A Necklace For The Lady free porn video

A Necklace for the Lady (c)1999 Kathy Core - Do not reproduce without consent from [email protected] "A Necklace for the Lady" by Kathy Core Peach. There was peach everywhere. George was in the bedroom of his latest and greatest conquest and all he could think about was how 'peach' everything was. Now, Jane was not just a conquest. She was a full-on military campaign, and this was to be the scene of the endgame. The final moment of triumph: George over the Ice Queen Bitch herself, Jane Egermann. Manoeuvre followed manoeuvre. Intelligence accumulating exercises were thwarted by misinformation, and countered with more. Minor engagements had been won and lost with the look in an eye, and the flutter of an eyelash. A stolen touch here, a cleverly worded phrase there. The war's inescapable momentum had driven them both, aching with anticipation, to this point. Return, or retreat was out of the question. The Ice Queen must be defeated, George thought, still coming to terms with having his head inflated to way beyond the size most people would consider healthy. Claiming the office's resident love interest as your own seemed to have that effect on poor, dear George. To a modestly successful lover like George, a kiss would be a subcutaneous injection of ego. Holding her breasts in his hands would be intravenous: Ego pumped straight into the blood stream to be delivered, as quickly as possible, to his throbbing penis. A woman like Jane could be seriously addictive, and her rarity and preciousness made the hunger greater. George did savour the excitement of stepping into Jane's bedroom for the first time, for this was her most sacred and private of all places - the armoury. Here she stored the tools by which she was waging her war: her make-up; her clothes; her jewellery, her dreams and her secrets. There was clear evidence of the effort Jane had gone through to create herself this way every day. He pictured her preparing for work each morning, sitting at her vanity brushing her hair, or perhaps standing naked, flicking through her closet for something to wear. Whilst he held that thought she brushed past him, and left him standing in the doorway. Despite the deafening sound of his blood thundering round his body, the quiet of the room lead to new details about Jane to be revealed to him. As her body had skimmed past his, he heard the gentle swish of her nylon stockings kissing each other, and sliding against the silk lining of her skirt. She was wearing her legendary peach suit, which featured a short pencil skirt, matching jacket with a flash of cream silk gently resting against her chest. She had long, shiny dark hair that reached perfectly to the small of her back, which the eye followed down to draw attention to her slim rear, her long legs and the slim heels that she stood upon. Jane still had her back to him as she looked over her shoulder, and flicked her hair behind her shoulder so she could look into George's eyes. He was clearly overwhelmed, and found himself staring unselfconsciously where the hem of her skirt met the translucent material of her stockings. The final detail that caught his eye was her necklace, especially because she always wore it, without fail. Consisting of the familiar circle and cross 'hand mirror' motif and a simple silver chain, the necklace was conspicuous in its lack of any kind of catch or fastening that would allow it to be removed without simply snapping the chain. It fit snugly round her neck, and could clearly not be taken off over her head. This delicate object of clever artistry fixated George. "You okay?" She asked, smiling a sweet, innocent and wholly inappropriate smile. He looked up at her face. It only took a split-second, but in what seemed like slow motion to George, he scanned her features, absorbing every minute yet significant detail. He saw the subtle shades of colours that made up the eye shadow, eyeliner and mascara that drew such striking attention to her eyes. He could see that her smooth, creamy complexion was a trick - a double whammy of foundation and powder, although he knew that even without her skin would still be young and fresh. Her lips, tinted with a deep red gloss, begged to be kissed. It was Jane's camouflage, and he had seen through it, but it was an exceptionally beautiful disguise. "Oh, just peachy," he remarked, returning her overly warm smile. Her smile said 'I've got you, and you don't realise it, do you?" His smile said the same. Jane slid off her jacket, and placed in gently over a chair. Gracefully, she floated over to the bed where she laid down, and let out a satisfying sigh. They were both twenty-two, and they both did the same job in the same company - a tedious, thankless customer service role in a thankless company with an ignorant slob of a boss. The day's work had been gruelling, only saved by the incessant flirting and outrageous innuendo that had been swapped between them both. George was a reasonable, laid back sort of man, calmly self-assured with a strong sense of adventure. Jane, on the other hand, was notorious for her fiery temper, quick wit and enjoyed her reputation as a kind of femme fatale even though she hadn't so much as looked at another man in the office. George could not remember a sexual encounter that had been so hyped before, but he enjoyed the anticipation. He climbed onto the bed next to her, and placed his arm across her chest, just snugly below her bust line. He joined her in a deep exhale of breath. "Finally," he whispered. She smiled, and carried on laying in silence, waiting for a move to be made. "Jane, I know it's corny, but you really are very, very attractive, you know that?" he grinned, embarrassed because he really meant it. "You like the way I look, don't you?" she enquired. "Oh yeah, baby!" "What do you think of my outfit then?" she asked, her tone growing increasingly flirtatious. George thought he saw her reaching her hand down between her legs. She was not reaching up her skirt, but she was smoothing it out just a little too vigorously. Jane was stretching all her limbs, as if she was writhing to the beat of her own arousal. George instinctively followed suit, pushing his feet to the end of the bed whilst feeling his manhood swell a little more. He forced himself to resist pressing the bulge against this perfect female creature he was lying next to. He groaned. "Oh... you have great taste in clothes and makeup," he managed to say without giving away the heaviness of his breathing. "It's nice to see a woman taking care of the way she looks." "Do you like running your hands over me when I'm wearing clothes like this?" George took this as his cue to start doing just that. He felt the soft warmth of her breasts beneath the silk of her blouse and the clean lines of her behind through the thin but luxurious fabric of her skirt. He moaned his agreement, lost in a sensual tactile nirvana. "George? Could you do me a really big favour?" She asked, in a mock little girl voice. "Could you help me take off my necklace?" "Sure baby! I was going to ask you about that. There's no catch on it! How do you take it off?" "That's just it! I can't get the damn thing off! Somebody showed me once. They just rubbed their thumbs against the chain, and it opened like magic. I've never been able to do it, so will you give it a shot?" He looked at her, feeling a little disconcerted. Almost certain she was hiding something, George tried to examine her face again for hints at some kind of set up. Nervous, but keen for an excuse to touch her body again, he rolled Jane over on to her tummy, and began gently stroking his thumbs against the chain as if he was performing the magic ring illusion. Instantly, the necklace relinquished its hold on Jane as the loop clicked open. "Ta Da!" he announced in triumph. Fascinated, he examined the two ends of the chain for some evidence of the mechanism, but could see nothing. It really was as if metal had passed through metal. "Jesus! You did it! How did you manage that?" she asked, excited. "It was nothing," he replied, blase. "Please, you have to show me," she begged. With some dismay he observed that this little detour was detracting from his foreplay, but he also felt compelled to obey the first rule of manhood - never, ever pass up an opportunity to impress a woman. "Sure, put it on, and I'll take it off you again. There's nothing to it." "Oh, but George I can't see you do it! Will you wear it so I can see what you have to do?" She looked up at him innocently, with a pleading expression. George looked back, eager to please but equally keen not to wear her necklace. "Oh, please! It'll only be for a few seconds, and no one else will see you! I'm not asking you to wear a dress or anything!" Jane knew he would do it eventually, but not without a little persuasion. George agreed. He put the two ends of the chain between his fingers, and reached round the back of his neck. They did not meet up. His neck was too big. "Heh... sorry, but it's too sma..." He stopped mid word because he was shocked. Now the ends did meet, as if the chain had somehow extended itself. "Weird... it fits now. How does it fasten?" The question did not need to be answered, because it happened automatically when the metal connected. George shivered, feeling a little sting in the back of his neck. "Okay. It's on. Right, here's what you do to take it off," he instructed. Truth be told he was feeling a little awkward. This reminded him of all the little forays into 'girls stuff' he had endured as a child with his two cousins Lisa and Sarah. He cringed at the memory, and this was the same. He turned, so that Jane could see his demonstration. He reached round and with some difficulty began repeating the magical thumb rub that had released the invisible catch the previous time. "Er... it's not working," he commented, after thirty seconds of trying. He turned to look at Jane, imploring her to help. "I'm sorry George," she spoke, sombrely. Lowering her head, she waited for him to reply. There was a ghastly silence. "Sorry for what?" George was clearly perturbed. Dimly aware that he was the victim of a practical joke, he expectantly waited for Jane's explanation. "You can't take it off, or break it off, believe me, I tried. You get two chances to remove it, and both require someone else to release the catch. The first chance comes after 24 hours and the second after 15 years. This was my second chance to have it removed. Sorry." There was a small tear in her eye, which left a dark trail as it rolled down her cheek. "Don't feel bad, Jane. Seriously, this chain will not take too much effort to snap. A pair of bolt-cutters, if the worst comes to the worst, should do the trick. You haven't really worn this thing for 15 years have you?" George frowned, unable to comprehend what was going on. From his point of view, it seemed as if Jane had seduced him so that she could trick him into taking off a necklace, then get him to be stuck wearing it. He hoped his positive attitude would help put a premature end to this game so that he could get back to the business-at-hand - copious amounts of sex. "Bolt cutters, blow torches, lasers, guns. You name it: I've tried it George. Trust me, you can't take it off except when it lets you." Jane continued to hang her head in shame. "Jane. Even assuming, and that's a very, very big assumption, that I can't take this necklace off, then why did you trick me into getting stuck wearing it?" "I can't tell you. I'm sorry, but I can't bring myself. I had to do it," she said in a tone that desperately sought forgiveness, grateful that he wasn't pushing further at this point. "Okay - worst case scenario, I'm stuck wearing this chain for 24 hours. It's easily hidden, so no one will see it. I really wish I could understand why you did this to me," he asked, putting on his wounded puppy routine. Jane did not respond verbally. Instead, she began removing all her clothes until she was completely naked. She put her arms around him, and gently kissed him on the lips. "I hope you can forgive me, George. I really do." "Hey, it's forgiven, don't worry about it," he responded. Jane told him how sweet he was, and promptly curled up in the bed and went to sleep. Even if she was not asleep, she certainly did not respond to any further questions. "So I take it that sex is out of the question tonight then?" he muttered to himself, feeling utterly stupid. This night had not gone according to plan by any measure of success. Climbing out of his suit, and draping it over the chair, he joined Jane in bed, careful not to make physical contact with her exquisite body. * He dreamt of a snake perpetually eating itself into infinity. Consumption leading to production, a perfect cycle. It was a glorious, lucid dream that he found he could not leave. * He awoke alone in Jane's bed. From outside the room he heard and smelt breakfast, a selection of eggs and bacon. Remembering the previous night's washout, he considered the possibility that a cooked breakfast in bed may actually be the greater prize. He even considered getting up, but the bed felt especially comfortable against his body, as if the cotton had become satin. Groggy, but slowly coming to his senses he struggled to remember where he had put his suit. It could have just been morning brain fuzz, but he was sure that he had folded it over the chair at the end of the bed. Clearly, it was not there now, and a brief inspection of the room as he could see from his horizontal position confirmed that it was not hung up anywhere else. Then, quite shockingly George found his suit. Someone was wearing it - the man that had just entered the room holding a frying pan. In addition, it was not just any man, because this person was the spitting image of himself. George's jaw locked open, and his mirror mirrored. "You're awake! You seem to be taking it quite well," the man said. "George, it's me, Jane." "Jane?" That's when it struck him, as if he'd stood in the path of a train and taken it arms, legs and eyes wide open. The instant he heard his voice: a new female voice, he leapt out of bed. Jane backed away cautiously, as George began to skit around the room like a tornado, screaming '...ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod....' She intervened when he stopped his panic attack and began scratching. Certain that he was damaging his body, she slapped him across the face and barked his name. * George had many things he wanted to say. First, 'what's happened to me' seemed appropriate, and maybe even the universal 'help me' could work. Instead though, he decided to say only two words. "The necklace," he said, softly. He was still wearing it, although this time it did not look too peculiar because it was back on a body it was meant to flatter. A woman's body. Mentally going through a checklist of common female characteristics, he found that he had the full works. Breasts, hips, smooth hairless skin, small feet and hands, and he was shorter than before. Most importantly, he could feel his precious member had gone. He attempted to squeeze the same muscles and was relieved that he still felt a similar effect, except this time it was inside him. Using some measure of discretion, he decided against inspecting his new equipment too physically whilst Jane was present with his former body, witnessing his justified hysteria. The revelation of the necklace being instrumental in the body swap gave George a serene Zen calmness, offering a brief moment of self control that lasted just long enough to confront his reflection in Jane's full length mirror. Shockingly, he did not immediately recognise his new face. It was familiar, but then he had never seen Jane's face in a mirror before. It was like a bad portrait, which got the details just wrong enough to spoil the whole painting. "You never knew how beautiful you were," was all he could think to say. "Pardon?" Jane asked, surprised at the reaction. "The reflection is completely different to how this face looks in the flesh," he said, the Zen moment still tentatively holding. "I think I know what you mean. Your face is different from the one I used to see in the mirror everyday, that's for sure," she commented, relieved at the calm, introspective direction the conversation had taken. "Jane, I'd like to have my suit back please. I want to get dressed and have a cup of coffee before I get you to explain what's going on." George spoke quietly, but insistently. Jane looked at him as if about to argue, but rescinded. As she began taking off George's masculine suit, she found herself unable to voice her objections. "George, I'm sorry, but these are the only clothes that will fit me. I can't wear women's clothes anymore!" Jane's protests did make sense, but George wanted his transformation, at least as of now be on his own terms. "Humour me, Jane. You can wear a dress or something for another couple of hours, at the very least." Jane scowled as she tossed the man's suit onto the bed. George insisted she remove his underwear too. This brought more eyebrow raising and muttered discontent from Jane, who despite the new body was still acting exactly as she did before. Finished, she stormed off and found a bathrobe that was clearly several sizes too small for her enlarged, masculine frame. "Told you! Look at me, I look like an idiot!" "In case you hadn't forgotten," George said, as he began putting on his suit, "you've changed me into a woman, so I don't really think you're going to get too much sympathy from me." Jane tossed her eyes to the roof again, and out of habit raised her hand to flick her hair. Catching herself, she lowered her hand hoping George did not notice. It had been 15 years since Jane was last a man, and it was going to take time to readapt. Meanwhile, George was struggling with his suit. His waist was too small for his shorts, so they would not stay up properly. Instead, they rested on his hips. Undeterred, he attempted to put on his shirt, which seemed to have turned into a bag. The sleeves were too long, and there was only just enough room for his breasts. His pants were a similar embarrassment, only just fitting round his hips, and ungracefully baggy and loose everywhere else. His belt didn't have enough notches to allow him to tighten it fully around his waist. He could feel himself blushing at the anal bloody-mindedness of his actions, but it was the principle. He had to prove to himself that there were no alternatives to the inevitable - wearing Jane's clothes, even if it was only for 24 hours. Intensely aware that he had become the object of his own lust, George felt the sting of hypocrisy as he felt his masculine sensibilities unwilling to entertain the prospect of wearing the clothes that Jane had so successfully used to seduce him, regardless of his current physical status. Dressed, or at least nearly dressed, he marched to the kitchen to prepare coffee. Jane noticed his attempt to command a larger physical presence, and felt a growing unease as she considered the possibility that George might never adapt to a female life. "Okay, explanation time," George announced. Coffee poured, it was time for answers. "Where do you want me to start?" Jane asked. They both sat in the relaxed environment of Jane's living room. The furniture was cosy, and the smell of coffee pervaded the room. Sunlight was slowly beginning to enter the room as day broke. Jane was sitting hugging her legs, and George sat with legs spread, trying desperately to absorb the relaxing atmosphere. Some form of collapse seemed inevitable, as George grew almost paralysed with a sickening, escalating fear of the hitherto unknown world of womanhood. "Do you mind if I smoke?" Jane asked, already reading for the packet. "No," he lied. The toxic fumes filled the room, allowing the light from the sun entering the room to be tangibly seen like a cliched scene from a film noir. George hung his head, feeling like an outsider - an unfamiliar body in equally alien surroundings. "The necklace," she began robotically, as if she'd told this a million times before, "turns you into an exact replica of the previous wearer, and the previous wearer takes on the form of the current wearer, if you see what I mean." "From what I've discovered, this necklace has certain rules. Firstly, for the transformation to take place the new wearer has to be a male, and the previous wearer female. Also, it can only be taken off by a male," she continued. "Well, why couldn't I take it off when I was still a man? And why can't you help me take it off now?" "Well, as I said last night, you have two chances at taking the necklace off, the first is 24 hours after you put it on. Of course, by then you are a full woman so you cannot take it off by yourself. Having said that, even if you manage to take it off, you'll be stuck in that body until you get a man to wear it. If you miss the opportunity to take it off, you won't get another for 15 years, like me." The account was solidly told, without a hint of any form of fabrication or deceit. "How is this possible?" begged George. His own body proof of the jewellery's power, so the truth of her words could not be in doubt. The 'hows' and the 'whys' concerned him the most now. "Er...as far as I know the necklace comes from ancient Japan. A powerful magician (yeah, I know it sounds like bullshit, but I guess there must be some truth in it) called Kai-Sota crafted a necklace at the bequest of a powerful warrior, whose wife had recently died giving birth to a baby girl. "Furious that he was to be denied an heir and apprentice, he commissioned the necklace which would allow his daughter to steal the body of the healthy baby boy born to his enemies, a rival family that owed large sums of money to him. "There was a battle, during which he managed to slay his enemies, and kidnap the infant child. Using the necklace, he witnessed them taking each other's forms. His flesh and blood grew up to be a strong and powerful warrior, and the kidnapped orphan was sent for Geisha training, to serve and entertain his family." Jane told the story like a joke without a punch line. The words were awkward and rehearsed facsimile that had been passed from man to woman from generation to generation. "As to how it works... who knows? It has to be magic. Not some illusion though, but real magic. What else is there? Oh yeah, if you get the necklace off and give it to another woman, you'll be stuck forever in your female body. That woman can then take it off at any time so that she can turn a man into her image, instead of yours. That's what happened to me. I decided I didn't want to pay this high class prostitute any money, so she handcuffed me to a bed, and took the necklace off this little 7 year old girl, her daughter, and wrapped it round my neck. The next morning, well, you can guess the rest, but she kept me tied to that bed until she was certain that the 24 hour window had passed." There was a distinct sadness in Jane's voice as she recounted this tale. George studied the implications of what she was describing - being reduced from a fully grown man to a little girl, having to go back to school, whilst all the time having a sleazy hooker for a mother. Looking at Jane in her new masculine form, he felt a growing sympathy for the suffering that she must have endured. He realised that she had come to the end of a very traumatic and disturbing experience. He wished there were a way that she could have her manhood restored without sacrificing his own. "What happened to the real little girl, you know, the one who took your old body?" he asked, genuinely concerned. "I really don't want to talk about that, Jane. Sorry, you don't mind if I call you Jane do you? Doesn't seem right calling you George," she asked, changing the subject deftly. "I suppose not. It's only for 24 hours, after all," he offered. 'Jane' noticed that the tables had somehow been turned, and he was suddenly faced with the proposition that 'George' was the victim. The small matter of his own transformation was being overlooked. "Okay. So what do we do know?" 'Jane' asked. 'George' took a deep breath, satisfied with the conversation's outcome. "Well, I really do think we had better go to work. You don't want to lose your body and your job in the same day," she reasoned. 'Jane' looked up in terror. "Hey! There's no way I'm going out like this!" "Don't be like that. Either way, I'm going, so if you don't mind, Jane, I'm going to need my suit," 'George' said, shrugging her shoulders. "Okay, okay. You can take the damn suit, and I will go to work, but that's only because I don't want to be on my own right now. But if I give you my suit, what am I going to wear?" 'George' showed him, but not before putting on 'Jane's' old male black suit herself. She had no problems with the fit, and 'Jane' was surprised at how good it actually looked on her. "God! You don't know what it's like to be back in a suit like this after all those years. I feel so powerful," 'George' proclaimed, posing in the mirror. She noticed the look in his eyes. "Oh, sorry Jane. I know how that must have sounded, but there's nothing wrong with women's clothes, trust me," she lied, comically attempting to conceal the faux pas. "Let's just get it over with," he said. "Just pick out some underwear you like. You'll need a bra, panties and hold- ups. Those drawers over there. Well, what are you waiting for?" 'Jane' just stood naked, with a fixed expression of disbelief. "Hey," she added, "I'm not picking them out for you! I'm a man now, and I can't be choosing your underwear for you. I'm not your husband for god"s sake!" This was a nightmare to 'Jane', who had never voiced an opinion on ladies' lingerie fashions before in his life, and didn't really intend to start now. It was becoming like a game now, where he was being asked to choose his underwear, therefore by implication have to say which bra and panties he'd *like* to wear, so by suggestion have to say that he *liked* wearing these flimsy but sensual garments. He tried not to deliberate too long, so that he could give the impression that he just picked something at random, but he could not. At first he grabbed a lacy set, but reconsidered, and instead chose a white satin set. "Oh yeah, good choice. That bra is slightly padded to give you a little extra cleavage. Very sexy," 'George' said excitedly. 'Jane' muttered something under his breath, and proceed to pull on the panties which fit snugly. Next, he struggled with the bra. 'George' did not offer to help, letting him twist and turn. Eventually the catch fastened, just as the necklace had. It felt reassuringly tight, and almost comfortable in a warped sort of way. "You wear these things all the time?" he asked 'George'. "Yup, well, used too," she laughed. "A bra is a girl's best friend, remember that. Oh yeah, Jane? Don't forget the hold-ups. Wear the white ones." The hold-ups were sheer nylon stockings, with a lace trim at the top that clinched his legs keeping them up. He understood immediately that he had been spared wearing a suspender belt with standard stockings, and the ugly alternative of pantyhose, which were great until you put your hand up some woman's skirt. "Jane, you look really good. You shouldn't be shy of a figure like that you know," 'George' teased. "Okay, seeing as how you liked my skirt suit so much, you can try that on today. Hey! Don't give me that, lady. I wore it for you, so you wear it for me!" 'George' as a woman had had that talent - throwing so many insults at you simultaneously that you didn't know which one to respond to, so you ended up staying silent. 'Jane' did not want to wear that beautiful peach suit, he did not like being called 'lady' and he certainly did not approve of her twisted logic. However, as with the underwear, he would rather have something imposed on him than have to choose. Reluctantly, he slipped the creamy silk camisole blouse over his head, which he found clung to his curves. Following the logical pattern, he picked up the skirt and inspected it. I did not look too short, but he had not taken account of his butt. Once on, he realised that it came down to four inches above the knee line. It was short, and he felt a pang of loss as he remembered his lust on the previous night. The outfit had lost none of its appeal, despite the strange viewpoint. "I feel stupid." 'Jane' announced. "That's because I haven't done your hair and make-up yet, and you're not wearing any shoes," replied 'George'. The new Jane, in another flashback, remembered the extraordinary detail and artisanship in the old Jane's makeup and knew what was coming. Resigned, he sat at the vanity and gave her permission to proceed. He felt as if the cosmic forces had allied themselves to make him suffer the same indignities and rituals that he'd expected of his own girlfriends, old Jane included. The new George got to work, explaining what she was doing. "Okay, I'm using moisturiser, cleanser and toner on you now, to prepare the surface of the skin for the base. Should make your face feel nice and tight. It does? That's great! So, this is foundation. I've already done the hard work and picked the right tone, so no problems there. See? It gives you a smooth, even complexion and provides a base for the rest of the cosmetics. This? Oh, this is powder. You use it to fix the makeup in place, so you don't need to keep reapplying it too much during the day. Perfect! Okay, this is eyeliner. Hold your head back, and stay still. Makes your eyes look bigger, don't you think? I'm using eye shadow now. Notice how I'm using this soft brush to blend the different shades together? Admit it, looks good, doesn't it? Just the mascara now, and that's your eyes done. Hold still again... there! Here's a nifty trick - use a little of the mascara on your eyebrows. Not too much, but you see the way I've done it on you that it makes them look neater. Just a little bit of blusher now, before we do the lipstick. Are you ready? Here goes.... tastes a little funny at first, but you'll get used to it. Right, all done. What do you think?" "Wow," was all Jane could manage. "I thank you... but that's the last time, otherwise people will think I'm some kind of sissy if I go round doing women's makeup all the time," said George. "If you're a sissy for putting makeup on me, what does that make me? I'm wearing it!" "You're not a sissy - you're a woman, and lipstick is virtually compulsory," Jane joked. "And besides, you're not finished yet. Time for the shoes. Are you ready?" "Ready as I'll ever be for peach shoes with 4 inch heels," he commented sarcastically. "If I could wear them, so can you, Jane." So, cautiously he slipped his nylon clad feet into the innocuously tiny shoes, and as he stood squealed with shock, finding himself lifted into the air with his chest and rear aesthetically protruding. As he pulled on the matching jacket, he cursed himself. Not an hour earlier he had sworn that he would never, ever allow himself to be feminised in this way. Sure, he had a woman's body now, but he did not intend to play ball. Now, he was essentially Jane Egermann. He had her body; her face, her driving license, her job and he rather suspected her wardrobe and maybe even her apartment. The new George had his old identity and no doubt possessions too. The real tragedy was that his life was not worth stealing. Maybe it was his lack of commitments or family that attracted her, or maybe he was the only sucker she could find at the last minute stupid enough to let a woman put a feminine piece of jewellery round his neck. "Earth to Jane! Hello?" cried George, breaking Jane's train of though. She handed him a matching peach handbag, and quickly demonstrated the contents. There was a mobile phone, a mobile mirror, lipstick and a spare set of hold ups, along with all the other everyday items a woman, lacking pockets, needs to carry. "I nearly carried it myself! Force of habit, I'm afraid." Jane slung the bag over his shoulder, and meditated for a second on his reflection in the mirror. There was no denying his womanhood now. The way the clothes felt against his body, the way the lipstick tasted, the way he found himself compelled to walk. He had nothing to compare it to, but he felt like a woman, or at least thought he did. He was beautiful, pretty and attractive. He felt his heart flutter from a sudden boost to his ego. He decided that if he could pull off going to work as Jane, he might still have a good time. After all, nothing was going to stop him from changing back into a man after the 24 hours were up. In some small sense his laid back personality was starting to re-emerge, no longer an unwelcome guest. * The new Jane stood in quiet amazement as a small kitten walked up to him, then stepped on his shoes rubbing its fur against his legs before prowling off. It was the last thing he expected to happen after stepping outside. Almost rigid with fear, he had forced his way to the car trying not to attract the attention of the lynch mob that lurked ominously in his paranoia. George laughed at the cat's exploits. "She likes yzu!" she announced, moving to and opening the passenger door of the car. She gestured to Jane to take a seat. "What, you're driving? What's the matter? Just because I have your old body doesn't mean I've inherited your driving skills!" he joked, enjoying the chauvinistic banter despite his current female status. "That's what I'm afraid of," she rallied, laughing. "Then again, you can only just walk in those heels, so I'd leave driving until you're a little more stable." "Yeah yeah," Jane said sarcastically, helpless to do other than witness the surreal experience of seeing his old body drive him to work. He imagined this was what an out of body experience was like, and thought how peculiar it was that he wasn't all that uncomfortable about being so close to his old body. Maybe because he'd never seen his body from this point of view before, it was as if George was just another person who looked familiar. "Now that you're a man, you don't want to be seen in the passenger seat. Admit it!" George shrugged guiltily, as if to say 'do you blame me?' The rest of the journey passed without comment, or exchange of words. Both felt the excitement and terror of what they were about to pull off. It was not as if they could be caught out, but all the same, it was not a normal day at work. * They arrived fashionably late. The faces that appeared in the windows of the office could not hide their smug amusement at witnessing Jane and George arriving together. It really did not take a genius to work out what had happened the night before. If only they knew what actually took place, Jane thought as he tugged at his skirt. George looked up at their colleagues, who promptly ducked away on being noticed. She smiled slyly, and in a moment of pure egomania, strode purposefully towards Jane, and grabbed him masterfully. "What the...." he started, but found it impossible to finish with George's manly tongue in his mouth. Released, the mortified Jane staggered back gasping from shock. George however, looked gleefully back to the windows. Predictably, the faces had reappeared, and once spotted this time it was as if you could hear the stampede of feet as the voyeurs tried to pretend they were never there. "Heh... that'll give them something to wag their tongues about!" said George, puffing out his chest with pride. "Don't do that again you bastard!" Jane shouted, feeling more that just a little embarrassed. The original plan of a low profile, quiet day was already spoilt. Now he was faced with a day of gossip with 'the girls', unless he wanted to be gossiped about. "Thanks Jane. I haven't kissed a woman in years, and it's been even longer since I was called a bastard! You have no idea how glad I am that you called me that! When you're a woman it's all 'bitch' all the time. I hate being called a bitch!" "You're still a bitch, George, just now you're an ugly bitch." Jane snarled, still furious at his violation. "Ooo... meow!" George laughed, patronising. "Well, it didn't take you too long to get the hang of being a bitch yourself. You'd better get used to it, because I used to think that it was my middle name." They carried on exchanging little snipes at each other as they approached the office. George was finding Jane's loss of temper increasingly funny. With some dismay, Jane realised that without the physical presence to back it up, his fury was nothing more than hot air. In the past he rarely lost his composed exterior, but now with his diminished and vulnerable stature he couldn't retain his dignity when George, in his stolen body, wouldn't take him seriously. Only now, when it was too late, did he have some understanding of the power men have over women. To men, the tables seem even, but from his current lipstick flavoured point of view, the world seemed an intimidating place. "You two love birds better not make a habit of this," said the floor supervisor. He was a pedantic moron who had been promoted purely to get him away from customers, and therefore stop him from causing any more damage. "You can stay behind after work to make up for lost time." This only compounded Jane's anger, which led to him sitting at his old desk by mistake. "Er... That's my desk, sugar pie," whispered George, trying not to attract even more attention. Jane turned crimson and scurried across to his new desk where the old Jane used to sit. George winked at him from across the room, and then looked to get stuck into work. After the familiar clicks and whirring of the computer began, Jane leaned back in her chair examining the surroundings. Pretending to scrutinise a pen, he could feel his heart pounding as he surreptitiously attempted to access whether or not his colleagues were looking at him. They were all casting their fair share of sneak glances, but nothing like the aliens in "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" did looking for humans. It was most likely that they were looking for signs of guilt from the illicit encounter in the car park. He did notice more than just a few looks from his male colleagues were aimed at his legs. "Keep the legs crossed," he thought to himself, blushing. For the first time since he had put on the necklace, he finally had his thoughts to himself. 'George' had led him on a whirlwind journey that had left him flustered and dazed, and the fantastic absurdity of his current predicament had truly yet to sink in. He had gone from shock, to anger followed by disbelief, acceptance, and now finally an inescapable fear that he wasn't equipped to cope. He concluded, based on his trembling heart, sweating brow and scattered thoughts that he was not going to be able to work today. He could not think clearly at all, and once he realised he couldn't log on to the network without the old Jane's ID and password, he decided to admit defeat. He rose from his desk, noticing the unease in George's face. The floor supervisor, eager to make anybody and everybody suffer that little bit more stared fixedly at Jane as he approached, as if to say 'I know what you're going to ask, so don't even think about it.' Jane asked anyway, and made sure he dropped in as many references to 'women's problems' as possible to avoid any real questioning. It worked, and the bright-faced little Hitler excused the beautiful office assistant without making an effort to hide his reluctance or contempt for any woman that would exploit his squeamish nature. Jane took a risky but unresistible chance by cheekily winking at George, who looked furious but helpless in her desk. Clearly, she had hoped to monitor him until they had settled down, but now all she could do was watch as Jane slipped out the door. It made her livid that she could not afford trying to leave early herself, thanks to her exploits in the car park. She also knew that without intervention, nothing was going to stop Jane from taking off the necklace come eleven o'clock. If that happened, and he failed to pass it on to someone else, she knew he would come after her. There was a chance, however slim, that he would pass it back to her because he would want his old body back. It would not take much  he only had to sneak up behind her and the deed would be done. George banged her fists against the desk when she realised, like Jane, that she could not log in to the network. It was going to be a long tense day, only hoping that luck would help her find Jane after she clocked out. Jane's car pulled up outside his old apartment. He did not have the keys, but he always left a spare hidden behind a loose brick in the wall. He broke two nails in the process, but was not concerned, only annoyed that he even noticed. He entered cautiously, as if he was worried that George would have accomplices that would be waiting for him. The apartment was cold, and the mess and chaos would lead most people to believe that the property had been burgled. This was not the case, and Jane grimaced with embarrassment at the disgusting state of the place. He had never once considered this place to be his home, and in truth if the worst happened the new George would be welcome to the place. He decided he would have to clean up first though. Male or female, he did not want anyone else to see this pig sty. He grabbed a black bin liner and proceeded to fill it with empty pizza boxes, beer tins, filthy magazines and all the other obscene junk that littered the rooms. When finished, he had only removed the superficial garbage, but that was enough. Now he had to make a telephone call that he had been postponing, but knew was inevitable if escape was something to be taken seriously. Peter Jones looked at the receiver of the telephone with bemused astonishment. A strange woman had invited him to his friend George's flat, and told him to bring a gun. He had only been out of bed for an hour, he had not even had his first spliff and already his day was getting weird. Weird things often happened to Peter, but never this early. It was sheer fluke that he was conscious at all: a crazed mongrel recently purchased by his neighbours had unleashed the full force of its vocal abilities the very second its unknowing owners left for work. In addition, like all infuriating noises that wake you up, the hairy hound ceased after it was too late to go back to sleep. It complicated things, the fact that he was meeting a female. This meant he would have to make some kind of effort in the personal hygiene department. He knew he did not have any clean clothes, and his underwear was especially revolting. Dismayed that he would have to refuse any sexual encounter on those grounds, he cursed himself for not having emergency clothes for this sort of occasion. After digging around, he found his least disgusting T-shirt, least dirty jeans, and other bits and pieces. He sprayed himself with deodorant, and even took the trouble to clean his teeth. Peter was a foul piece of work, having descended into a self imposed depression and exile fuelled by prolonged exposure to marijuana and alcohol. However, he knew that he had to make an effort. He was going to meet a woman - a rare and exotic treat. * The knock on the door meant that Peter had arrived. Jane allowed herself a second to hope that Peter, despite his faults, would make sure that he would have someone around to take off the necklace when the twenty-four hour window came around. He got up to open the door, and did so cautiously. Upon seeing Peter's shocked and nervous face, Jane relaxed a little and invited him in. "Hi Pete. Help yourself to a beer or something. You know where the icebox is," he said, forgetting that Peter would not recognise his glamorous exterior. Peter stood self-consciously in the doorway, shaking with fear. He felt that his paltry efforts at presentation were not going to cut it with this exceptionally well-dressed and beautiful woman. So conscious of his own failings, he did not even begin to consider what she was doing in George's apartment, or what she wanted. "Sure... I'm Peter Oh, well, you already know me. I'm sorry, er, but what did you say your name was?" he stuttered nervously. Jane had a choice now. Did he attempt to explain that he was in fact his friend George, whom because of a rogue magic necklace had been transformed into Jane Egermann, his object of desire for many months, or did he try to pass himself off as Jane, a damsel in distress? "I'm Jane. We've met before, but you wouldn't recognise me," he offered cryptically. "You do look familiar," Peter lied. "Are you George's girlfriend?" "Yeah. We only decided to get serious last night. Did you bring the gun?" Peter revealed a small automatic pistol that he had tucked into his jeans. He could not resist the opportunity to pose a little. "It's loaded," he added, like a bad salesman, expecting this to compound his macho image. He desperately wanted to impress this woman, but the effect was a little like giving her a cat, and adding 'it's got legs'. "We shouldn't need it, but I can't take any chances." "What exactly do you want me to do?" Peter said, with a growing suspicion that he was going to end up betraying his friend. "I just need you to watch over me until midnight. I know it sounds stupid, but I've got to get out of the city but I can't go on my own." "Okay," said Peter noncommittally. "But why me? I mean, I'll do it, sure, but why not just use George, or one of your friends?" In truth, Jane had not been prepared for this question, so thought quickly. "George talks about you a lot. You're good friends. I know that I can trust you, you also know how to use a gun, and finally I can't ask George because this is for his benefit." Peter frowned, understandably cautious. Jane in a rare moment of inspiration carried on the momentum. "My ex-boyfriend is looking for me. He knows all my friends, but he'll be out of the picture tomorrow for good. I don't want George to know, well, because Steve's a little unstable at the moment. Do you understand?" Peter's brain clicked over the details. It made sense that a beautiful woman would want to make sure she stayed out of the way of a dangerous boyfriend. It made sense that she could not rely on anyone this Steve character knew. He already knew he was going to agree, he only regretted looking like a bum. "So, where do you want to go?" he asked. Despite his wretched lifestyle, Peter was a good man. He had a charming innocent outlook and a certain naivete that only the truly socially inept have. George and Peter had been friends since school, and Peter's subsequent downfall to the very bottom of society had been the cause of much distress to George. In many ways, as Jane he had the power to give Peter some of his confidence back. Being treated like a human being by a beautiful woman could help spell the end of his depression. In an effort to start this dramatic therapy, he kissed Peter on the forehead. "You're great! Thanks Peter!" he said, genuinely. Peter looked flustered and awkward, but his pleasure was unmistakable. "Let's just get in the car and drive. I don't care where." * It was suprisingly easy to be nice to Peter. Jane just forgot he was now physically a woman. He just laughed at Peter's jokes as he would normally, and it worked. Peter was on a high, unbelievably happy at the way his day was panning out. Jane felt a little uneasy when it occurred to him that his best friend was sexually attracted to him, but then he knew that Peter would not try anything because he was 'George's Girl'. They had decided to drive to a motel just outside the boundaries of the city. Peter specifically knew of one that he had used before that was respectable. Pleased that they would have somewhere to hide, Jane again dared to hope that things were going to turn out right. Assuming there were no unexpected setbacks, Peter would help him take off the necklace when the time came. The issue of who would then get the pleasure of wearing it was a different matter. He thought about Peter, but there was no way he could inflict it on his best friend. It would have to be done by stealth: literally throw it round some man's neck, and hope for the best. During the journey, they stopped off at a roadside diner. Amid the squalor and grease sat truckers and travelers, all taking well earned rests. Jane immediately felt over dressed. Apart from the waitresses, he was the only woman. The skirt suit he was wearing did not help matters. It was too short, too sexy and it made him look like he had plenty of money. He could see the wide-eyed pride on Peter's face, being seen associating with such an attractive creature but it was no compensation. He felt small and weak, wishing for something to hide behind, or at least a way to mute his sexual appeal. A waitress, delighted at the brief respite from the attentions of the diners, offered Jane a genuine smile. "What can I get you, Honey?" she asked. "Just a coffee for me. Do you have a bathroom I could use?" "Sure. The little girl's room is over there. What about you, handsome?" she continued. Jane made her excuses, and left the table. She also left her bag, which was unfortunate, because the cellular telephone it contained began ringing. Unable to resist, Peter reached inside and answered it. "Peter! It's me, George! Thank God you answered the phone!" "George? What's up?" he inquired, confused. "Shit! Are you with that bitch, Jane?" "Yeah, she has gone to the bathroom. I thought you and her..." "No way! She's stolen all my money and cards! I've got to find her before she bleeds me dry, man!" "Well, we're heading for Stoney Richard's Motel. Should be there in an hour or two." "Great. I'll meet you. Just do me a favour, and don't tell her we've chatted. Don't let her know you're onto her, okay?" "Sure George... wait! She's coming back... got to go. Later man!" he finished. Slipping the telephone back into Jane's bag just in time, he tried to pretend nothing had happened. When he had left the table, Jane had had the daunting task of using the women's facilities. So deeply and profoundly was it engrained in his psyche that you don't go into women's bathrooms that he found it difficult to think about anything other than his stomach that felt twisted and cramped. Feeling like a hostile invader, he hung his head in shame and guilt: the bathroom was not empty. There was a woman polishing her lipstick in the mirror, but she did not pass even the most cursory of glances to Jane. If only that woman had known a male was watching her, he thought, knowing that he had slipped through the defences unchecked to enter this secret and protected domain. Without further hesitation, he fumbled his way into a cubicle and slumped onto the bowl, relieved at the privacy. The following events only compounded Jane's current feelings of helplessness: He pulled down his panties and hitched his skirt, imitating what he had seen other women do. Next, he relinquished his hold on his fluids, and then immediately regretted it. For the first time since his change, he understood how complete the physical transformation was. Panicking, Jane tried to stop the flow, but to no avail. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, desperate to block out the sensations that were making him acutely aware of the equipment that had replaced his own. Finished, he composed himself and left the cubicle. As the previous user had done, Jane examined his appearance in the mirror, specifically the necklace. It adorned his neck so well that anybody who saw it could not fail to acknowledge its beauty. From Jane's point of view, it was a sentient creature that feigned its inanimation to deceive and entrap its victims. He sensed its desire to stay attached to its host, as if it fed off the warmth of femininity. Still looking at himself, he cursed the lack of willpower that had led him to wearing the chain. Would a real man ever have tolerated such a thing, he thought, whatever the circumstances? Fatigued and humbled, he decided to return to the table. Peter looked guilty, and clearly, something had upset him. Jane demanded to know what was the matter. "Nothing. Just your "phone rang, that's all. Maybe you should turn it off, yeah?" he suggested. "My "phone? Oh, yeah. Forgot about that." The rest of the meal passed uneventfully but both parties were quiet and reserved. They quickly left, to Jane's relief, and carried on heading west towards the motel. They booked in under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Smith to the receptionist's nonchalance, whom offered to sell them wedding rings in addition to the room. Jane laughed at this, but found it curious that the receptionist was looking at him as if he was some slut who was helping some low-life bastard cheat on his wife. They waited in the room until the evening, preferring the television as entertainment of choice. Conversation was kept to a minimum. Jane was beginning to notice some disturbing character traits in Peter that he had never seen before. As the day wore on, he was becoming increasingly intimidated by Peter's attentions. With every minute, Peter was making less of an effort to hide his sexual feelings for the beautiful woman he was sharing a room with. By now, he was openly staring at Jane's cleavage and legs, and had started using anything as an excuse to touch him. Eventually, he stopped making excuses for the contact altogether. With only three hours to go, Peter's willpower finally snapped. "Will you stop teasing me! I cannot take it anymore!" he protested, slumping into a chair sulking. "Teasing you? What are you talking about?" Jane returned, but knowing exactly what Peter was getting at. "I know you're not George's girlfriend," he said, smirking. "I also know you stole from him, you bitch." Jane shook his head in disbelief, already aware that Peter's outburst could mean only one thing: George had been in touch with him. That meant that he probably knew where they were hiding, and it almost certainly indicated George's intentions to deprive him of his liberation from the necklace. At this moment, it appeared that Peter was acting out the 'best friend' role all too well, his face barely disguised his contempt. A luke-warm fear paralysed Jane's being, remembering all too well the capacity for hate that a man could have for a woman that had wronged him or his friends. Now was the time to risk telling the truth. "No, Peter, you don't understand," he started. "It's not like that at all!" "Oh yeah? What don't I understand about a cheap whore?" Jane felt a small tear running down his cheek. He was seeing a side to his friend that he had never seen before. It was as if all the years of self- loathing and neglect had caused a stockpile of bile and hate that was now surfacing. Disgusted that he had ever spent time with this revolting man, he resolved never to speak to him again. How would he be able to live with himself knowing that he had harboured and supported a creature with a mind as filthy as his body? He clenched his teeth and fists, and prepared for the worst. "Don't you touch me, you piece of shit." he shouted, trying to sound intimidating. Then it began. A fury of limbs crashed around the small room until Jane's bravado broke and he screamed. There was a slap and a punch, then a ripping sound as nylon stockings tore. Jane was caught, legs spread and gagged by a powerful hand. There was a pause as Peter frantically fumbled with his zipper, but he never finished the job: a tiny piece of lead the size of a peanut slammed into his skull, shredding his brain as it careered on, bursting out of the other side, spraying the room with splotches of blood. The sound that accompanied it; a deafening explosion that made a silent movie of the split- second devastation was followed by a dull ringing that muted the man's last gasps. In the shocked aftermath, Jane dared to lift his head to see George dropping Peter's gun to the floor, before she herself dropped to her knees. The ringing in his ears continued to deafen him, but he saw her mouth the words '...you stupid fucking bastard,' over and over again. Jane's vision hazed over, unable to comprehend the brutality he had just witnessed. Yet, amidst the confusion he saw that the one person he had been relying on to remove the necklace was gone, albeit probably for the best. "You do realise," George said, "that I can't let you take off that necklace, don't you? Just because I couldn't let that piece of shit rape you doesn't change that." Jane wished it hadn't, but his hearing had returned. "How can you do this, George? How can you do this to me? How could you do that to..." he sobbed, unable to finish. "We should go. Best not to hang around the scene of a crime." The bloodsoaked anti-couple left hurriedly, but dazed. There was now only 2 hours and 45 minutes to go before Jane would get his chance, and it took an hour before George finally stopped the car in the middle of nowhere. It wasn't clear what George's plan was, but it soon dawned upon Jane that it was at least a three hours' walk away from the nearest sign of civilisation. That meant that if George did not take the chain off when the time came, nobody would. George looked down at Jane with a caring, gentle face. She whispered 'I'm sorry' as she rested her head against the car seat and drifted off to sleep. Jane could not help but cry himself to sleep, knowing that he had been robbed cruelly of his chance to return to a male body for another 15 years. George finished the transaction with a smile, relieved that he would never again have to wear what he had just bought. It was a simple, flower print, sleeveless summer dress that would let the still sleeping Jane change out of her blood drenched suit. He could have purchased a T-Shirt and some jeans, but the dress was by far the cheapest solution. The shopkeeper was curious about the unshaven man who had entered his store at nine am to buy women's clothes, but did not think much else of it. The town was always full of passing strangers, each stranger than the last. In the sticks, you had to accept all the business you could. Nodding knowingly to the shopkeeper, George left. He marched through the small town, feeling with each step stronger and more masculine. His ordeal was finally, permanently over. The last 24 hours had been agony, spent hoping and praying that nothing would happen to return him to the female body that had hosted him for over 15 years. The thought of coming so close and having it torn away was unbearable. Soon, the behaviours and habits that had shaped his female personality would be erased forever. Shooting Peter had gone a long way towards restoring his aggression, and the subsequent adrenaline rush had reminded him how to walk and stand like a man. Sure, he had killed a man, but he had killed defending the life of a helpless woman. His original plan had been to arrive and tie Jane to the bed for the duration of the transformation window. It was the only way to be sure that Jane would not remove the necklace, and use it against him at some point in the future. Until it had been passed on, there would be no freedom from that past. There were no doubts anymore, though. The most important part of this whole affair was that George finally saw himself as a 'he' again. With this in mind, he stomped his masculine boots down the street, eager to return to his beautiful, if reluctant travelling companion and partner in crime. The car door's click jolted Jane awake as George slammed heavily into the drivers seat. "I bought you this. You'd better put in on before anyone sees you." he said. Jane moaned groggily, not understanding. "You look like you've been standing next to someone who had his head blown off, okay?" George continued, tossing the flimsy garment into the back where Jane was rubbing yesterday's mascara out of her eyes. She remained silent as she examined it, and established that she had been passed a dress. Discarding it, she threw it to one side and rested her head back against the seat. A veil of glaze slid over her eyes as she stared out of the car window, as if she was descending into catatonia. "I hope you can forgive me," said George, muted. "You have to understand. I couldn't live my life in fear of you wrapping that chain round my neck." Jane did not respond, instead choosing to stare out of the window. She was watching a gaggle of teenage girls who were laughing and joking with each other outside a general store. Like she, they had not chosen to be girls, but these born females had accepted the role they were given with enthusiasm and without questioning. Now, thanks to events out of her control, she was in the same position. Only pride and prejudices of the past prevented her from embracing her womanhood in blissful ignorance of life as a male. Strengthened by this, Jane unbuttoned her jacket and removed her blouse. She heard George offering her a little privacy and leave the car. As she took off her skirt and pulled the new dress over her head, she watched with some curiosity George going over to talk to the young gang of girls. Secretly relieved at the change of clothes, although simultaneously annoyed at George's choice of a feminine dress, she noticed something was missing. Something silver. Jane could hardly contain her excitement at the realisation that George must have taken the necklace off her the night before, but it did not last. There was one eventuality worse that than] still having the necklace on that morning, and seeing the glimmer of silver in George's hands made her throw back her head and scream. She helplessly watched as he fastened the device around one girl's neck, thereby rendering Jane's own transformation permanent. She remembered all too well that the necklace was 'reset' by passing it from female to female. Any man wearing who wore the necklace after the girl would be transformed into her image. George returned with a guilty look, and upon seeing Jane's tear stained face felt compelled to justify himself. "You won't believe me now, but it's for the best. We are both who we are now for the rest of our lives. There's no more doubt, or confusion, or fear. I won't abandon you, Jane. I promise." The speech concluded, George fired the ignition in the hope of driving them home. All told, they managed to get about five miles before the State Trooper flagged them down. Jane had panicked when they saw the police officer pass in the opposite direction a few minutes ealier. By now, they both had no doubts that they had been recognised. "You do realise that if you had given me back my body you might have got away with what you did to Peter. Do you really believe taking my body was worth going to jail?" Jane said, bitterly. "Yeah," George replied, winding down the window and reaching into the glove compartment for his license. "Yeah, I do." (The End.) (c)1999 Kathy Core.