounge.

“Don’t say anything about this to her will you? I don’t think she knows.”

Angie nodded, dabbing her eyes again and a few moments later, Val came in carrying a tray with a fresh pot of tea with a plate of plain chocolate digestives.

The rest of the visit was pretty much uneventful and Angie was surprised that Lynn let nothing slip. Even Val didn’t press. In fact, Lynn said nothing about Angie’s outburst at all and when they came to leave, she kissed both of them on the cheeks again, but called Angie back as they were walking up the garden path.

“You’re tall Angie. Would you mind getting something down from on top of my wardrobe before you go?” Angie stopped as did Val, asking if Angie needed a hand.

“It’s alright. It’s just high up, not heavy.”

Inside, Lynn pushed the front door to.

“I don’t need anything got from anywhere. I just wanted to tell you that if you have any problems at all — any — you’ll come and see me.” There was a look in Lynn’s eyes that calmed Angie down a lot and she promised that if anything did happen, she would be the first one she spoke to.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It would be remiss of me not to add something about how Val was feeling at this point as so far, I have only covered what had happened to Gary, who is now Angie or Angela.

It’s all very well for a spell to be cast that gives the recipient the impression that something may have always been the way it currently appears, but what it cannot do, is tell someone they are now gay where before they were heterosexual and have them blindly accept it, which is approximately what happened to Val.

Waking up, she first got the sleep out of her eyes and turned to kiss the exposed shoulder of her dearly beloved. The fact that she had to brush vast amounts of hair away before she could get to that shoulder didn’t register until after she had descended the stairs and was waiting for the kettle to boil. She knew it was right, but at the same time — which was confusing to say the least —something told her that no, that wasn’t right.

There was a thump on the floor in the bathroom above. She finished making the tea and as she passed the bathroom door, she asked if everything was alright.

“Yes; yes, fine. I’ll be out in a minute.” said a voice in reply.

Now she accepted that it was the voice of her dearly beloved, but not before blinking a couple of times on hearing a decidedly feminine voice answer, but before she could dwell upon this fact, it disappeared from her mind and she continued on into the bedroom.

The next thing she knew was that the bathroom was still occupied and the other side of the bed wasn’t. It had been ages since she had returned with the tea and she looked up and called out.

“Your tea’s getting cold, Angie.” she said and blinked again, her face a picture of consternation. The fleeting query of “Angie?” disappeared leaving only a pair of scorch marks; a mute reminder of how quickly it left her mind.

The call of, “Just coming,” floated back from the bathroom and moments later, in came Angie.

Val watched over the top of the magazine she was reading as a naked Angie sauntered into the room and walked around the bed to get in on her side, Val’s brain in a state of flux, torn between ogling the girl before her and acceptance of the fact that this was the person with whom she had been living for nearly a decade and a half.

The half that had issues with the image that was gliding sensuously around the bed, stark naked, skin taut and smooth, pale and soft-looking, took in the sight. ‘Her’ breasts stood without the slightest support, jutting straight out from her chest, capped by two dark nipples, slightly erect. ‘Her’ narrow waist flared gently to hips and thighs that had not a trace of cellulite and upwards, led past those gravity-defying breasts to slender shoulders, beautiful neck and oh goodness, that face.

Her face was like porcelain, smooth, clear and — and beautiful. Her eyes, dark and smouldering, her lips, full and pouting just enough not to appear false and the corners turned up by the perfect amount to show the warmth Val knew lay behind.

“Good morning.” Val said, doing what she always did and leaning towards Angie for a good morning kiss.

That mouth was soft and melted into hers as their lips met. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, just one that was maybe a notch or two above two good friends meeting, but not as far as passionate. Yet Val was completely knocked over by the warmth and passion that immediately started to well up inside, which wasn’t what she was expecting.

Although traditionally, the weekend was where they enjoyed their sexual encounters with the most regularity, it had never started this simply. Val’s mind was awhirl with the effects of that kiss, that simple kiss and a look of confusion covered her face. Should she continue and get stuck in there? Should she back off and have tea first. As ludicrous as it sounds, in all their years together, she couldn’t remember a simple kiss being that hot.

The feelings from the kiss subsided — slightly and they drank their tea, all the while, Val just wanted to ‘get it on’. When they did, she couldn’t believe the difference in what she thought she thought she remembered of sex on previous occasions.

It wasn’t until afterwards that she realised that although extremely pleasurable, she couldn’t remember for the life of her ever having had sex with a woman before and yet, she knew for certain that she and Angie had been together forever — hadn’t they?

Talk about baking her noodle.

By the time Angie had showered and joined Val downstairs for coffee, Val’s head was upside down, inside out and just for good measure, back to front and she wasn’t at all sure she understood what was going on.

“Is it something I’ve done?” asked Angie, realising that Val wasn’t at all chirpy and happy after what to her had felt like setting a nuclear bomb off inside the pair of them — er, sex-wise that is.

“No.” she said, looking at Angie with distant eyes. “Nothing you’ve done. I don’t know I just feel a little out of sorts.” said Val. Angie had the feeling that this wasn’t exactly right, but let it go at that.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Val’s memory of the visit to her mum was sketchy at best, well, not all of it; it just seemed to get to a point around tea-time and then it got a bit foggy. She couldn’t even remember leaving. Okay, by the time she got home, she knew that she’d enjoyed her time with her mum, but details?

As hard as she tried, they just seemed to elude her.

Back at home, Val was having trouble being comfortable in her own skin. The whole day’s events had seemed to have thrown her a curve-ball and her head seemed to be on another planet. Memories of her and Angie were a little cloudy and some of the things she brought to mind just didn’t fit. Some of the things that she remembered doing couldn’t possibly have happened the way her head was telling her and it all got a bit much.

“That went well,” Angie said, beaming, her good humour irritating Val, who just ‘harrumphed’. “What’s the matter?”

Val didn’t know what to say. Suddenly she was very uncomfortable with the thought that she was gay, a lesbian. Why she should be this way after what she knew was such a long time — fifteen years or so — was absurd … wasn’t it?

“Nothing!” Val almost shouted, going upstairs and throwing herself on the bed, frustrated at the fact that she couldn’t understand what was happening to her, to them. The memory of the morning’s um, fairly enjoyable, no — very enjoyable session returned and made matters worse.

If there’s one thing that is bound to make things awkward, it’s deriving pleasure from something that ordinarily one would find repugnant and this is just how she felt about the idea of sex with another woman. Yet making love to Angie felt, well, good. Boy did it feel good and if that was the case, why did she feel so bad about it all?

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunday came and went with a cloud hanging like the hangman’s noose over both of them. They were like two like poles of a magnet, if either got too close to the other, they would move away. Each time Angie wanted to say something, she only had to look at Val’s face to know it wasn’t a good idea.

By the time it came time to go to bed, neither had spoken more than half a dozen words to one another and bedtime itself was a joke. The space between them was big enough to drive a couple of double-decker buses through.

When Angie awoke on Monday morning, Val was snuggled in, spooned against her. She didn’t dare move and even found herself holding her breath until she was almost blue so as not to waken Val and break the spell, the closeness, the warmth — something that Angie felt had been most unfortunately taken away yesterday.

Angie just knew that what had happened to her was what was on Val’s mind — even if she didn’t know it. It occurred to her that things must seem different to Val, regardless of the spell. They had been intimate for too long not to know when things weren’t right. It was then she decided that whatever the cost, she had to end this charade as quickly as she could.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3

Work was going to have to take a back seat at least for a while, or until this all got sorted out anyway. If the trouble that Val had been experiencing was any indication, work was likely to be even worse.

She phoned up and asked to speak to the floor manager.

“It’s Angie,” she said, waiting to hear a “who?” on the other end of the line, but instead, she heard a muffled, “Oh shit, not her as well …”

“Don’t tell me you’ve got it too?” The idea that many of the folk at work had been changed from male to female or vice-versa, nearly made Angie fall off her seat, but Robert, the manager, allayed her fears. “Half the bloody factory is off today. I can’t do without you too.”

“I’m sorry Rob, but it’s women’s trouble for me.” She wasn’t lying; she’d just bent the truth somewhat.

“Women’s troubles?”

“I can spell it out for you if you’d like …” she said innocently. There was a short pause, during which time, the sound of a small coin dropping could almost be heard.

“Er, I don’t think that’s necessary, thank you. How long do you think you’ll be away?”

“Not sure. Not long I hope. I feel as though–”

“Just get back as soon as you can, okay?” Rob told her, ending by wishing her well and she heard the word “Fuck!” probably exclaimed followed by several exclamation marks, as he put the phone down.

Next on the list of to do jobs — see Lynn …

~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’ve been expecting you.” Lynn said. “Perhaps not this soon, but I was expecting you.”

“I hoped you might be.” said Angie, stepping over the threshold and walking straight into the kitchen. “I hope I’m not disturbing.”

“Your predicament: yes. You? No.”

“I am glad. I’m worried about Val.”

“She’s not taking this well I assume.”

“No. I was told that there was a spell cast to stop people concerning themselves with who I have become, but I’m sure that’s not working on Val.”

“She knows?”

“No, but she will.”

“You’re not going to tell her?”

“Lynn, I’m worried, really worried. In all the years that we’ve been together, I’ve never seen her like this. Yesterday is one I’d rather forget. We hardly spoke and she seems, well, really ‘out there’. I just know it’s all this that’s causing it.” She stood up and gestured down her body, sitting down heavily with a thud.

Lynn rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

“Have you two had sex since you changed?” she asked. Angie blushed, the glow almost dazzling.

“We-ell …”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Did Val enjoy it?”

“I should think so. She shouted something like … I mean um, yes.” Angie said, her voice trailing off into something barely audible as the colour rose like a fog on her cheeks, unable to look Lynn in the eye.

“And you think all this with her started after that?” said Lynn, trying to stifle a laugh after Angie showed her discomfort.

  “Absolutely! I had a shower, went downstairs and she was as she put it, ‘out of sorts’. Since then, it’s been difficult to get more than two words out of her, but I’m going to put that right.”

“You are? How?”

“I’m going to tell her what’s happened, that’s how.” said Angie, bashing the table with her balled fist. “That way, if she thinks it’s her that’s the problem, she’ll know it wasn’t.”

“You can’t do that.” said Lynn. “She’s not supposed to know for a reason.”

“And that is?”

“Well, it’s for your protection. It er, means that she will accept you the way you are and it may affect the magic.”

“But that’s not working is it?”

“Apparently not,” Lynn conceded.

“Although it’s not my doing, it’s me that’s causing the trouble and me that can put it right. I love her too much to see her suffer anymore. If I stand the chance of losing her, it won’t be because of some foolish bloody fairy Godfather getting everything all to cock.”

“Fairy Godfather?”

“Yeah, or at least, that’s what they called themselves.”

“More than one?”

“Two of them.” said Angie. “Popping in and out of the bathroom unannounced. It was most embarrassing.”

“I see …” Lynn said, thoughtfully. “Can you hold off telling Val until tomorrow?”

“I think so. What are you going to do?”

“Just you leave that to me. I’ll get this sorted out,” Lynn said. There was a look of grim determination on her face and Angie could see at once that it wasn’t a good idea t mess with a woman on a mission.

Tomorrow it was then.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Val had woken up and found Angie spooned against her. It was as if Angie had lit the blue touch paper and Val went absolutely mental.

“Get off me … Stay on your own side … Don’t touch me.”

It was all Angie could do not to break down there and then. Val in the meantime had grabbed her clothes and thundered out of the bedroom, muttering and grumbling.

Angie was about to run after her, throwing the duvet back, but stopped in her tracks, sat naked on the bed, tears rolling down her face, barely able to believe that Val, her best friend, her lover and soul-mate, had just been so nasty. It was most unlike her.

What made things worse was there was no goodbye, no sharing a cuppa before she went and the first Angie knew that Val had left was the sound of the front door as it was closed and none to quietly at that. Angie was straight onto the phone to speak to Lynn, but there was no reply and she sat at the table, alone in the kitchen just worried to death that the whole thing had gone tits-up and there was not a single thing she could do about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Lynn was angry after Angie had left. It wasn’t so much that the spells had gone awry, but that they had gone awry around her daughter. Anyone else, it would just have been a case of “there, there” and other soothing sounds to help the poor unfortunate person get used to things the way they were going to be from now on.

It wasn’t like there weren’t mistakes. After all, all fairy Godmothers and Godfathers for that matter have training to go through. None of them automatically know how to do stuff, like the vampires in Buffy seem to. One minute they’re ordinary folk then they become vampires and suddenly they know karate and kung fu. Being a fairy Godmother, or Godfather for that matter takes time, patience and practice — lots of practice.

No, the mistakes she could handle, but not when it involved her daughter.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Don was in his office, sweat beading on his brow.

“Why does she have to come today? Why at all and so damned early too” he asked, wringing his hands on the desk in front of him.

“Your boys screwed up, that’s why.” said Lynn, having entered the office silently.

“Oh God, you’re here!” said Don almost jumping off his seat.

“I most certainly am,” she said, sitting primly on a chair in front of Don’s desk.

“How did you know?” he asked then his forehead wrinkled. “Er, just which screw-up are we talking about?”

“The subtle change of sex? That poor lad is my daughter’s fiancé, that’s which,” she said calmly and matter-of-factly.

“You mean…?”

“I do.”

“Oh shit!”

“Shit indeed,” Lynn said solemnly.

“You’re going to have to put this right double quick.” said Lynn, her expression dangerous to say the least. Don seemed to think so anyway and slid his chair back a ways, mopping his brow again.

“We told him it would take a couple of months,” Don said.

“Poppycock!” said Lynn. “You know as well as I do that if he stays in that body for too long, it will start to take over. He will lose his masculinity as his brain readjusts to the new environment. If you wait that long, all that he was will be lost and even changing him back won’t bring him back, it’ll bring something or rather someone who might look like him, but it won’t be him. You get this sorted out before my daughter decides to do something stupid and I have to come and do something equally stupid to you.”

She leant across the desk menacingly. “I can still do that you know.”

Don’s eyes went wide with fright and Lynn wasn’t required to elucidate.

“Yes, yes … of course. Right away,” he muttered, flustered and writing a whole new definition on worry.

“I’m glad we understand one another. It’s been nice talking to you, Don. Good day.” she said urbanely and Don became even more flustered, knowing full well that if she wanted to, she could turn him into a toadstool or something even less attractive.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Cedric and Stephen stood before Don’s desk within moments of Lynn’s exit.

“Now listen you two. You both screwed up and unless you want to be replacing the teeth of snot-nosed whiny kids with money for the rest of eternity or worse, I suggest you listen and listen good,” Don said with as much malice as he could muster. “That guy you changed is the fiancé of the daughter of Lynneth Alleyn.”

“Not the Lynneth Alleyn surely?” Stephen asked, his face going whiter than hospital sheets and his eyes bulging.

“The very same.”

“Oh dear.”

“Who’s Lynneth Alleyn?” Cedric asked.

Both Don and Stephen looked at the little man, mouths open, incredulous. The fact that Cedric had no idea who the woman was prompted name-calling that is not normally heard in polite company.

“Lynneth Alleyn was only the fairy Godmother to Cinderella,” Stephen said.

“I thought she was a myth.”

“She’s very real,” Don said, worriedly from behind his desk. “And even though she’s retired from the game now, she still carries a lot of weight round these parts, not to mention the magical abilities.”

“I didn’t think she would still have any of that,” Stephen said. “I would have thought she’d have relinquished that upon her retirement.”

“Tell you what,” said Don brightly. “Why don’t you test her out?” The skinny man flinched and lost what small amount of colour he had regained since learning of Val’s mum’s real identity.

“You’re going to have to undo what you did,” Don told them.

“But what are we supposed to do? It hasn’t even been a full week, let alone the two months.”

”You’re going to put it all right is what you’re going to do.”

Stephen sucked through his teeth. “That’s complicated even for you, Don. I certainly wouldn’t attempt it and I wouldn’t even give Cedric here the responsibility of posting a letter, let alone something like that.”

Cedric was about to say something but thought better of it.

“Well it’s time you got something right. I want this mess cleared up as soon as possible otherwise Lynneth is going to things to me I would rather not contemplate. If that happens, I can’t even hint at what will happen to you two.”

They left his office and once again, Don was wiping his brow.

“He wouldn’t really do anything like that would he?” Cedric asked, for the first time actually having some kind of idea of exactly what kind of crap they were in.

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t like to put it to the test.” Stephen replied, the colour only just starting to return to his ashen face.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Angie sat at home twiddling her thumbs, for want of anything better to do. She’d tried and failed doing anything even as simple as the washing-up, breaking a plate and sploshing water all over the kitchen floor. If that wasn’t bad enough, she slipped in the wetness trying to mop it up. It was disastrous.

She put the kettle on without water in it then filled the room with steam when she realised what she’d done. It was a litany of trauma. She’d put a tea-bag into the cup as well as coffee, spilt that and finally settled for thumb-twiddling. It was the safest bet.

She was waiting for something to happen with regards to Lynn and as the time ticked by, she was beginning to wonder whether Lynn had managed to get anywhere.

The phone rang and she dropped that, trying to pick it up whilst still twiddling thumbs and got all flustered.

“Calm down, Angie. It will be alright.”

“You’ve managed to sort it out?” she asked incredulously. “How?”

“Never mind that. I’ve spoken to someone and he has assured me that it will all be sorted.”

“He’s not sending those two buffoons round that caused this is he?”

“I take it you don’t trust them?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“I’ll be round shortly,” she said and the phone went dead.

Shortly turned out to be much sooner than Angie thought, for no sooner had she put the phone down, the door bell rang and standing on the doorstep was Lynn.

“By Christ, you don’t hang about do you?” Angie said, eyes wide.

“I didn’t want to let this get out of hand.”

“Come in. I’d make tea, but I’m not sure I can.” She said, closing the door behind Lynn and following her into their kitchen.

Lynn made herself even more useful and filled the kettle, setting it down and switching it on.

They had just settled with the tea, when there was a ‘poof’ and out of the cloud of smoke stepped Stephen. This was followed only a heartbeat later by the obligatory ‘phut!’ about four feet from the floor and out of that dropped Cedric, upside down.

“Oh bugger!” he cried, rubbing a sizeable bump on his head. “Ow!”

Stephen looked up from his clipboard to see that not only was Angie present, but so was another, older woman; one who Cedric was looking intently at.

“Ah,” he said. “I thought you were here alone.”

“I was, but then Lynn came round.” Stephen’s face blanched.

“Ah,” he said again as Lynn looked at him, one eyebrow arching dangerously. “You must be …”

“Yes, I’m Val’s mother,” she interjected quickly, surreptitiously pointing at Angie from under the table.

“Yes, yes of course,” Stephen said, clapping his hand over Cedric’s mouth before he put his purple foot in it.

“Don’t mind me,” she said. “I’m just here to keep Angie company.”

Angie smiled at her mother-in-law, reaching out to take her hand in thanks. The sentence though, as innocent as it may have been in Angie’s eyes, meant a whole heap of other things to Stephen and could almost be seen creating a centre parting as it went just over Cedric’s head.

“I, er, um. I, er, that is we, er, um–” spluttered Stephen, who hadn’t regained his normal complexion after realising who the other person in the room was. “I need to make a quick call.”

“You know this might not go perfectly well, don’t you?” said Lynn. “They were right about letting the magic settle.”

“I know, but the way things are at the moment, I don’t think I can take the chance on leaving it for a whole two months.”

“I know. I just wanted to make sure you were sure about what you are asking here.”

“Whatever the cost. I have to make sure I try everything I can to make sure that I make things right for Val.”

Lynn gave Angie’s hand a squeeze and smiled. That made Angie feel a great deal less apprehensive, despite knowing that the change that happened today may not be what she was hoping for or expecting.

There was another ring on the door bell and Angie went to answer it. Standing on the doorstep, was a man Angie had never seen before.

“Ah!” he said brightly. “You must be Angie.”

“Er, yes. How did you know?” she asked.

“I’m Stephen’s boss, Don.”

There was now quite a gathering in the small kitchen. Cedric had been told to sit down and not touch anything. Don kept a safe — or what he considered safe, given the kitchen’s limited dimensions — distance from Lynn, who eyed him like a cat would a mouse. It looked as though it was down to Stephen.

It was all about to go off when there came a noise from the front door. Val came into the house and all in the kitchen were almost holding their collective breaths as Val slammed the door shut, threw her bags down, followed by her coat and stomped towards the kitchen.

Quick as a flash, Lynn was up and out of the door, to head her off at the pass, er sorry, wrong story — to head her off in the hall.

“Would you mind waiting just a few moments, gentlemen?” she asked.

There was the sound of muffled voices from behind the door to the hallway followed by …

“WHAT?!!” screamed Val. “They did what?”

“It was a mistake darling.” Lynn told her, but failed to stop her daughter from bursting into the kitchen like Arnold Schwarzenegger with an Uzi nine millimetre.

The sight that greeted her was a somewhat shocked Angie, still sat or half sat at the table, while around the other side, cowering, were Don, Cedric and Stephen.

“Get out from down there. What have you done?”

The explanations came tumbling out as the three men looked anywhere but at Val, whose eyes were burning. Lynn stood behind her in the doorway, but it was not difficult to see that she was now puffed up with a certain amount of pride for her daughter.

Val turned to Angie, who wasn’t exactly feeling comfortable at that moment, but had at least, sat back down and was also somewhat proud of her girlfriend as she tore into the three men standing shuffling uncomfortably on the other side of the table.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

“I couldn’t. It may have upset everything they’d put in place,” Angie said, now realising that it wasn’t the best of plans to follow.

“I see,” Val said.

“I don’t know that you do. The last thing I wanted was for you to be upset by all of this. I mean I woke up and ‘poof’ there I was, or there I am … Anyway, the spell was supposed to stop anyone from asking questions, to just accept me like I am, but it didn’t work on you.”

“That’s my girl,” muttered Lynn, smiling openly now.

“What was that mother? You knew too?”

“Not until afterwards. I must confess to having told Gary not to tell you as well.”

“I don’t believe this!” Val said with a distinct note of anger in her voice. “Anyway, what are you all doing here?”

“We were about to try turning Angie back into Gary,” Don said, standing slightly behind Stephen and Cedric and holding them in place before they had any ideas about standing behind him.

“I see,” Val said. “You’d better get on with it then.”

“Are you sure you want to go ahead with this now?” Stephen said, knowing what the ramifications were.

“Why wouldn’t he?” Val asked.

“It may not work properly.” Stephen explained.

“Yes of course I do, hasn’t Val been through enough already?” Angie said or was it Gary — whatever.

Stephen began raising his hand, muttering something under his breath.

“May not work?” Val said to Lynn.

“It might go wrong,” Lynn told her.

Stephen’s hand rose, his muttering increasing.

“How wrong?” Val demanded.

“We don’t know. He was supposed to wait for two months, but it became apparent that the two of you might not last that long, so he decided to try and put things right despite the obvious dangers involved.

“He what?” exclaimed Val, just as Stephen let rip.

ZAPPPPPPPP!!

In a blur, Val threw herself between Stephen and Angie and the cloud of smoke that ensued obscured the couple, but when it had, four people — Don, Cedric, Stephen and Lynn were all peering down at Val and Angie.

Frantically fanning the pungent-smelling smoke away, the image slowly cleared and Angie had not changed at all. Val could be seen face down, lying across Angie’s knees.

“Oh shit.” Don muttered.

“Crap!” Stephen cursed.

“What?” Cedric asked.

“Oh dear.” Lynn said as Val lifted her head, feeling slightly bemused.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been just under ten months since that fateful day and Lynn was sitting in her kitchen when there was a knock on the door.

“How’s my favourite couple?” she asked smiling and kissing each of them on the cheek as they filed past.

“We’re fine thank you. We thought you might like to say hello to your grandson. We’re sorry you couldn’t have been there, but he’s doing well.”

Angie handed over a tiny bundle wrapped in an equally tiny blanket.

“Not bad for a mistake, eh?” Lynn asked.

“Well how were we to know that the magic would make things that complete?” asked Vince, who used to be Val.

“Do you know, I’ve been plotting a way of getting back at those three clowns, but now I don’t think I should. If I’d have waited for Val to give me a grandchild, I think I’d have died waiting in vain. Thank you Angie.”

“It’s funny you should say that, but I don’t think as Gary I would have wanted it either, but somehow Angie found the whole thing rather er, fulfilling — if not painful.”

“What about you Vince?”

“I wouldn’t change this for the world. Can you stand losing a daughter and gaining a son?”

Lynn said nothing. She silently walked to her new son and hugged him tightly; a single tear ran down her cheek as she smiled.

The end - of the beginning.

Lost Girl — Girl Found ;

Cathy Jones stepped into the café in the shopping centre Saturday morning, as at one of the tables sat her brother, Oliver.

“Is it really you?” he asked, tears springing from his eyes.

“Of course it’s me, dimwit!” she said, shaking her head at how much her little brother had grown. He couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve the last time she saw him and at nineteen…

Oliver couldn’t get out from behind the table quickly enough and they embraced.

“You know, I never thought I’d see you again,” he said, between sniffles that were ill-disguised.

“And you’re a lot bigger than I expected,” she told him, giving him a tight hug.

“It happens. You didn’t honestly think I would stay a tiny little twerp forever, did you?”

“I suppose not,” she agreed and laughed. “mind you, you’re not exactly huge now, are you?”

“Thanks. I’ve really missed you too,” he said.

“And I you.”

They broke apart and stood looking at one another for a while before Cathy spoke.

“I thought it was you as I was going past. I just had to come in and say hello.” She looked at the floor. “Now I feel really guilty.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve probably got loads of questions and so have I, but I just don’t have the time right now to answer them.”

“You’re not stopping—not even for a coffee?”

“Can’t,” she said. “I have things to do, but I’d really like us to get together—just the two of us—so that we can have a damned good natter.”

“I’d like that too.”

“In the meantime, I’m having a party tonight—fancy dress. You’re coming.”

“I am?”

“Of course. I’d like nothing more than to show off my little brother. I’ve told people so much about you. You’ve got to be there.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. You doing anything?”

“No … we-ell … I suppose I can record Lost Girl.”

“You’re impossible,” she laughed. “So you set the recorder and then you come.”

“I would if—”

“Here’s my address,” she said, cutting him off mid flight.

And that was that. They hugged again and she turned to leave.

“See you there,” she called over her shoulder and left Oliver wondering what had just happened.

~oOo~

For the rest of the morning and afternoon, Oliver fretted about going to Cathy’s party and wondered what he was going to wear. There weren’t that many places where he could get a costume, let alone one at such short notice. The only ones he found were those pathetic little plastic children’s sets that weren’t even much cop for kids.

By four that afternoon, he’d decided on nothing. There were sure to be others there dressed in normal clothes, he wouldn’t feel in the least bit out of place, but best of all, he would get to see and perhaps spend time with, his big sister.

So, in his best clothes, he made his way across town to his sister’s, but the closer he got, the more the little scared voice in his head told him that he didn’t want to be there.

It was funny—or should that be ironic—that the one person in this world he used to trust above all others, was the one person he was having so many doubts about right then. Cathy was more like a mother to him most of the time than a sister and he looked up to her. He turned right on Castle Street and headed up the road, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets and puffing out large vapour clouds in the cold October air.

Further up the road, those happy thoughts of Cathy became troubled as his mother’s image entered his mind.

“What on earth do you think you’re playing at?” she demanded of Cathy; a favourite expression of hers.

His sister simply stood and with that look of dumb insolence, stared her mother down. As far as Cathy had been concerned, their mother was the last person who should be questioning her motives.

‘Hmm,’ Oliver thought, passing Royal Gardens and crossing the road. ‘I remember that—very clearly.’

Their mother was a career woman. One who had taken time off to have kids—or rather, just the one and had wound up with one that was completely unexpected: Oliver, some four years later.

Cathy had been the one child she wanted. After her, there weren’t supposed to have been any more. Oliver’s arrival ‘put a spanner in the works’. Something he and Cathy were constantly reminded of.

When their dad left, they seemed to get blamed for everything. She spent long hours at the office, leaving Cathy in charge and then complained if things weren’t perfect. Many’s the time Cathy got into trouble for things that weren’t of her doing and sometimes, weren’t the fault of either of them. That didn’t matter to their mother. Any excuse for her to tell them what an incredible disappointment they were was enough.

Dredging those memories up was emotional. Oliver sat on a garden wall, the cold of the bricks quickly sapping the warmth from his behind. He could feel the water works beginning and quickly, he rubbed at his eyes. He’d done so well to push all those nasty memories out of his mind and right then inside a few minutes, his sister brought them all sharply back into focus.

“Should I go?” he muttered to himself, standing and screwing his face up in thought. “It would be nice to see Cathy, wouldn’t it?”

‘Yes,’ he thought and made his way out of Royal Gardens and into King Street. Cathy’s road was just up ahead on the left. Her house was one of those big old Regency buildings, but he doubted that she had anything more than a little flat. Some minutes later, he found himself looking at a large array of bell-pushes, each with someone’s name typed on a piece of paper, illuminated from behind.

‘C. Jones’, the bell’s label read and Oliver pushed it, quickly shoving his hands deep into his pockets and bracing himself against the cold.

A loudspeaker from within the bell-push unit crackled and a girl’s voice came out, fuzzy and distorted. “Come up.”

The door buzzed and Oliver pushed against it, the strong spring making the door hard to open.

The speaker crackled again. “Oh, push it 'ard. That door’s a real pig.”

The large hallway was decorated in magnolia paint, which seemed to scream at the beautiful black and white checkerboard floor tiles reminiscent of the era and a fly-blown sixty-watt dangled from old, dust-covered, purple flex—the kind one found on old appliances.

Oliver looked up at the wide staircase that wound its way up the inside of the building. A head poked over the top.

“You must be Oliver. Come on up.”

Oliver smiled and made his way up what felt like countless stairs to the top floor. At the top he was slightly breathless.

“I’m Claudine. Nice to finally meet you,” the blonde in the next-to-nothing dress, which would have been responsible for near instantaneous hypothermia outside, said with a smile. “You’re not what I expected.”

‘What had she expected?’ he wondered as he followed the girl into a spacious flat with loud music coming from one of the rooms off the hallway.

“Cath? Oliver’s here. Oh and you owe me a fiver.”

Cathy came running out of a room further down the hallway. “What?” she queried. “Oh.”

She looked disappointed and Oliver knew he was the reason.

“Come in. Come in,” Cathy said and led him to what turned out to be a huge room off to the right, a bed in one corner and various other bits and pieces around its perimeter. Clothes were strewn across the bed and she wore nothing but a bra and a pair of hot pants that were so tight, even Kylie would have winced.

“You know this is a fancy dress party, right?”

“I know. I couldn’t find anything suitable. It was short notice.”

“I s’pose,” she grudgingly agree. “Still, you’re here.” She flung her arms round him and then pulled away, quickly looking him up and down. “It’s alright. I have just the thing.”

“Just the thing for what?” he asked.

“You’ll see.”

With that, she ran out of the room and within the blink of an eye, returned with an armload of clothes.

“You owe me big time,” came a voice from further down the hall.

“I know. Thanks Kris.”

The clothes got dumped unceremoniously on the bed and Cathy returned her attention to Oliver.

“What’s going on?” Oliver asked.

“You’ll see. I promise you’ll love it.”

‘I will? You sure?’ he wondered, beginning to feel like he should have listened to the voice in his head after all.

Cathy tuned and held an item of clothing from the new pile on the bed against him.

“Hmm. Not that one, but I think I’m on the right track.”

After several attempts, an outfit was compiled and Cathy was beginning to look very pleased with herself. Oliver on the other hand, was beginning to look decidedly nervous.

With her head cocked to one side, Cathy stared at her younger brother. “Well, what are you standing there like that for? Come on. Strip.”

“W-what!?” he asked, blanching.

“Well, what did you expect?”

“I-I-I …”

“You don’t know? You never used to be like this. It was all I could do to stop you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Fibber!”

He looked guiltily at the floor. “It’s just–” he began, but Cathy touched his lips with her finger.

“I know,” she whispered. “Now come on. Before everyone else gets here.”

Oliver took the proffered clothes with trembling hands and asked where the bathroom was.

“It’s shared and down the hall. You might want to stay in here.”

Oliver thought about it for a moment. “Okay, but turn round.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to see me.”

“What?!” she demanded, incredulous. “But I’ve seen you naked loads of times.”

“Not recently and things have changed—if you get my drift.”

“Oh … um … I see.” She turned round and sat on the bed, facing away from him.

Amidst a little stumbling, Oliver got undressed and began picking through the clothing.

“Whose underwear is this?” he asked, holding up an almost transparent g-string.

“Mine.”

“You wear stuff like this?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, turning round.

“Hey!”

“Sorry. They’re mine. I’ve never got to wear them though.”

Somehow, it didn’t make Oliver feel any better.

“Blimey!” he exclaimed. “There’s not a lot of them, is there?”

“Don’t they fit?” She got up and went to look.

Oliver was about to voice further objections, but she simply ‘shushed’ him.

“They’ll be fine, once um … your … er …it relaxes a bit.”

“I told you not to look.”

“I know what you told me to do, but we don’t have all night.”

“Sorry.”

He calmed down, realising that if she helped, this whole thing would be over much quicker, although, it didn’t go unnoticed that it would mean spending the rest of the night like that.

‘Was that so bad?’ he asked himself.

Probably not, but suddenly, this wasn’t the same as it used to be. This would have been in front of a live audience and involved him wearing much more adult clothing than he'd worn before.

“I think I need to sit down,” he said looking at the finished article in the mirror.

“Look at you. You’re all grown up, Olivia,” Cathy whispered.

Oliver snapped round to face her. He hadn’t heard that name in years, but almost as soon as he did, his expression changed and he stood, gazing at the mirror.

“I have haven’t I?”

“I’ll say.”

“This is so much different to those old school dresses I used to wear.”

“I thought you’d like it.”

“How did you know?”

“Lost Girl remember. Just looking at you, I just knew you were Kenzi.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“No,” she said. “Just an educated guess.”

“Thank you,” Olivia replied, giving her big sister a hug.

“Come on, sis, it’s makeup time and then we can join the party.”

After about ten minutes of Cathy’s ministrations, Kenzi was ready to go.

“That’s fantastic,” Olivia said, staring in disbelief.

“You’ve worn makeup before, haven’t you?”

“N-n-no,”

“NO?!” Cathy whispered hoarsely, aghast that Olivia had never worn makeup before. “Why not?”

“Isn’t this one of those things we were supposed to catch up with when we were alone?”

“No, I mean …”

“Well it will have to be. Just coming up here brought back a lot of memories for me and not a lot of them were nice. I had to sit down until I’d stopped crying.”

“I take it things got worse after I left?”

“Much, yes.”

“And now?”

“Olivia’s back and although it’s too soon to say for sure, I think she’s going to be a regular visitor.”

“You mean?”

“I’m not promising anything, but I think you and Olivia are going to be having that chat, not you and Oliver.”

The end of the beginning…

Lucky Heather

(C) 2007 Nick B

~~~~~~~~~~

It's a kind of magic...

---

I nearly forgot to do this.

Thanks Kris for your help on this one. You did a grand job as always.

---

Gerald wandered through the narrow lanes, passing curiosity shops with their strange and wonderful oddments in the windows. Antique dealers polished their reproduction Chippendale chairs in the hopes that some passing stranger would take them for the real thing and remove a bulging wallet to purchase. He continued past the library and on up to the shops he was really heading for.

The town was very cosmopolitan with all races, creeds, colours and persuasions going from one place to the next; some with the hurried surety of those who just want to get in, get out and get home, while some milled awkwardly, struggling over whether or not to buy those new shoes or to replace the toaster that burnt up last week.

For Gerald though, these trips fulfilled two needs -

It meant that he could get the things he needed, like new socks to replace those that let his big toe peep through and had the threadbare heels; new trousers to allow for that expanding waistline and maybe a couple of shirts.

The second was to visit those shops further north that sold all those pretty things; the things he didn't need and could only dream about.

He found himself staring into the window at some spike-heeled boots in what amounted to a fetish store that sold all sorts of weird and sometimes wonderful ‘specialist’ garments and footwear. The boots in question were those that laced up past the knee and on up to mid thigh. They were black suede and the heel was chromed, shining like a beacon against the velvety blackness above. Then there was the bustier, the black and crimson satin job with the decorative embroidery, the silk panties and thongs and oh those silk seamed stockings…

His mind was a mixture of excitement and regret: excitement at looking at those and other wonderful garments and wishing that he could pluck up the courage to even touch them, let alone try them on; and regret because he knew that even if he did, he would never see what his mind did.

His body for one thing; short and round, his face florid and wrinkled with the years of stress that his work and his dreams had put upon him; dreams that would come regularly and give him that ability to experience a little of what it might be like…

One night however, Gerald’s dream took an unexpected twist.

Once again he found himself in town and once again, he was walking towards ‘that’ shop; the shop with the boots in the window.

This time, Gerald saw an old gypsy woman whilst on his way. His first reaction upon seeing her further down the road, calling at the passers-by to buy her ‘lucky’ heather, held together in a small amount of baking foil, was to cross the road.

Oddly, the woman did the same.

Now Gerald wasn’t superstitious or even afraid of the old woman, but on this particular day, he tried to avoid her. Something inside was telling him that he didn’t want to see her, didn’t want to speak to her and definitely didn’t want her ‘lucky’ heather.

It was with regret that upon seeing the woman in front of him some way down the road after he had crossed to avoid her, that he had to forego the visit to the shops he loved so much, well not the shops as much as the contents and he turned to walk back the way he had come.

He nearly had heart failure when he turned and there she was again, her piercing blue eyes gleaming from under a woolly hat that was pulled down over her iron-grey hair. Gerald froze as the woman smiled, her teeth revealed, yellowed and with gaps between. The only thing he thought that she was missing was a large wart somewhere conspicuous.

He was the proverbial deer caught in the headlights. What could he do?

So many scrambled thoughts went through his head. His fear or fright at this woman whom he knew wanted to speak to him was uncharacteristic to say the least. His blood ran cold and he found himself in that all too often dream state of trying to move, but unable.

“’Ello luvvie. Buy some lucky ‘eather?” she said, that grin of hers bearing down on him like some monstrous bogeyman. How she covered the intervening twenty yards or so in so short a space of time was unclear and how she got from one end of the road to the other was even more distressing to poor Gerald.

It was at this point that Gerald woke, sweat covered and shaking.

But it wasn’t over.

Several nights went by and each night the dream recurred.

Each time, his overwhelming fear held him in check for longer and each time Gerald was forced to hear her repeat her request that he buy her “lucky ‘eather” and all the while, Gerald was shouting, no screaming in his head to wake up. He knew this was a dream; moreover, he knew it was the same dream he had had before and his fear this time was not tempered by having got safely out of it on the previous occasions.

This affected everything. As it continued, he became more and more tired, afraid to sleep for fear of what would happen, though in truth, he had no clue as to what that was.

Finally, he was too tired to fight back, too tired to do anything and as he stood, frozen to the spot, she spoke.

“I know what you really want.” she said quietly.

Gerald tried to move, to escape that monstrous grin, but the voice he was hearing was one of kindness and compassion, not barbed or derisive and suddenly, he didn’t know what to do.

“Why do you run?” she asked.

“I-I-I’m scared.” he said and could feel his leaden limbs as unresponsive as before.

“There’s no need.” she said quietly. “Take this and all will be well.”

For reasons he could not fathom his hand reached out toward the proffered bunch of tiny flowers, with their deep green floliage.

---

The sunlight forced its way through and between the tightly drawn curtains, casting finger-like beams where tiny pieces of dust twinkled as they rose towards the light.

“Gerri?” the voice said gently.

In that pre-awake befuddlement, the name Gerri didn’t register.

“Geraldine?” it said just a little louder.

The eyes opened upon a very feminine room, its walls bedecked with rose-patterned wallpaper, the canopy of the bed fringed with golden tassels.

“This wasn’t the room I went to sleep in, was it?” wondered the still half asleep soul, sitting up to take in the rest of the very feminine room.

“About time too!” said that voice and looking to her right, Gerri saw the figure of her mother, bustling and rummaging in a white chest of drawers to get her clothes ready for the day.

“I had the strangest dream.” she said sleepily.

“Well, it’s time for school, you can tell me about it over breakfast. Right now young lady get your lazy bones out of bed.” replied her mother, smiling in that busy way.

“Geraldine?” thought Gerri, registering the name for the first time. “Young lady?”

She threw back the covers and looked at her nightgown, she could feel the weight of her breasts and suddenly everything became clear. Her breathing quickened as her excitement rose.

“What the…?” she said swinging her dainty feet over the edge of the bed and as she did, there was a soft rustle. Looking down, she saw a small posy of heather, wrapped in a twisted piece of baking foil glinting in the narrow beam of sunlight…

The End

The Ceremony

 © Nick B 2008

 
 
This short story was edited, puzzled over and finally returned in the space of about two shakes of a lamb's tail by the remarkable Gabi - Thanks chuck

---

“Are you ready?” Janet asked, putting her hands on my shoulders.

I regarded her reflection in the mirror above my own; her face, pale and beautiful, whilst mine was grey and drawn; her eyes, deep and thoughtful, whilst mine were sunken and haunted and despite the careful application of makeup, it was something I couldn’t hide.

I couldn’t help wonder what I would do without her. She was my best friend and proved that friendship in every sense of the word since… well anyway.

“Just touching up the lippy,” I replied, putting my hand on hers and smiling as best I could at her in the mirror.

I donned my hat, making sure to pull the veil down evenly. It was the first hat I had ever bought from a real milliner and once on, I could see what the attraction was. It fitted perfectly and didn’t look like something out of a Christmas cracker.

I was ready.

“You look stunning,” Janet said with a reassuring smile and led me through past the casket.

I paused, running my fingers over the wooden box–which is all it amounted to. “He wasn’t so bad, was he?” I asked. I knew him as an impetuous fool who did silly things on the spur of the moment–fun things, but he also had a darker side; a side that didn’t seem to care about the thoughts or feelings of others. That part of him would not be missed.

“He had his moments,” she replied, linking her arm in mine. “Come on, they’re waiting.”

Scott and Reilly were waiting to follow behind us with the casket and I smiled at them, while inside I felt that deep sense of loss; the loss of James Peter Baker.

Scott and Reilly placed the casket carefully on the pyre and I took my place at the head of the small congregation, which numbered less than a dozen.

‘Is that all?’ I wondered.

I stood at the makeshift lectern and looked out over the people.

The day was bright and sunny, yet cold and as I looked across the assembled people I could see that they too were cold and I needed to get this over with, not just for them, but for me too. I cleared my throat.

“I guess you’re all wondering why the ceremony?” I began. “I mean, I’m not known as a religious person, but it seemed fitting to have something ceremonial under the circumstances.

“It’s not like James hasn’t been dead for a while now, but his ghost seems to haunt us–or me especially and this is hopefully going to ensure that his spirit is laid to rest once and for all.

“All Soul’s Day is a day which in some religions is significant to pray for those souls who haven’t managed to quite cross over into the kingdom of heaven. Here’s hoping that James, who was a troubled soul at the best of times, finds the peace he so rightly needs.”

I nodded to Janet and she set light to the pyre, the fire taking hold quickly as the yellow-orange flames danced and licked through and around the timber. Pretty soon, the casket started to blister and darken, turning black as the heat intensified.

I turned back to the congregation.

“And so it is that we finally say goodbye to James Peter Baker. May he rest in peace.”

Strangely, there was no round of applause, no fanfare and no twisting smoke of a long tortured soul as it fought to stay on this plane, just the welcome heat of the fire and the curiously satisfying crackle of the burning wood.

“That was very nice,” said Janet as we served drinks to our guests.

“I thought so.”

“How do you feel?” she asked, once again, threading her arm through mine and drawing me closer.

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully and I didn’t. It was a strange experience, but somehow it was quite cathartic. “Do you think it will work?”

“I think so,” she replied, hugging me tightly. “It’s quite something when someone goes through what he did. It can leave quite an impression.”

She did that a lot–finding a way to make me feel better even in my darkest of moments. It was one of the reasons why she was my best friend.

As people, we tend to sometime underplay the significance of things that happen to us or that we go through. It’s like the hero who runs into a burning building to save a child. “It’s what anyone would have done,” they would say, but it’s not.

I suppose I had got complacent about what I had been through with James and whilst to me it was just par for the course, she saw it as more significant and that brought home to me the enormity of the situation.

It did make me feel better though. I was relieved that it was over, perhaps the closure over him and what he was, but more than that, I looked forward to nights where I didn’t wake up in a cold sweat worrying about just about everything. Also, it felt nice to be around the people who loved and respected me and had stuck by me even after James.

Once the people had gone and the fire had burnt out, I changed into a dressing gown and my favourite slippers. Janet and I sat in front of the fire with a drink, both exhausted after the day.

The sound of arguments came from outside in the hallway.

“Was too!” yelled Reilly.

“Hey,” I said in a stern but relaxed voice. “What’s all this about?”

“Scott said that wasn’t a real funeral,” Reilly said, pouting.

“It wasn’t,” Scott interjected. “You gotta have a body for it to be a real funeral and there wasn’t a body was there?”

“No there wasn’t, just some odds and ends; memories best forgotten. Anyway,” I said trying to placate a five year-old and a six year-old, both of whom were adamant they were right. God they took after their father. “Funerals are just a ceremony. You can have a funeral without a body. Sometimes when a soldier or a sailor is killed in a war, they have to have a funeral without the body.”

“Why? Where is it?” asked Scott, the six year-old, suddenly looking extremely perplexed.

“What?” I asked.

“The body. Where did it go?”

“That’s enough of that for now boys,” said Janet, flashing me a look of why? “Time for bed. Now say goodnight.”

Scott threw his arms around me and hugged me tight.

“Goodnight,” he said and went to walk away.

He stopped, a look of consternation furrowing his young brow as a thought took hold.

“Um, if we just burnded daddy, does that mean we’re going to have two mummies all the time now?”

Fin

 © Nick B 2008

Now for those of you who haven’t heard of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, where the hell have you been? It was released in August of 1975 here in England, September in the States, so you’ve had plenty of time…

It starred Tim Curry and Susan Sarandon and was penned by Richard O’Brien, who has been seen in lots of things since like Ever After, Flash Gordon, Spiceworld, Dark City and Dungeons and Dragons to name but a few. That is of course aside from playing Riff-Raff in his own creation.

And for those of you who really don’t know, it’s about… Just go see it. There’s lots of cross-dressing, lesbians, bisexuals and singing–oh and Meat Loaf’s in it.

My thanks as ever to my ever faithful editor for Gabifying this. Thanks Gabi

...On with the story...

---

The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Or

How to put a really strange twist on a really good time…

Or

Absinthe makes the hard grow longer…

***

I didn’t know about the Rocky Horror Picture Show until pretty late on. I had heard the album, without knowing where it came from, but hadn’t seen the film. As a result I missed what all the sly grins were about that passed between my friends.

“Have you seen this?” asked Martin, whilst playing the soundtrack.

“No, but I’ve heard a lot about it.”

That was a lie. A stone cold lie. I knew nothing about it other than there was a guy in it called Frankfurter or something similar. It wasn’t until much later that I happened to see the video on sale in a second-hand shop and bought it on impulse.

“Bloody hell!” I exclaimed upon watching it.

The idea that all these people were cavorting around in drag–I mean, sexy drag that got me somewhat hot under the collar–was just a bit more than I was expecting.

The music was good though–catchy.

“What’re you watching?” my then girlfriend, Sue, asked.

“Rocky horror,” I replied, giving the film its pet name.

“Ugh! You don’t actually like that do you?” she asked, looking as if she was about to throw up.

“Well, it’s a lot of fun. I don’t think it’s supposed to be taken seriously.”

“Bloody weirdoes,” she spat and left the room.

“Perhaps, but the music’s good,” I offered, lamely.

The video was then consigned to the bottom of the pile and largely forgotten about.

Fortunately, she and I didn’t last too much longer as a couple. With hindsight, I have a feeling that her finding out that I actually enjoyed a film about a man dressing up in women’s clothes and prancing around singing “I'm just a sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania.” was at least a contributory factor.

It was nearly true. I did like the idea, but my more sensible side–as I thought at the time–still had serious reservations.

Seeing Tim Curry on the screen being as outrageous as he was–and apparently getting away with it, was a turn on. However, I will admit, it was more than a little disturbing.

As I said, the video then got moved to the bottom of the pile and didn’t get taken out for some considerable time, but meanwhile, I had some sorting out in my head to do…

We all fantasise don’t we?

Whether it’s a simple fantasy like that house in the country, driving or owning a Ferrari or winning the lottery–perhaps it’s a sexual fantasy like going to bed with Sasha Alexander, Summer Glau or Jewel Staite. We all have them.

Mine however seemed to centre on being a character in the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

I didn’t mind which one–as long as it wasn’t Christopher Biggins or Meat Loaf. Frank, Columbia or Magenta would have done–even Janet, dammit.

After Sue left, I’m afraid I rather descended into a fantasy that almost exclusively ended up with me being either Magenta or Columbia, though I never did dress the part. It was much too much for me to get ladies underwear–especially the sort that was worn on that film.

***

Sara’s arrival in my world was to be a real eye-opener. We met in the pub and it was lust at first sight.

Goody-two-shoes she was not. I don’t think I had ever met anyone as uninhibited as her and it was just so good.

She would tell me what she wanted, which took the guess-work of whether she was enjoying herself or not, out of the equation. I sometimes got step-by-step instructions, which far from detracting from the mood, upped it by several notches. She was actually the one who stopped me biting, nibbling or blowing in a girl’s ear.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she demanded.

“I thought you like it–girls like it, I mean,” I replied.

“Why?” she asked, looking completely bemused.

I didn’t know, but that was another Playboy myth shattered.

By about day three of our relationship, I actually started to loosen up and began improvising, purposefully not doing what she asked and things started to take on a really interesting twist.

Who says learning isn’t fun?

One evening whilst out and about, we bumped into a few of her friends, some of whom were straight, some gay, some bi and others–well, I could only surmise that they were undecided.

We were told that the local cinema was putting on a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show at the weekend and it was half price entry, plus a free drink if one went ‘in costume’.

“You coming, Sara?” asked Nigel. “Ben wants to go and you know what he’s like once you get him in stockings–don’t even mention the corset.” Nigel’s lisp put him directly into the category of gay as far as I was concerned. The big giveaway though was the way he and Ben went everywhere arm in arm, so it wasn’t much of a conclusion to jump to.

Sara looked directly in my eyes and asked “Would you like to go?”

Knock me down with a feather, why don’t you? I thought and didn’t know which way to look. I know I had become a heap less inhibited in the short time I had been with Sara and had harboured these dirty, dirty, fantasies about–well, you know; but to suddenly go out on a Saturday night in stockings, suspenders, basque, makeup, heels… and panties of course. Sweet silky panties…

Anyway, I thought that was pushing boundaries.

“Um, can I get back to you?” she asked of Nigel and I know she mouthed something because Ben looked straight at me and did that nodding thing accompanied by an “oh”.

I knew exactly what that meant.

“It’ll be fun,” she said, batting those long eye lashes at me, whilst running her hands up my naked leg when we were at home.

“It’s alright for you, you don’t have to go in drag,” I said, worried that if she tried any harder to talk me into it, any reasons why I shouldn’t go would just melt away anyway.

“It’ll certainly be fun afterwards…” she said in a very seductive way and finally, what little resolve I had left crumbled.

***

By Saturday afternoon, I was like a cat on a hot tin roof. I didn’t know which way to turn, what to do or what to think. I must have lost pounds in nervous energy just thinking about ‘later on’.

“Relax,” she told me and whilst I would have liked nothing better, I didn’t see how I could. I was nervous at the best of times and right now, this time couldn’t be termed as ‘best’ in my opinion.

“Look, once you’re ready, no-one will recognise you anyway. I think you’ll make a good girl… and you know what good girl’s get, don’t you?”

There was no getting away from her line of reasoning or persuasiveness.

The “anyway, you promised” kind of sealed it.

I was being told to bathe and given a pink razor.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

“Your legs, chest and under your arms–oh and anywhere else that might be covered in that rug.”

“What do you mean, rug?”

“You look like a bear and even though this is just a bit of fun, no girlfriend of mine goes out looking like that.”

Girlfriend? I thought. That’s taking it a bit far.

Regardless of her thoughts on the matter, it had been the best week of my life so far and if it meant I needed to make a fool of myself for a couple of hours, I thought that was a fair exchange.

I set about performing my ablutions and shaving in places where I never thought I would be shaving–some places extremely carefully.

It took ages and I mean ages. By the time I’d finished, the bath water was cold and it looked as though I was sitting in a door mat.

The blasted razor kept clogging, which was why it took so long and by the time I was done, it took nearly as long to unblock the plughole and clean the bath as it had to shave. The result though–even if a little amateurish–was something else.

I had only ever felt soft smooth skin from the toucher’s side–I mean from touching someone else’s smooth skin, but this time the feeling was doubled, if not quadrupled. Not only could I feel smooth skin beneath my fingers as I touched myself, but the skin I was touching responded differently too.

Once out of the bath, I wandered into the bedroom, a towel wrapped round my waist, where I found Sara in her outfit for the evening. She wore a corset that was black with deep red trim, seamed black fishnets and a G-string about the size of a postage stamp. It was just as well she shaved down there. To finish it all off, she had killer heels which made her taller than me.

“Let me see,” she said and I let the towel go. Only problem was, she looked so good in her outfit that the towel wouldn’t fall away as planned.

“Look ma, no hands,” I said, trying to brazen it out.

“What are we going to do with you?” she asked and laughed.

The idea of putting on girl’s clothing was by now a reality as Sara dressed me in an outfit almost identical to hers–except the G-string, which without boasting wouldn’t have stood a hope of containing what I have–regardless what you’re thinking.

I immediately started having problems keeping my mind on what we were doing and not on the item that was trying valiantly to chew its way out of my panties.

“This is the third time,” she remarked casually.

“Sorry.” I just blushed three shades of crimson and wobbled off to the bathroom.

Several seconds later, I returned.

“Can we get on now?”

“Look, I said I was sorry. It’s just…” I began, wondering how I could put into words the fact that one move in those panties with the stockings and… Oh bother, not again.

“Thank God we don’t have to be there until midnight,” Sara said, shaking her head and sighing.

We sat around for about half an hour after we’d finished readying ourselves and the closer it got to our going, the more nervous I became. Sara disappeared and came back with two small glasses containing blue liquid.

“Drink this,” she instructed. “It’ll make you feel a little less edgy.”

“Dutch courage?” I asked.

“Polish.”

“Near enough,” I replied with a grin. “Down the hatch.”

I poured the drink down and nearly choked.

“What the fuck was that?” I asked, sounding like I was talking with a mouth full of sand and gravel.

“Absinthe.”

I had no idea what the hell that was, but after about ten minutes, I really didn’t care.

There I was, sitting there in a pair of four inch heels, fishnet stockings, a black and red corset filled with chicken fillets as Sara called them with enough makeup to stock a beautician business.

All the while I sat there, Sara was coaching me on how to sit, how to walk–which yes, did require me to stand and become ambulatory. Granted, it wasn’t an easy task, but I found it fairly straightforward if I didn’t actually think about what I was wearing and just walked.
Anyhow, this was just supposed to be a bit of fun, so mistakes were allowed.

***

We ordered a cab for about eleven that would take us to the cinema. I wasn’t ready to be seen all over town in this get up and despite seemingly having lost my inhibitions, thanks to the peculiar polish drink, Sara wasn’t prepared to take any chances.

The cab driver was complimentary–I think. He asked where us ‘ladies’ wanted to go and I took it as a compliment. I think that was the wisest thing to do as had I got all “I’m no lady…” about it, it would just have led to more questions and embarrassment. As it was, Sara seemed pleased.

We arrived at the cinema and made our way to the lounge to lots of cheers from people we–or rather Sara–knew and even those we didn’t. I did my best not to look too self-conscious and after another snort of Absinthe, which Sara had brought in a small bottle, I really didn’t care–at all!

“My, my, my,” Nigel said, sidling up between us in his Cher-alike outfit. “You two look scrummy enough to eat.”

“Later darling,” Sara retorted, chuckling.

I think my colouring more closely resembled the piping on my corset after that remark–something that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Oooh, look who just can’t wait,” Ben added, giggling.

We had a few drinks, which could have been a mistake on my part, considering the absinthe, but I managed to hold it together and I have to say, I really got into it.

I experienced more hands on my arse and other parts of my anatomy than a lavatory door-knob and really didn’t mind–once I had got over the shock of realising that it wasn’t Sara who was doing it most of the time–or even a girl, though often it wasn’t that easy to tell.

How I managed to hold it together when she was flirting with other Magentas, Franks and Janets is beyond me, but I figure I was flirting with just about everyone anyway. It seemed to be the way of it–especially in our group–or should that be grope?

Finally, the witching hour arrived and without thinking I said “Let’s go see what’s on the slab.”

My rendition of ‘Touch-a, touch-a, touch-a touch me’ nearly had me exploding on the spot, with both males and females getting into the touching and I LOVED it.

I hadn’t forgotten the promise that Sara made before and was hornier than a horny thing on horny night in horny-ville, finding the constriction in my panties almost crucifying, but the wait was part of it.

Our group left the cinema and the sexual tension was just about palpable. I had grown used to the outfit and didn’t even give it a second thought as we walked home, many of the group sloping off to get it on in the privacy of their own or anyone else’s home.

Eight of us remained and as we neared Sara’s place, we were stopped by a gypsy woman. None of us even considered what she was doing out at three in the morning trying to pedal lucky heather, but I suppose the surreal extended beyond us.

“Luck ‘eather?” she asked.

I was too high on adrenalin and alcohol to think twice and offered to buy a sprig, taking a fiver out of my bag.

“Ooh, miss, you’re too kind,” she crowed.

I was flattered.

Strangely, not because she thought that the five pound note I had pushed into her hand was a lot, but because she called me miss. This elicited much chortling from the others and she drew me towards her.

“I think that kind of price deserves a wish, don’t you?”

I was a little shocked and just smiled at her.

“What is your wish,” she asked.

I didn’t take long to come to a decision.

“I wish this week wouldn’t end. It’s been such fun I could do it over and over.”

The assemblage cheered and I grinned at them a bit bashfully.

“Done and done. You’ve been most kind,” she said grinning back at me, a twinkle in her piercing blue eyes.

I tucked the sprig of heather into my cleavage and we finished our journey, piling into Sara’s ostensibly for coffees, but it soon turned into something much more than I could have bargained for.

I didn’t think I was capable of many of the things I got up to and I’ll leave that to your imagination, but suffice it to say, I don’t think I will ever be hung up on mine or anyone else’s sexuality again.

***

It was light by the time Sara and I curled up together in bed and crashed out, but when I woke, I found myself in my own bed and all traces of the makeup, the clothing–some of which I kept on at Sara’s request–were gone and so too had the shaving. I was back to being a walking rug.
I was baffled.

There I was as if none of it had happened and I spent the rest of the day in a complete daze, trying to work out what the heck was going on.

Later I went out, more through lack of anything better to do than any other reason.

“How’s it going, Greg,” asked Martin.

“Oh, so so. You know. I’m a bit off today. Either I had a very strange dream or something really weird is happening.”

“Get this down your neck,” he said, passing me a pint. “That’ll take your mind off things.”

Like I said, I was a bit out of sorts and later on, probably two or three beers later, I found myself alone at the bar when I saw someone I thought I recognised. I went to introduce myself.

“Hi, I’m Greg,” I said in my politest voice.

“Sara,” she replied. “Do I know you? You seem awfully familiar.”

I realised there and then what was happening. I’d been having this sense of déjá  vu all day and whilst I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it then, now all was becoming clear.

Well that was the first re-run and since that time, I have lost count of how many times I have been back. It’s a bit like Groundhog Day, but over a week.

Sometimes I realise that repeating the same week ad infinitum isn’t healthy, but when I get to the part where the old gypsy woman asks if I’d like to make a wish, I cave in and ask for the same again, please.

One of these weeks I’ll pluck up the courage to move on, but all the time it’s a blast, why try and fix what ain’t broke?

Fin
All comments, votes and any other ego-stroking, gratefully received

Tosh

 © Nick B 2008

A response to Teddi’s — So... You Think You Want To Become A Writer (part 1) blog

---

Actually, my name’s unpronounceable by you lot, but my mum and dad of the human variety call me Tosh, Tiddles, Poopie, Spud or if I’ve been really bad, Toschkar, which is almost as bad. Don’t get me wrong, I really love my mum and dad–especially dad.

He’s the one who saved me from my first mummy. She only wanted me and my brother because we are Rottweillers and look good, so when we weren’t being shown to her friends and making her look good, we were kept in small cages, only just big enough for us and not very comfortable.

I think my first mum was related to my dad in some way, because they smelt very similar, but dad was much friendlier. He took me everywhere and when he met mum, they took me everywhere. They would walk hand in hand and I could walk with them in the middle. It made people look and smile at us a lot.

I didn’t mind what we did together at all because I met lots of people and those who didn’t walk around with their hand up round their shoulders shouting “oh my God, it’s a Rottweiller!”–whatever that’s supposed to mean–like to buy me crisps and make a big fuss of me.

I don’t have a problem with that, but I don’t understand why they make such a big thing about me opening the packet–I mean I don’t have thumbs like you lot, so how am I supposed to open those silly plastic packets other than by stamping on them? It makes the crisps go all over the place and all the humans watching laugh, but I didn’t mind that.

They even took me on holiday once on what they called a boat. They seemed to think it was fun and I suppose it was, but dad had to lift me out most of the time–God that’s embarrassing, because the floor was higher than the boat most of the time and if getting out was bad, getting back in was worse. I had to jump–I don’t like jumping because my hips are bad and the smooth surface of the boat, meant I couldn’t get any grip. Once I jumped in one side and slid right across the boat to the other and bumped my nose on the gunwale. This is a technical term which my dad has put in because I didn’t know what it was other than I bashed my nose on it.

The river we were on smelt funny too–all fishy, but there were lots of places we explored with loads of interesting smells. Some of them were so new, I had to smell them for a long time, which made mum and dad shout at me a lot, but I needed to know what these strange smells were and I couldn’t tell just from a quick sniff.

Anyway, I didn’t really like the boat–all slippy and slidy and made sure my basket at home got a good welcome and remembered me by staying in it for three days straight. I really missed my basket.

When mum and dad were both out, I got bored.

They didn’t leave me alone much, but sometimes they did and well, I just had to find something to do, didn’t I?

They had this thing in the room called the kitchen, where all the food came from. It was called a bin. They have such strange names for things you know?

Anyway, sometimes what was inside this bin smelt really good and I just had to find out what all those interesting smells belonged to.

Getting in wasn’t much of a problem, but sifting through all those strange and wonderful things inside took some doing, I can tell you. Some of the things I ate straight away–yummy, but other things were more difficult to find. I had to spread all the stuff out so that I could see what was there and nearly got all the way up the hall to the bathroom when daddy came home.

He wasn’t pleased.

He shouted at me and looked all flustered and got that noisy thing out that he pushed around the carpet, before grumbling at me some more. He told mum when she got home that it looked like a bomb had gone off. Don’t know what that is I’m sure, I mean, I did it all myself, but for some reason, neither dad nor mum were particularly pleased with my efforts. The tea bags were nice though,

Dad does this thing with me called bath.

I didn’t like it at first, but after a while I got to know what it meant–lots of lovin’s with nice smelly bubbles that made my fur taste good. I loved shaking afterwards because it made dad wet too.

He would rub me for a while afterwards with something called a towel–well two of them actually and that all made me feel great. I would show my appreciation by running up and down the hall, stopping every now and again for a bit of a shake and to shout out how good it felt. I don’t know how you spell it, but it went something like “Roooooo-roooo-roooo”.

I apparently do this thing called ‘farting’.

This is something over which, I have no control, but the humans seem to think it’s bad. Every time I do it, they send me out of the room holding their noses. It’s just a smell and anyway, they were the ones who gave me the stuff in the first place.

You humans are strange, but nice–most of the time.

Twister
 © Nick B 2008

This story was inspired by Kristina L S who mentioned it in passing in a PM. I took her literally and well, instead of writing the next chapter of The Sight that I know so many thousands, well hundreds . . . okay, both of you are waiting for, I decided to indulge myself and this is what happened . . .

This story was tweaked (slightly) and proofed by the most excellent Gabi. Sorry I forgot to put it in earlier

---

It’s everyone’s favourite party game isn’t it?

---

It wasn’t long after Mike and Debbie moved into their new flat that they started to become friendly with a lot of the local “crowd”. Their outgoing, affable natures endeared them to those about them and soon not only were they friendly with those at the local pub, but were also enjoying visiting their houses on a regular basis and through spring into summer, this became a regular thing.

They attended barbecues and parties as well as that first summer when mob-handed, they’d all congregate at the local beach and enjoy soaking up the warm summer sunshine, swimming and generally horsing around, tipping their friends off their lilos and out of the tiny inflatable dinghies; staggering back to their local bar when the sun went down to laugh and joke the night away.

Of course, when summer came to an end, there was a dearth of things to do until one of the friends got them into board games, card games or quiz-based games that took them out of the pub and into the houses of their friends. Whoever’s turn it was had the duty of host and the others would all turn up with bottles of wine and packs of beers, crisps, nuts and sweeties to while away a night into the wee, small hours; getting gently merry whilst playing games of one sort or another.

There was always one game that was missing and Mike was determined to get them all playing it.

“Don’t be silly, Mike. Can you honestly see Brian contorting trying to play...” Debbie said, but then, thinking about it, a wicked grin spread across her pretty face. “On the other hand...”

“That’s my girl,” grinned Mike.

---

They tried every toy store with no success, until one day, Debbie was out in an area of town scouring the charity shops for a bargain or two when there in an old curiosity shop, in a well weathered pack, was exactly what she was looking for...

Twister

She remembered it from her school days and couldn’t remember it with the words “For broadminded adults”, but she shrugged that off and popped into the shop.

“Can I help you, Miss?” the shopkeeper asked.

“Yes, I’d like to buy the game of Twister that’s in the window,” she replied.

The shopkeeper nodded politely and leant over the old binoculars and dog-eared covers of long-forgotten novels to retrieve the boxed game.

“It IS complete,” he said. “Would you like it in a bag?”

Bagged and paid for, Debbie was too wrapped up in the fact that she had been successful and also full of images of some of their “less than svelte” friends, bending and sweating over trying to get their left foot onto the green blob, whilst upside-down and intertwined with others after a few snorts of some form of horizontal lubricant or another, that she completely missed the warning that the old man in the shop gave.

---

Once home, Debbie couldn’t wait to open the package and have a look at something she hadn’t seen since she was at school and in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, the contents were on the floor.

There were just two: a plastic mat with rows of coloured circles and a board with a spinning arrow. She gave it a twirl and the brightly coloured arrow spun for several seconds before stopping on the red quadrant–-left hand.

She felt a rush of excitement as more images of their friends struggling with the game popped into her head and reluctantly, she carefully folded the plastic sheet and replaced it together with the spinner on its board into the box, putting the box back into the brown paper bag.

When Mike returned, she could hardly contain herself.

“I have a surprise for you,” she said, nervously. Mike eyed her suspiciously.

“This isn’t another one of those surprises we can’t tell the neighbours about is it?”

“No silly. Look.”

She reached under the coffee table and drew out the brown paper package and gave it to Mike.

“Oh wow!” he exclaimed, opening the box and removing the contents. “Where did you find this?”

“In an old curiosity shop in the town. I can’t wait to give it a go.”

“Well you’ll have to. You know these games aren’t so good with just two. Wait until our friends are here, then we can really have some fun.”

---

That Friday, it was their turn to host the “party” and after they had had a few beers or whatever in the pub, eight of them all trooped back to the flat for some games. Debbie had been made to promise that their new game wasn’t going to be mentioned and credit where it’s due, she said nothing, but the excitement was all too evident.

“We have a special surprise for all of you tonight.” Dave announced, having made sure that everyone’s glasses were well charged. He reached under the coffee table and withdrew the brown paper bag, removing the box inside and displaying to all.

“You sly bastard!” Brian said, chortling.

“Yeah, well, we didn’t want to ruin the surprise. You all up for a game?”

The murmur of assent rippled through the people gathered, while shoes and socks flew in all directions as the fairly well inebriated bunch waited as space was made, the plastic mat laid and the spinner was readied for the game to begin.

---

It wasn’t long before the game was in full swing and Brian–-as expected–-was first to be eliminated.

He bowed out gracefully, although did make the excuse that he needed to go to the toilet.

About forty-five seconds after leaving the room...

“Arrrrrrghhhhhhhh!” he shouted from the general direction of the smallest room.

“Wassamatter??” called Mike and trotted off down the hall. “You alright in there?”

“No.”

“Well what’s up?”

“I can’t find my... um, I seem to have misplaced... er, you’d better come in.”

“Holy shit!” Mike exclaimed, looking down at where Brian’s manhood should have been. He had lost control whilst searching feverishly for it and had ended up making a soggy mess of his trousers, but the upshot–-or should that be downshot under the circumstances?–-was that his manhood had been replaced by a neatly trimmed, er, “womanhood”.

“I don’t believe this.”

“You want to see it from this side.” Brian said; his face a picture of complete fright, mixed with consternation.

“What’s going on out there? We’re waiting to get on.” Debbie called amidst the laughter and general mayhem that is Twister.

“Just a minute...”

Mike sorted Brian out with some temporary trousers–actually sweat-pants, which because Mike was so much smaller than Brian, ended up being exceptionally tight; clinging to the now curvaceous and not at all unsightly gluteus maximus and nether department that now was the lower half of Brian.

“I can’t go back in there.” Brian said with quivering lips. “I mean, does my bum look big in these?”

“??” Mike replied.

“I did just say that didn’t I?” Brian asked.

Mike nodded, still not fully able to take in the fact that someone who hitherto had been quite the man and now wasn’t quite what he had been.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine, thank you.” Brian answered, much to Mike’s surprise.

“Do you want to go back to the game, I mean...” Mike started, but Brian cut him off, touching a big, stubby finger to Mike’s lips and strolling past him into the lounge.

They were not as Mike had anticipated, “in situ”, but sitting around, chugging back some more alcohol and chatting quietly amongst themselves.

“Nice ass.” Robin remarked as Brian went past, followed by a hand over the mouth and an incredible reddening of the face. “I didn’t...”

“You did.” Brian replied, with a certain amount of pleasure and equal mix of embarrassment.

“Shall we continue, ladies and gentlemen?” Debbie asked, throwing a glance at Mike as if to ask what was going on.

Mike just shook his head and rejoined the game, Brian taking up control of the spinner.

Several minutes passed and another person, Tamara, was caught out. She was Robin’s girlfriend, although he seemed to be more interested in Brian–such as he was. Anyway, she joined Brian on the sofa and sat there staring at the contortions that were going on in front of her, suddenly going very wide-eyed indeed.

Jumping up, she ran off to the bathroom and squealed. Once again, the game came to a halt.

This time Debbie went out to find her friend absolutely agog with curiosity, holding the front of her leggings away from her lower abdomen and staring intently.

“You okay, Tam?”

“Hmmm?” she answered dreamily.

“I said are... Oh my goodness.”

“I know, isn’t it amazing?”

“That’s not quite the word I’d use. It looks almost real. Um, what are you doing and shouldn’t that... ” she said, pointing. “Be the other way round?”

“Course not silly. Look.” Tamara replied and whipped her leggings down to display a fully formed set of family jewels.

“Holy crap!”

“I can’t wait to try it out,” said Tamara with a little glint in her eyes.

“You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting are you?” asked Debbie, blanching at the thought.

Meanwhile, similar oddities were being discovered for the entire party and Brian found that his chest had become somewhat more voluptuous than hitherto.

It seemed that Robin was developing in much the same way, much to the amusement of Brian, who couldn’t help but help Robin in trying out his wares, something that didn’t seem to bother Robin at all as he was fixated upon Brian’s new gadgets too.

Mike, like Brian, had found that he too was developing in ways he wasn’t too sure about. Martin and John were similarly shocked, while Joan couldn’t believe her eyes and was having trouble keeping her hands to herself or rather off herself and then off John and Martin.

Back to Tamara, who was desperately trying to corner Debbie, who was having difficulties of her own, discovering that she too had developed fairly well in that area and was eager to find out whether Mike was having similar problems.

“Debbie!” he shouted and it was just as well, as Tamara was on the war-path and was just short of poking her new found friend in Debbie’s direction when she was distracted by Mike’s call.

“You alright?” she asked.

“If you can call this–” he said pulling open the front of his trousers open to reveal a very smooth, well, you get the picture. “And these,” he continued, yanking up his top and displaying some fairly bounteous globes to his woman, “-–alright.”

“You think you’ve got problems.” Debbie said, a mischievous look in her eyes as she produced a handful of something many a girl would want, but not necessarily in the way Debbie currently had it. “Come with me-–”

“But what about–-”

“Bugger them!” said Debbie, but that was probably already going on, well if Tamara had her way it was.

---

The next morning, Mike woke up with a hangover–unsurprisingly and Debbie too seemed to have a fairly delicate disposition.

“How’s your, er–-” he asked.

“Seems to have gone,” Debbie replied. “What about your, um–-” she cupped her hands in front of her and jiggled them a bit.

“Likewise; gone,” he replied.

They washed and dressed and went to find everyone else had slipped out during the night.

Oddly, no-one seemed to have suffered at all and had returned to normal, except for Robin and Brian who are planning to move in together apparently with Tamara too.

Mike and Debbie felt that that was all the information they needed as they tidied away the game and put it in a safe place.

“Games night this weekend?” he asked.

“Perhaps just the two of us this time,” Debbie replied with that same mischievous look Mike recognised from the night before––

The End?

Vicky

 © 2012 Nick B

WARNING!

(This one's a bit raunchy by my standards nowadays, but it's in context, so please bear with it. There's also some talk of unerage sex, but again, please bear with it.)

---

“Are you ready?” the leggy brunette asked of her friend.

“I guess so,” she replied.

“I’ll come and get you when he’s ready,” the brunette said and entered a sumptuously decorated bedroom.

A man in his mid thirties sat on the edge of the bed, looking somewhat nervous.

“Good evening,” the brunette said, swishing towards him in a baby-doll nightie in diaphanous black nylon with equally diaphanous knickers that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

The man gulped down a mouthful of air and didn’t appear to know which way to look. “Um … hello,” he croaked.

“Madam Sylvie told me that you had a special request?” the brunette said.

“Yes,” the man replied, explaining whilst going incredibly red that he wanted to be cuffed and manacled and be under her complete control.

“No problem,” the brunette agreed, helping him off with his jacket.

The rest of his clothes came off quickly and in no time at all he was spread-eagled on the bed as the brunette began cuffing him to the posts before shackling him to the posts at the foot of the bed.

“Comfortable?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied, his face a picture of uncertainty.

She began by sitting beside him, running a perfectly manicured fingernail from his calf, up the side of his leg, over his hip and up the side of his body.

“Do you want it rough?” she asked.

“N-no,” he replied, hoarsely.

“Okay,” she said, tracing a line with the same fingernail across his chest, circling each of his nipples in turn.

He responded by taking a sharp intake of breath, accompanied by a twitch from his nether regions.

“You like?” she asked teasingly, which was a superfluous question really, considering the effect. She traced her nail back down the middle of his chest, through the neatly trimmed bush of his pubic hairs and down to the tip of his penis, which twitched into life immediately.

Bending over him, she kissed each of his nipples, the centre of his chest and then made her way down to his tool, kissing repeatedly as she did so, ending with a kiss, followed by a lick from base to tip of his cut penis, causing it to throb and twitch.

As he gasped, she stopped, stood and told him that she would not be servicing him as he thought, but someone else would; someone a little special and if he’d just be patient, she would be with him directly.

He looked puzzled and in the space of seconds, his penis began to relax, twitching once or twice, before flopping back on his lower belly, shrinking all the time.

“Don’t worry,” she told him. “We’ll soon have that up and running again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is he ready?” the brunette’s friend asked.

She was much younger and shorter than the brunette and blonde — well kind of a dull blonde, not a brassy, bottle blonde, but much more natural. Had she not been wearing a white baby-doll, in that same almost transparent material as the first girl, which in this case, made her look almost virginal, she wouldn’t have looked as though she belonged where she was.

The two hugged before the blonde strutted into the bedroom, straight to the foot of the bed, to stare at the man securely fastened there.

“Hi,” she said, a slight quaver to her voice, almost as though she wasn’t sure she would go through with what was clearly about to ensue. “My name’s Vicky. I shall be taking over from here.”

The man looked up as best he could, but had little room to manoeuvre. “’K” he managed.

Vicky moved to the side of the bed. “You like?” she asked, slowly turning on the spot, making sure he got to see everything.

He nodded.

“Good,” she said, following that with a smile that seemed to light up the entire room.

Concealed in her hand, she had a small, square package, which she tore open to reveal a condom.

“We have to,” she told him and having so said, she popped the small, rubber contraceptive in her mouth and went straight for his penis, her hands enveloping it, gently moving up and down, squeezing and relaxing as they did. It took just moments for it to become as hard as carbon steel and as hot as a poker, fresh from the forge.

Deftly, she engulfed his penis in her mouth and as she slid down the entire length of it, the strategically held condom unrolled, remaining in place as she raised and lowered her head, sucking noisily for several minutes until she finally sat up, looked directly into the man’s eyes and smiled.

“Was that nice?”

This time the man, eyes like serving platters, nodded enthusiastically.

“Good,” she repeated and shucked her knickers in front of him, displaying her completely hairless crotch complete with a large cock, that up until then had been tucked between her legs.

“What is this?” he exclaimed, his eyes bulging as he strained against the restraints.

“Shhh!” she said, touching his lips with her forefinger, straddling him and sliding backwards, his rapidly deflating tool clenched tightly between the cheeks of her arse.

“Do you really want me to stop?” she asked, pulling off the baby-doll and displaying the rest of a near perfect body and the fact that asied from the penis, everything else was absolutely as it should be.

“N-n-no,” he replied, his cock already responding splendidly to her sliding back and forth along its length.

“I didn’t think so,” she replied, smiling and adjusting her position so that she could reach under her, grab his cock and position it at the entrance to her hole, gyrating her hips on it and continuing as it slowly slid into her until it was buried to the hilt.

No more than two strokes took the man to the limit and once he’d finished shaking, Vicky slid off with a ‘plop’, leaving him lying there with a stupid grin on his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Immediately, she unfastened the manacles and the cuffs and the man noticed that she seemed to be sniffing back tears, trying not to cry.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. “It was all my fault.”

“What was your fault?”

“You came so quickly.”

“Yes, and it was amazing,” he said.

“I-i-it was?” she asked in a very small, almost inaudible voice.

He slid up the bed and sat next her, putting his arm about her and drawing her close. “That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had,” he told her.

“But you paid for so much longer–”

“It’s not the quantity; it’s the quality that matters and that was definitely the best.”

She began to cry. “You’re just being nice.”

“No, I’m being honest,” he said and thought for a moment. “But I’d like to know why you’re doing this if you feel so bad about what you’re doing.”

“You don’t want to know about me,” she told him, carefully wiping her eyes.

“I do!”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Alright,” she said at last. “It was my father. After my mother died, he would make me dress as a girl. I spent the whole of my school life, leading a dual life. I’d go to school as Victor and come home to be Victoria, my father’s plaything.” She began crying again.

“There, there,” the man said, comfortingly.

“Well, as I got to about fourteen, I started to become more boyish and my father took steps to see that that didn’t go any further. By that time, he had friends who would all play ‘games’ with Vicky, his little slut and none of them cared that I wasn’t a girl, in fact, some of them liked it, playing with my dick or sometimes sucking it. They’d all buy me presents of lingerie in return for …”

“Sex?”

“Yes.”

“That’s awful.”

“I know. I couldn’t get away. It was more than my life was worth to defy my father and since his ‘friends’ were everywhere, there was nowhere I could go. When I reached sixteen, I was locked in the house all the time, but one day my father let me go to the shops — of course, as Victoria, thinking I wouldn't dare stray and while I was out, I met Grace — the woman who brought you in here — and she got me into this place. I don’t want to stay here, but I have nowhere else to go.”

“God, that’s terrible.”

“It’s okay. Most of the men I have to ‘please’ are okay — not as nice as you — but okay. Anyway, it’s only until I get enough money to have the operation to make me a real girl.”

“But why? You could go back to being Victor and start a new life.”

“I couldn’t go back. I’ve been like this for so long I don’t know any other way.”

The man looked at the floor, obviously embarrassed. “I hate myself,” he said. “I really enjoyed our time together and if I hadn’t lost control so quickly, I would like to have reciprocated in some way. You were just so fantastic.”

“Please, don’t. It’s what I’m paid for after all.”

“Is there nothing I can do?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“Well, I’m sure I can think of something.”

With that, the man got up, peeled the used condom off his penis and went into the bathroom with his clothes. No more than two minutes later, he said a heartfelt goodbye to Vicky and was heading out of the door he entered by.

Vicky left a couple of minutes later.

~~~~~~~~~~~

When Vicky emerged from the room, Madam Sylvie had one of those looks on her face.

“He was out very quickly. What have you been doing?” she asked.

“He finished quickly,” she said by way of explanation.

“That was the excuse you used last time too.”

“But it’s true. I’d only just got going and that was it. He wanted me to talk to him for a few minutes and then left.”

“Talk?”

“Yes, talk?”

“Well, he can’t have been unhappy; he left a two hundred pound tip — the third person this week to do that and it’s only Tuesday. What do you talk about?”

“I make up stories about my childhood and …” she left it hanging.

"What kind of stories?"

"I try not to make them feel inadequate for coming so quickly, so I blame it on me. I tell them stories about having an awful childhood and it seems it leaves an impression."

Madam Sylvie just stared at Vicky, completely dumbstruck.

“She been telling stories again?” asked Grace.

Madam Sylvie nodded blankly.

“The uncle?” Grace asked.

“My father,” Vicky said, grinning.

“Oh, that one,” Grace replied, nodding. “That one would definitely do it.”

Lost Girl — Girl Found 1. Olivia’s First Kiss

Having changed, Oliver gets cold feet

---

Oliver was a little stunned and turned back to the mirror to see Olivia looking at him. This time though, she wasn’t a little schoolgirl in a grey smock-dress and knee socks, but an adult female with all the appearance of a femme fatale.

The long, straight, raven-black hair of the wig he’d been given to wear, cascaded down over his shoulders and over the blouse with the black and white Paisley design that shimmered in the light.

His eyes slowly moved down his reflection to the bustier that nipped him in at the waist, giving him the appearance of feminine hips and pushed his boobs—which were no more than a couple of rolled up socks, one in each cup of the black, lace bra—out. From the waist, a short pleated skirt flaired out and further enhanced the look of hips, beneath which, extremely figure-hugging black faux-leather leggings led down to the black over-the-knee boots with killer heels.

“Gulp!”

His eyes darted back up to the pale face that shone from under the hair; the slightly upturned, deep red lips that seemed to hint at a smile, but not quite and those smoky eyes that bored into his own from the glass.

‘She’s back!’ he thought excitedly and right then, Cathy’s voice sounded in his ears.

“Stop staring at yourself in the mirror and go mingle or something, Sis” she instructed. “I need to get changed.”

Oliver looked a little startled. ‘Mingle? On my own?’ he wondered, feeling a little chill run down his spine. No-one other than Cathy and their mother—albeit briefly—had ever seen Olivia.

‘Oh shit!’ he thought, mentally biting his fingernails back to his elbows.

“Go on. You heard me … Shoo!”

Oliver was hastened from Cathy’s room by being pushed and shoved through the doorway. He stood, mouth agape, as the door to Cathy’s room closed. It sounded like a door at Gringotts: one that shuts with a deep, hollow boom.

‘Now what do I do?’

His question was moot, as in less than a heartbeat, Claudine reappeared.

“Oh … er … I’m sorry. I didn’t see you come in.” she said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Cathy’s friend, Olivia,” he replied, thinking quickly and managing to circumvent the automatic response which made him want to say, “Oliver”.

“Cool,” she said grinning broadly. “I’m Claudine.”

‘She doesn’t even recognise me,’ he thought. “Cathy told me to ‘go mingle’.”

“Mingle? Who with?” Claudine giggled. “It’s a bit early. There’s no-one here yet. Most of the people I know won’t arrive until after the pubs shut.”

“I’m beginning to wish I’d waited until then too.”

“You?” Claudine asked, clearly astonished. “Why?”

“I’m feeling a little self-conscious. This isn’t the way I’d normally dress,” Oliver stated honestly.

“Why?” she asked again. “I mean, it’s not like your outfit is too provocative or anything.”

“You think it’s alright?”

“Of course. I think you look totally stunning. You look like that girl off that telly programme.”

“I do? Which one?”

“You do. Don’t know what it’s called, but she hangs out with some girl called Bo or something.”

“Lost Girl,” Oliver supplied.

“Don’t know.”

The conversation was surreal. The young girl really didn’t seem to have a clue who he was, despite the similarity in names.

“Come with me,” Claudine said at last, linking arms with Oliver and mashing herself up as close as she could get, leading him down the hallway, pointing out various important landmarks on the way. “The toilet’s there on the right, the kitchen’s here and the lounge is down the hall there. Can I get you a drink?”

“Thanks,” Oliver replied, feeling a little less like he stood out like a sore thumb thanks to Claudine’s compliment. Nevertheless, he still didn’t feel particularly comfortable. Perhaps that drink would calm his nerves.

He tottered along on his skyscraper heels into the kitchen behind Claudine where several packs of beer and some bottles of wine, crisps and other nibbles had been laid out on the table and worktops.

“Cathy’s a bit tied up with her brother or something,” Claudine told him. “But you already know that, don’t you? Can you believe he didn’t even turn up in fancy dress? I bet her he wouldn’t and won a fiver. Mind you, there aren’t many men I’ve met who are prepared to dress up for a fancy dress party. Jeans and ‘T’s’ most of them. Totally ruins the spirit of the thing.”

“Uh, I suppose,” Oliver said with a slight smile, not that Claudine noticed.

“Beer okay, Liv?” Claudine asked opening and reaching into the fridge. “We’ve got some cold ones in here. You don’t mind if I call you Liv, do you?”

“Beer’s good,” he replied. “And, yes. Liv’s fine.”

Everything seemed to have gone from zero to two-hundred miles an hour without any warning.

Talk about being dumped in at the deep end.

This was only the second time he’d seen Cathy in God knew how many years and already she had got him dressed as a girl. If that wasn’t enough, he would soon have to mingle with people he didn’t know … well, when they turned up that was.

He was beginning to feel a little angry at Cathy for having put him in this position, but he’d had plenty of opportunity to say no.

But he didn’t, did he?

Taking a long swig from his beer, he looked across at Claudine. She was nice, a little ‘ditzy’ perhaps, but very nice. He wondered if she’d be quite as friendly if she knew that he wasn’t Liv, but Oliver. He wondered how she would take being lied to. He could and probably should after all, have told her that he was Oliver, but that was another thing he didn’t do.

No, he hadn’t told Claudine his real name, nor had he stopped Cathy in her tracks when she’d suggested he dress up as Kenzi for the party.

~oOo~

For the longest time, Oliver had wanted to be Olivia again. Here he was in a perfect position and in the perfect outfit, yet the first thing he wanted to do was to get out of there as fast as possible.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t feel comfortable; he felt perfectly comfortable in what he was wearing despite what he’d told Claudine. He knew he looked every inch the girl he was portraying and what was more, Claudine hadn’t even batted an eyelid at what lay beneath. No, it was more than that.

Mind you, Claudine wasn’t really someone to gauge anything by, as she seemed far too wrapped up in her own little world, paying little real attention to Olivia. It was no great surprise to discover that she had no idea who she was talking to. More to the point, she showed no apparent awareness of the fact that she wasn’t talking to another girl.

He seemed to be doing alright so far and after realising that, the fear and anxiety he’d been feeling, dissipated slightly. Olivia was standing on her own—so to speak and appeared to be completely convincing. Of course, it was going to take confirmation from others to completely convince Oliver of that.

“So how do you know Cathy?” Claudine asked and without pausing for breath, “I met her in college. She was kind enough to let me stay here in this flat with her. Course, I have to pay rent.” She giggled. “But she made me feel welcome, despite me being lesbian. Does that bother you?”

“Not at a—”

“We’re supposed to live in an age of enlightenment. Live and let live,” she said passing Liv a second beer. “You’d be surprised how many people still have hang-ups about gays and lesbians. Can’t see why. As long as they don’t bother anyone else. You’re not bothered, are you?”

“Er, n—”

“It’s not as if there aren’t any high profile lesbians and gays out there. I mean, look at Ricky Martin and Frazier’s brother, Niles. What’s his name? I mean in real life of course” She giggled again. “Then there’s Jessie J. Well, technically, she’s bi, but she still has sex with other girls and don’t even get me started on Angelina Jolie.”

Oliver blinked a few times as the barrage continued to hit her without so much as a pause. He took a sip from the bottle.

In the background, Claudine continued to rattle on, but Oliver had given up listening, tuning the constant drone out. He didn’t feel uncomfortable around her in the slightest, quite the opposite in fact. He felt a strong attraction to her and probably would have been more attracted if she’d stopped talking for a second or two.

“Hi Olivia!” Cathy said enthusiastically, stepping into the kitchen and stopping Claudine in her tracks. She was dressed in a real daring vampire costume with splits right up to the thighs of her dress and fishnet stockings—the ones with the lacy self supporting tops. Her hair was piled high on her head and her makeup made her look incredible; especially the cherry-red lipstick.

“You look phenomenal, Cath,” the young blonde said, her jaw dropping open. “I was just telling Liv about you letting me stay here. She’s not uncomfortable around me either,” Claudine said with a self-satisfied smile.

Cathy looked at Claudine and then at Oliver and rolled her eyes. “Liv?” she asked.

Oliver nodded.

Cathy smiled and turned to Claudine. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to steal her away from you, Claud.”

“Hey! Not fair. We were just getting to know each other.”

“I know. Don’t worry, she won’t be far away.”

There it was again, that feminine pronoun. It was as if Cathy didn’t want anyone to know that the young girl dressed as Lost Girl’s, Kenzi, wasn’t a girl after all.

Since changing, it was true that even in his head, that pronoun had been applied—once or twice, but he wasn’t sure it fitted. When he was younger, like most pre-teen kids, he was androgynous enough for it to fit without question, even though it was never anyone other than Cathy who saw it.

However, as he grew up, he became less and less sure that it fitted. He’d hoped one day it would, but his head had been filled with so many horror stories about how the world treated ‘men who parade around as women’, as his mother had put it, that he didn’t dare think about it too often.

“Come on, Liv.”

“Hey wait!” Claudine exclaimed. “You’re not getting away that easily.” She was standing before Oliver in a heartbeat, staring into his eyes. Without warning, she reached up and kissed him full on the lips. “That’s just to make sure you come back.”

---

To be continued ...

Lost Girl — Girl Found 2. Ready? Fire

---

Cathy quickly dragged a somewhat bemused Oliver from the kitchen and into her room.

“Phew! Thanks,” Oliver said, sitting on the edge of Cathy’s bed with his head in his hands. “You don’t know how much I needed to get out of there.”

“Get out? Why?” She could see the anguish on his face and she wondered whether she shouldn’t have asked him first before getting him all dressed up for a public appearance. It had after all been many years since they had played dress-up together and anything may have happened in that time. His penchant for dressing in her old clothes could have been a phase and she could well have been wrong: Oliver may not have been the same as her friend’s brother—however sure she may have been at the time.

She may have been young, but there was a feeling she got when Oliver became Olivia; a feeling that told her that the change from male to female was meant to be. He seemed to fit so perfectly that the boy in him just disappeared completely and it was as if they really were two girls together. It really had been as if she had a little sister and not a little brother.

Looking at him sitting on the bed, his head in his hands, the mega confident ‘sister’ she used to play with was not there. She began having doubts about whether any of what she remembered from that period was right at all. Perhaps he really didn’t want anything to do with being Olivia, but then if that were true, surely he wouldn’t have got changed and let her apply the makeup. He wouldn’t have squeezed into those absolutely skin-tight leggings that made her envious of his figure and stare in amazement at how everything just seemed to fit so well.

More importantly, wouldn’t he have baulked at wearing the underwear before he even got that far?

Well, he hadn’t, had he?

Instead, he went all the way and to look at him, you’d never have had even the slightest inkling he was anything other than the girl he had been made up to be. In fact, he was every inch what she was positive he’d grow up to be … even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself yet.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have expected—”

He sat up and shook his head slowly before absently using his finger to push the hair that practically covered his face behind his ear.

“It’s not your fault, Cath.”

“What is it then?”

“Look. I love being Olivia—always have done, but … well … it’s just that …”

She sat beside him and put her arm about his shoulders. “What?” she whispered.

“It’s just … well … I didn’t think for one moment that the first time I’d had an opportunity to be her in God knows how long, It’d be in front of a house full of people.”

“But you’re not; there’s only me and Claudine.”

“At the moment, perhaps, but what about the girl you got these from?” he asked, plucking at the top he was wearing and wiggling the boots.

“She’s in her room,” Cathy admitted. “And she probably won’t come out either. She doesn’t like parties.”

“And the others?”

Cathy looked a little sheepish. “Well, okay…”

“See, that’s it. I don’t want the people who will be coming, to see me like this.”

“Well that’s certainly not the Olivia I remember,” Cathy stated.

“A lot’s happened since you left.”

“Not good stuff either, I take it.”

“No. After you left, I tried to do as Mum said and not let Olivia out,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t do anything for what must have been a year or so after, but I don’t know … I just couldn’t stop.”

“I understand.”

This was not the time they were supposed to be having this conversation. She had envisaged it happening when they were alone and everything was much less fraught. True, ‘fraught’ is perhaps a little strong, but Oliver was clearly uncomfortable for whatever reason and she really wanted him to be comfortable. Sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table over coffees would have been a lot more convivial than him already being on the back foot being pressed into being Olivia for a party.

Nevertheless, it was going to have to do. She felt she’d already got him to at least partially admit to what she already thought she knew, but more than that, she wanted him to feel comfortable with whatever he was and she wasn’t sure what form her brother’s propensity for dressing as a girl took: whether it was transvestism or whether he was actually transsexual. Whichever form it took, he evidently needed to express it and she knew he was being held back—something that could cause irreparable damage.

“I’m glad you understand. Mum didn’t and I’m not sure I do either.”

“I can see that being an issue.”

“Yeah–” he said, with an ironic chuckle. “I kind of realised that there was something about me that was … different.”

“You wanted to be Olivia more of the time?”

“Yes, but I haven’t had the guts to do it.”

Cathy nodded sagely. She’d been right. Even back then she knew her brother wasn’t ordinary or average. Though at the time, she didn’t know why, she knew Oliver wasn’t the little boy everyone else thought he was. “So really, being here is good.”

“Yeah, but now I’m here and looking like a million bucks or whatever, I don’t feel I’ve got the nerve to go through with it.”

“I can understand, but think of how you were with Claudine.”

“I suppose,” he muttered, looking at his boots. “But I just know something’s going to go wrong.”

“Go wrong? That’s very negative, Sis.” She stared at him thinking that she understood what he was going through, likening it to being poised ready to jump out of an aeroplane or taking that first bungy jump. She tried a little encouragement. “I mean, come on, what can possibly go wrong?”

Oliver sat up, a look of determination on his face. “I was alright with Claudine, wasn’t I?”

“Better than alright, I’d have said.”

“And this is what I want, so I have to start somewhere, don’t I?”

“Yup.”

“So here’s as good a place as any, isn’t it?”

“That’s the way to do it, Sis!” She put her arm round him and gave him a hug.

“Thanks, Cathy. I really needed that.”

“My pleasure,” she said with a smile. “Ready?”

“Not sure, but let’s go anyway.”

By the time the two ‘girls’ got out, partygoers — or should that be comers? — were already beginning to arrive.

Oliver was clearly tense, but as he passed the kitchen, he was pounced on by an extremely attentive Claudine.

“Who’s the new girl?” Cathy’s friend Greg asked, looking Oliver up and down as he disappeared down the hallway on Claudine’s arm.

“That’s Olivia. We’re old friends. It’s the first time we’ve seen each other since I was about ten or eleven.”

“I’d love to see more of her. She looks just like that bird off the telly,” Greg said, almost drooling.

Suddenly Cathy wasn’t so comfortable letting her younger brother out into the party looking like he did. He was extremely convincing as he was and having already convinced Claudine, it was likely he’d convince others too. The fact was, after a few drinks, many of the blokes who were likely to be turning up would be after Olivia and she wasn’t sure how Oliver was going to take that.

‘I’m going to have to keep an eye on her,’ she thought.

~oOo~

Oliver left the safety of Cathy’s room, and tottered down the hall. ‘I will< get used to these things,’ he thought, looking down at the boots. As he passed the kitchen, there was a squeal from inside the room and all of a sudden, two arms clamped round him and Claudine was there.

“You came back,” she purred.

“Er, yes,” he replied, not knowing what else to say.

“Oh, goodie!” Claudine said, clapping her hands together. “There are some people I’d like you to meet.” She threaded her arm through his and led him further down the hall to the lounge.

Oliver was practically on sensory overload. All his nerve endings were jangling in a very pleasant manner as he could taste the lipstick he wore, which reminded him of the other makeup Cathy had applied to his face. The hair of the wig he wore brushed against his face and neck and every so often, he was reminded of the underwear he wore—mostly thanks to the bra. As for the leggings and boots … well, they just helped push him over the edge.

He looked good and what was more, he felt good too. It was the first time he’d been able to be ‘en femme’ and really experience what it was like to appear to others the way he’d always hoped he could.

‘I really wish it could always be like this,’ he thought.

Oliver followed Claudine into the large, high-ceilinged room when what sounded like a door slamming really hard during an earthquake made everyone there stop what they were doing. For a few moments, no-one spoke. In fact, it seemed like no-one even breathed. Oliver had just about crossed the threshold into the lounge when the bang stunned them all into silence. He froze; rooted to the spot as everywhere else in the room, people looked as though someone had pressed a universal pause button and everyone simply stopped in mid-flight.

“What the—” asked one guy, who was sitting on the sofa with some heavily made up girl that despite liberal applications of war paint, didn’t look old enough to be there.

“I’ll go check,” Claudine offered and literally turned on her heels, passing Oliver as she headed out of the lounge and into the hall, gathering momentum with every step.

Oliver felt all eyes were on him and immediately, his confidence crashed. He’d hoped he would just melt into the background, but dressed as he was, that wasn’t at all likely. “Um …” he said, expecting something, but instead, they just turned to one another and began discussing what they thought the noise and the rumbling could have been.

He breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t like being the centre of attention and since no-one appeared to care whether he was there or not, he quickly turned and left the lounge, catching a glimpse of Claudine as she headed into one of the other girl’s rooms.

As he approached, he heard voices.

“What the hell was that?” he heard Claudine ask.

“What?” the other girl demanded.

“That bang. It shook the floor in the lounge. Oh come on, Daphne. Don’t tell me you didn’t hear it.”

“Not really,” Daphne replied absently. “I had my ears in.”

“Oh you’re no good,” Claudine exclaimed.

By this time, Cathy and another girl had come out of their respective rooms and were heading towards him, just as Claudine exited Daphne’s room.

“Did you two hear that too?” Claudine asked.

“Yes. What was it?” asked the girl, whose name Oliver didn’t know.

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“How would I know?”

“Stop! It’s nothing to worry about. It was probably just someone slamming a door downstairs.”

“We’ve heard that before. It wasn’t a door slamming. The whole building shook, Cath,” Claudine pointed out.

“I really didn’t want you to say that, but you’re right. Perhaps we’d better go check it out then.” Cathy suggested.

“Check it out?” the other girl asked in no more than a squeak. “What if it was a gunshot,” she managed, clearly scared.

Cathy and Claudine looked at one another, rolled their eyes and shook their heads sadly.

“I think you’re safe there, Karen. I don’t think a gunshot would be enough to make the building shake.”

Oliver could see that despite what he’d seen in horror films, the girls weren’t about to start a stampede to check out whatever it was that had happened. In a way, he was disappointed, but not overly surprised. He’d never been able to comprehend why everyone was always so keen to check out the noises emanating from the dark cellar or the strange, ghostly lights in the woods on a moonless night.

No, reality was much more prosaic. Instead of charging off to investigate, these girls hypothesised about what they thought the noise might have been and didn’t appear to go anywhere near what they should do about it, despite the level of importance they had clearly given it.

He decided to take the bull by the horns and go and see for himself rather than wait for them to stop yacking and actually go and see what the problem might have been. Seconds later he was heading out to the top of the stairs.

Once there, he pushed the timer switch and the lights came on, casting a soft, yellow glow over everything. A curious smell pervaded the stairway, but he remembered that it was a little funky when he arrived. Other than that, there didn’t appear to be anything untoward. Heading downstairs, he gripped the banister rail tightly, tying to remain upright in his heels.

One floor down and he spotted what looked like mist coming from under the door of the flat immediately below Cathy’s. The closer he got, the more of it was escaping. By the time he reached the door, it was obvious what was coming out of the flat…

Smoke.

He banged on the door. “Hello?” he shouted. “Anyone in there?”

There was no direct reply, but he could hear something coming from behind the door and meanwhile, the girls had evidently noticed he was missing.

“What the hell are you doing?” Claudine yelled from above.

Smoke poured from under the door and try as he might, Oliver could not get anyone inside to hear him. “Hello? Is there anyone in there?!” he shouted and began coughing.

“What is it, Liv?” Claudine shouted.

“Fire!” Oliver called back.

“Get away from there!” Cathy shouted as she and Claudine began coming down after him.

“Never mind me,” he called. “Get the others out of the flat and phone the fire brigade!” He began another bout of coughing. “This door’s getting hot and I don’t know how long it will hold the—cough—fire back.”

“Are you alright, Liv?”

“I’ll live,” he spluttered, chuckling inwardly at his own little joke. “But I don’t know about whoever’s in there.”

“Just come away from there,” Cathy called.

“I’m fine,” he assured, but his eyes were already stinging from the rising smoke.

Oliver went to bang on the door one last time, but through the smoke, he could see the paint was beginning to blister and he had no choice but to get away.

He took a small step backwards and the next thing he knew was he was experiencing a kind of weightlessness. He could see little, but he could tell he wasn’t upright, in fact, it felt as though he was tumbling slowly.

The sensation didn’t last long as with a bone-shattering thud, he landed on his back, banging the back of his head on the landing below and that was the last thing he remembered.

---

To be continued…

Lost Girl – Girl Found 3. Missing

The girls watch as the firemen do their thing, only to discover that Olivia is missing ...

Claudine and Cathy stood on the opposite side of the street, shivering as lights flashed and the fire service did its thing.

“Your friends didn’t seem very happy at having to leave,” Claudine observed, her hands shoved as far into the tight pockets of her jeans as she could get them.

Cathy shrugged. “Not my problem. They’d have been less happy if they’d burnt to death, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t think of that,” Claudine agreed.

“Don’t suppose they did either,” Cathy said. “Ken and Brenda did offer us somewhere to stay if we needed it, though.” She shook herself and stared across the road at the doorway to their house. “Ooh! Where’s Olivia? She should be out by now.”

Water gushed down the front steps as fire fighters, covered in sooty grime, marched in and out, dragging their hoses and calling to one another. However, although they brought several people out, from the other flats in the building, many of them coughing and confused, Olivia wasn’t one of them.

Cathy didn’t even get to speak to the Crew Commander until she saw the hoses being rolled up.

“Is there anyone else in there?” Cathy asked.

“No. My men made sure of that. Why?”

Cathy could feel herself beginning to tremble. “My, er, sister is missing.”

“Your sister?” the Crew Commander asked, showing concern.

“Yes. Olivia. She was the one who discovered the fire.”

“She was? And you say you haven’t seen her since—?”

“Since she sent Claudine and I back upstairs to get everyone out of my flat.”

The fireman smiled. “She sounds like a sensible girl, but I’m afraid I haven’t seen anyone other than those who were brought out by the team. All of them have either gone elsewhere or to hospital. I’m sure if she’d been in there, we’d have spotted her. Perhaps she left before we got here. You were already here then, weren’t you?”

“Um … yes, but we didn’t see her leave.”

The Crew Commander rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I doubt she’s still in there, but I’ll be having a last look round shortly, if you don’t mind hanging around.”

The minutes dragged by as she and Claudine waited for the return of the Crew Commander and when he did, the two girls ran across to speak to him.

“Was she there?” Cathy asked.

The Crew Commander shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “She must have left before we arrived. She wasn’t in the house.”

Cathy’s heart sank. Oliver was big enough and old enough to look after himself, but what didn’t make any sense was why he had left without saying anything? Why hadn’t he waited for them and made sure they and the others got out okay? After all, he was the one who was most concerned for everyone’s welfare …

“When will we be able to go back in?” Cathy asked.

The Crew Commander chuckled. “Not yet, certainly,” he told her. “You might be wise to try and find somewhere else to stay for tonight. There’s definite smoke and water damage … possibly structural damage too. It may well be unsafe. Not to mention the fact it’s going to smell bad.”

“Oh God!”

Cathy grabbed Claudine’s hand and led her across to the other side of the road.

“What’s wrong?” Claudine asked.

Cathy started to cry. “Olivia’s disappeared,” she sniffed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“She wasn’t there?”

“No.”

“Well where would she have gone?” Claudine asked.

To Cathy, Claudine’s question was like asking someone who’d misplaced their keys, “Where did you have them last?” How stupid was that? If Cathy knew where her brother had gone, she wouldn’t have said what she said.

There had to have been a problem. Something must have happened to have made Oliver just up and leave. She knew she hadn’t seen him for some time, but she knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t have walked out on something like the fire.

Then something dawned on her: Claudine hadn’t said, “Where would he have gone?” but “Where would she have gone?”

Changing the ‘he’ to a ‘she’ made all the difference. Trying to find ‘him’ would have been the devil’s own job, but she was confident that finding ‘her’ was a different matter altogether.

Cathy shook her head. “Of course! Claud? You’re brilliant!” she said and grabbed her flatmate, pulling her tightly to her and planting a big kiss full on her lips.

“Oh … er … wow!” Claudine said, startled. “You haven’t done that before.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, girl,” she said with determination. “I think I know where to look.”

~oOo~

There was a loud 'ringing' in Olivia’s ears and it didn’t seem to want to stop, but she pressed on. She had no idea how long she’d been walking and worse still, no idea where she was. She vaguely recognised some of the places she passed, but she didn’t know where she might have recognised them from.

She stopped momentarily and looked about her, coming to the conclusion that the only thing she could say for certain, was that she was on a darkened street she didn’t recognise, with absolutely no idea which direction she should go to get to somewhere familiar.

The darkness frightened Olivia. As she continued to walk, she realised she was heading into town, however, which town she didn’t know. Some places did have an air of familiarity about them, but why or where from, she didn’t know and as the number of people around her increased, the more frightened she became.

The people were mostly in good spirits, though noisy, as they walked from one place to another. Some couples passed, huddled together in secretive conversation, while others passed in groups of threes, fours or more, most of whom paying her little or no attention, but there were others who stared at her, almost as if they knew her when she walked past, some even turning and watching her.

‘What are they staring at?’ she wondered. The more it happened the more she became sure that there must have been some misunderstanding, some mistake. ‘I don’t know them.’

Her head throbbed almost constantly and although it wasn’t really painful, it was beginning to cause concern. She cautiously touched an area at the back of her head and winced as her fingers came into contact with a large lump.

A young man stopped in front of her, his eyes going wide.

“You’re that bird, aren’t you?” he said, his spotty, pock-marked face breaking into a grin that spread almost from ear to ear.

“What?” she demanded, the fear rising by several notches.

“Hey!” he shouted. “It’s Kenzi.”

The next thing she knew, she was surrounded by a group of adolescent boys, all of whom were leering, edging closer.

“Where’s Bo?” a second youth asked and began laughing.

The group closed in a little further.

“Hey, do you and her, like, kiss and stuff?” another asked, to whoops from the rest, causing them to edge in even closer.

Balling her fists, Olivia screamed at the boys, thrusting her fists down by her sides and stamping her foot. “Leave me alone!”

The boys all roared with laughter.

“Just go away!” she yelled. Pushing her way through them, she ran off down the street and didn’t stop running until her chest hurt too much to continue.

Stopping at a busy main road, she looked about her. As luck would have it, this part of town was familiar. It was the sea front. She could smell the fresh, salty air above the smell of the heavy traffic, which sped past in both directions. To her left, some of the souvenir shops with their brightly coloured sticks of rock, huge lolly pops and other sweets adorning their windows. To her right, hotels, guest houses and squares with neatly manicured lawns.

Just on a corner, she spotted somewhere that brought back some very clear memories; memories of Knickerbocker Glories and sunny days paddling in the sea with her sister. She remembered sandcastles when the tide was out and Orange Maid ice lollies.

She entered the café, still somewhat out of breath and began looking about her. Everything was just as she remembered it. Tea served in clear glass cups and large, thick, stone-white cups with frothy coffee that her mother would drink. Even the seats and tables were still red vinyl and Formica as they had been when they used to come down to the seaside.

‘How long ago?’ she wondered, thinking that for her, it seemed like only yesterday.

“What can I get you, miss,” said a young girl from behind the counter. She had a distinctly swarthy, Mediterranean look and sound about her and her long almost black hair hung down to her waist.

“Er …” Olivia replied, not knowing what she was supposed to order.

“Aren’t you—” the assistant began.

“No.”

The girl looked unconvinced. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Olivia said, suddenly brought back to the present and running from the group of boys, just minutes before. “I was chased by some boys.”

“You come with me,” the assistant said, walking down behind the counter and lifting the flap at the end. “This place is normally for staff, but you come and sit here. I’ll bring you a coffee and you can stay until you feel safe again.”

“Thank you.”

Olivia sat at the table round the corner and out of sight of the main thoroughfare. Moments later, the assistant brought a steaming cup of frothy coffee, smiled and placed it in front of her.

“You’ll feel better after this,” she told her.

“Thanks,” Olivia said, returning the girl’s smile.

As the waitress left, Olivia saw someone sitting at table opposite the one she was shown to. She looked familiar, but then, much she’d seen on her way down seemed that way, though she wasn’t quite able to place it. This girl was no different, but was staring right at her.

She smiled and the girl smiled back, which made Olivia blush slightly—as did the girl.

“Sorry,” Olivia said, nervously, for no other reason than she thought she ought to say something, but couldn’t think of anything else with that throbbing in her head.

The girl at the other table did exactly the same.

Olivia stood and moved towards the other girl and realised she’d been looking in a mirror, seeing her own reflection reflecting her own movements.

“Oh wow,” she muttered, looking closely at the reflection, as if seeing herself for the first time.

Sitting back down at her table, she realised she hadn’t even recognised herself in the mirror and that bothered her. It wasn’t that she didn’t recognise herself, but she’d never worn clothes like the ones she was wearing and had no recollection of putting them on.

Staring into the mirror across the other side of the room, she wondered how her mother had ever allowed her to wear such clothes. The leggings she wore left little to the imagination and her hair…

How long had she been letting it grow?

She felt she looked good—better than good in fact, but it didn’t make any sense. Somehow, the memories she had of being on the beach with her mother and sister didn’t belong to her. Whilst she remembered much about the times when they were all together, didn’t include her, but then nothing seemed to be making any sense at all.

She closed her eyes and shook her head, feeling the long, straight hair brush like whispers across her face, a feeling she couldn’t remember from before. It was nice and she was sure that she should have remembered something like that.

She heard the traffic noise increase as the door to the café opened. The voices of a couple of women suddenly became apparent as the door closed and the sound of the traffic receded.

“You sure this is the place?” one said.

“Positive. This was her favourite place.”

Olivia sat back in her chair, keeping out of sight. Perhaps these women knew she’d be here like that group of spotty youths had known her earlier.

“How long are you planning on waiting here?” one asked.

“As long as it takes.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Don’t worry,” the second one said.

That one simple sentence rang bells in Olivia’s mind. There was recognition there; something about the tone of her voice seemed as familiar as the café did.

‘If only I could remember…’

---

To be continued…

This is a complete story in four chapters, but I have left it open so that maybe one day, it can be added to with further adventures...

This story is highly sexually charged, at least in the first chapter, so you have been warned.