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Translation II free porn video
Translation II
By Caitlin Angel
Jessica Alba stared at me from the mirror. I shook myself
out the reverie.
My wife would be coming home within the hour. I broke out
in a cold sweat. I had no job, no identity, no money and
of more immediate concern?no clothes! I raced over the
bureau, acutely aware of the bouncing weight on my chest as
I ran.
Cat had been a regular in the Goth scene for years and
probably as much for fond memories as anything else, had
kept her sizable collection of clubbing clothes. She'd
worn them for me as part of foreplay on more than one
occasion, so I knew where to find them. First, I grabbed a
black lace bra and panties. I threw the panties on the bed
and put on the bra. I'd taken these things off innumerable
times but it's like taking a route as a passenger and then
having to drive it yourself ? it's much different. I fixed
the clasp and adjusted my breasts within the cups with my
hands. I was obviously a bit bigger than Cat. My cups
runneth over. I managed a slight smile. The effect
reminded me of the period style of clothing worn by women
at "renaissance fairs."
The panties fit perfectly. I bent down and opened one of
the drawers containing the club outfits and grabbed a nice
knee length leather skirt with lacing up the sides and a
black t-shirt. The skirt settled nicely on my new hips.
The t-shirt was a snug fit. I don't know much about cup
size but my boobs pushed it out, exposing my tummy. A pair
of knee length boots I spied behind the closet door
completed the outfit. I checked myself out in the floor
length mirror. I see why Jessica is so popular.
The sound of the front door deadbolt sliding back snapped
me back to reality like a slap to the face. Cat! I heard
the soft crush of her sandals on the carpet. I had only
seconds to decide whether I should show myself, hoping to
find some way to explain this insanity or hide and run at
the first opportunity. I took a deep breath, opened the
bedroom door and strode into the hallway.
She dropped the gym bag she was carrying. Her hands flew
to her mouth in surprise and she shouted, "Who are you and
what are you doing here?"
"It's me, Tom, your husband. I can explain?"
"You've got to be kidding," she said, frowning.
"What?"
"I'm not married. I've been a widow for 3 years... and
you're not Tom."
My mouth dropped open in surprise. All my thoughts on
stepping back into my life vanished. My stomach went into
freefall. The ring hadn't merely changed me; it had
changed reality. Cat was still here but the Tom who'd
married her was dead and had been for years. From where I
stood I could see most of the living room. In my
apprehension, I hadn't noticed the subtle changes ? the
family pictures were gone from the fireplace mantle,
replaced by an antique clock and a pair of tasteful cast
iron candlesticks. The color of the carpet was different
and in place of the well worn family couch was a black
leather sectional facing a large plasma screen TV.
Shoulders lowering slightly, she recovered some of her
composure. "Listen, I don't know who you are how you got in
here or why you're wearing my clothes but you need to
leave. Put your own clothes on and go, I ?"
"I don't have any clothes," I interrupted.
Cat set her jaw. The woman with whom I'd shared so much,
coldly considered me for a moment. "Take them and go-
now," she said and walked to the door.
A thousand thoughts swirled in my confused mind. Without
realizing I'd stopped walking. She coughed politely and
opened the door. I moved past her and stepped across the
threshold. I turned around for one last word just in time
to have the door closed in my face. The wreath hanging
upon the door swayed slightly and settled. The fancy red
and green ribbon conveying 'Seasons Greetings' came loose
and floated gently to the ground at my feet. The carriage
light beside the door went out. I guess that was that. I
turned around and stepped off the porch and into the night.
I walked into town along the main road. It took some time
as the house is a couple miles from the commercial
district. Fortunately for me the night was warm, as I had
no coat and the few drivers passing seemed to have no
interest in picking up hitchers. I probably would have had
better luck during the daytime when the drivers could see
me and I could use my appearance to my advantage.
Nothing was open along the main drag except a convenience
store and the all-night diner at the intersection of Broad
Street. I needed time to think and a place to sit down, so
I opted for the diner. I waited for the light to change.
The streets were deserted but I was in no hurry. I waited.
In my current state of confusion, I welcomed the fact that
it was night, quiet but for the clicking relays of the
signal controller and the sound of distant traffic.
Cat never mentioned that gorgeous though they may be, the
Docs weren't terribly comfortable for long walks.
I approached the diner from across the street. The
illuminated windows seemed somehow comforting, a beacon of
familiarity within the chaos of recent events. Hand
written advertisements for the day's specials hung suction-
cupped to the door above the customary hours-of-operation
sign. I entered, tinkling bells on the door marking my
arrival and attracting the attention of the few patrons and
staff.
I guess if you're very good looking, over time you become
used to attention and the omnipresent swiveling heads that
accompany your travels. It was new to me and I turned away
blushing in embarrassment. I sat down in a booth as far
away from the other patrons as possible. Absentmindedly. I
straightened my skirt as I sat down. I sighed, folding my
arms in front of me on the tabletop and let my head drop.
This was too much. What was I supposed to do? If that
wasn't enough, focused on the goal of reaching this place,
I had forgotten I had no money.
A soft voice addressed me, "Are you okay, sweetheart?"
I lifted my head, flicking the hair from my eyes with one
finger.
The waitress, stood at the table. She looked to be about
40 with long brown hair tied back with a scrunchie. The
name tag crookedly affixed to her blouse identified her as
June. She looked tired. This probably wasn't her only
job. I could picture her juggling two jobs and struggling
to raise the children as a single mom. Check pad in hand,
she leaned a little closer looking slightly worried.
"Yeah, it's been a long, strange night. I'll be okay."
Managing a weak smile, I added, "Thanks for asking."
She smiled warmly. I could tell the sight of me, an
obviously upset girl, had aroused her matronly instincts.
I look of recognition crossed her face, her eyes opening
wider. "You look like the woman on TV?what's her name?"
She straightened up, "You aren't her are you?"
"No," I replied, "?but I get that a lot." I took a deep
breath and tried to do the best pout I could manage, "I
lost all my money. Do you think I could just get a cup of
coffee? I just need to sit for a while and think."
"Sure, dear. It's a boy isn't it-- your problem, I mean?
I have daughters," she said, her tone implying familiarity
with the trials of young women.
I wasn't in the mood for a mothering so I nodded silently.
She put a hand on my shoulder and turned to walk back
towards the kitchen.
What was happening to me? Dumb question. Nothing made
sense anymore. Not the least of which was my fait accompli
acceptance of my new body or anything else that followed my
magical transformation. I'd walked miles in heeled boots
without a misstep, felt heartstring-tugging empathy for a
complete stranger and adjusted my boobs like a veteran...
and while I've been contemplating all this I've been
twirling my hair like a school girl. It was as if the
longer I spent in this body, the more feminine I became.
That didn't go far to explain how I was taking on behaviors
women accumulated over years. Perhaps, Jessica's body
wasn't the only thing I inherited?maybe some of her
memories as well. Not her personality but the foundation
stuff; the things we do automatically without thinking.
One theory was as good as another when dealing you've
fallen head over high heels into... 'The Twilight Zone.'
The waitress returned with a steaming cup of coffee and one
of those little stainless milk dispensers.
"On the house", she said in a conspiratorial whisper,
finger to her lips.
"Thanks," I replied, smiling and raised the cup to my lips.
Before she could begin conversation, a young couple walked
in and sat down in a nearby booth and June left to serve
them.
I was going to need a place to stay and a job if I was
going to survive. I couldn't count on anyone I knew in my
former life having any more belief in my explanation than
Cat. Unless I was willing and able to make it to
Hollywood, I wasn't going to be able to find employment as
Jessica Alba's stand-in. I still had my knowledge as a
software designer but no legit firm was going to hire
someone with no social security number or state sanctioned
identification. I'd have to find an employer that wouldn't
care about such things.
It turned out that the diner and Circle-K weren't the only
places open late. I found a video store after an hour of
aimless walking. A faded help wanted sign was taped to the
door glass. The clerk, a young boy with dark eyes, dyed
black hair and at least a dozen tattoos was behind the
counter when I walked through the door. He'd been watching
some movie on the small set perched on the counter and had
obviously been expecting someone other than a movie star to
be demanding his attention. The disinterested, slightly
annoyed expression he'd been prepared to serve me vanished
from his face in an instant.
I've always been amused at the instinctive behavior of
people, especially with regard to sexual situations. The
clerk stood up, sucked in his stomach and squared his
shoulders, the preening rooster facing a new hen.
"Hey. Get you something?"
"A copy of the first Matrix movie... actually?I'm new here.
I need a place to crash, and a job to pay my way. Listen,
I don't want you to get the wrong idea... I'm not looking
for a boyfriend. I'd like the job though, if it's still
available."
His shoulders relaxed a bit.
"Yeah, it's available. I'm Sebastian."
There was an awkward silence. What is my name? A thousand
possibilities flashed through my head. Rifling the file
cabinet of my mind, I scanned through memories of movies,
books, everyone I could remember knowing. Thinking of one
of my favorite Ann Rice books, I had a winner.
"Rowan," I said, extending my hand. "Nice to meet you."
The arm-chair psychologist in me observed the slight warmth
in my cheeks as I addressed an eligible male.
He shook my hand gently but firmly. Sebastian smiled,
"What are your qualifications?"
We spent the next few hours discussing movie trivia and
favorite films. We found a lot of common ground; we both
shared a fondness for edgy films like Dark City, Repo Man,
and Donnie Darko.
Midnight arrived with the distant sound of church bells
disturbing our argument about the best book to film
adaptations. The tolling of the bells also reminded me
that I had no place to go. I'd already decided Sebastian
was harmless but a woman asking a man to stay at his place
is usually interpreted as an invitation to sex and I
definitely wasn't interested in a prolonged and delicate
'blow-off.' Considering the options, I sighed and waited
for him to finish counting out the cash drawer.
"I feel really awkward asking this Sebastian, since we just
met but I'm desperate. I have nowhere to go and I need a
place to crash..." There it was. All the cards were on
the table. It was a risky move.
He hesitated, his mouth opening slightly and closing. I
could tell he was choosing his words carefully.
"You know, from the moment you came in here, I have to
admit I was fantasizing about taking you home.
"Sebastian, I?"
He smiled a broad, genuine smile. "I know what you're going
to say. Don't sweat it, I'm not a skeev. You can have the
futon. It's cool."
I hugged him, whispering in his ear, "I won't tell anyone,
you're a softie."
"You'd better not," he growled in mock anger, "I would hate
to tarnish my reputation for being a disaffected, apathetic
slacker."
We walked through the abandoned city streets, Sebastian
giving his version of the points-of-interest tour along the
way. He lived in an apartment building across from Balen
Park and had an excellent view of the lake from has second
story front window.
Sebastian's apartment was small but not cramped. There was
a 'living room', a bedroom, bathroom and a narrow galley-
style kitchen.
Sebastian set up the futon for me in the living room and
disappeared through a doorway.
I took in the furnishings and decoration. Before my
transformation, I used to believe that women put a lot of
value in judging what kind of person a guy is by what his
home looks like. Sebastian was obviously a fan of wrought
iron and dark wood. The living room was covered in a sponge
painted burgundy. A couple posters from famous horror
films hung behind the couch to my right. Flanking a small
plasma TV were a couple of antique-looking bookshelves
filled with DVDs. Iron sconces refitted for electric light
provided the illumination.
"Care for a little Chai?" he said.
"Sure."
I couldn't deny I felt attraction to him. It's the
weirdest thing-- like I was saying before, the longer I was
in this body, the more natural it felt. My past life
seemed to be losing substance. It reminded me of times I'd
flown, starting off in rain, climbing through a thick cloud
layer to emerge into bright sunlight on the other side.
The next few days were relatively blissful. I trained with
Sebastian at the video store, learning the ropes.
Sebastian's father had a philosophy that the only way an
independent store could compete with the chains was by
providing a superior level of service. To this end, all
the frequent customers had little plastic cards with UPC
codes on them and their names came up on the register's
display screen at checkout, you could address them
personally.
I didn't end up finding a place of my own. One night
became two and then a week. We shared cooking and cleaning
duties, though I tried to do more of the cleaning and
promised to pay my way once I was getting a steady
paycheck. A routine developed, our little nightly ritual--
a midnight snack followed by a taped show from Sebastian's
massive library. We became comfortable with each other
over that time, sitting on the couch chatting and enjoying
old Mystery Science 3000 episodes.
By the second week I was closing the store and knew most of
the best customers by name. We'd both noticed that some
male customers adjusted their schedules to come in when I
was on duty. I used some of my pay to buy new clothes. The
ones I'd purchased the first week reflected my nervousness
about my appearance. As I relaxed into this new life as an
attractive woman, my confidence demanded a shopping spree.
Sebastian came with me. The color scheme favored black and
I took home an impressive collection.
A rumor spread that Jessica Alba was working a local store
in preparation for a role. It was hard to counter-- I was
a dead ringer for her and the more vehemently we denied the
story, the more credibility it got. By the end of the
month, business was up forty percent.
I met Sebastian's friends. One was a heavy equipment
mechanic, one a horticulturist, another record store clerk.
They were a strange bunch of people and I liked them
immediately.
Without ever really dating we slipped into a relationship.
It seemed to happen imperceptibly. At least, I never found
myself considering the situation, 'as a guy.'
We went out to restaurants, art galleries and clubs. I
love dancing and this body was made for it. In full Goth
regalia, Sebastian and I danced before the admiring crowd
until we were damp with sweat and exhausted.
When he cut his finger on a kitchen knife one evening, I
bandaged it for him and when my neck cramped up after a
particularly long night dancing, it felt perfectly natural
when he offered to massage it. I lay face down on the
futon, arms at my sides. With his first touch I felt the
heat rising in my cheeks. It felt wonderful. I tingled
all over, goose bumps rising on my skin in response to his
fingers upon my body. My body betrayed me and I let out a
soft purr. Sebastian subtly adjusted his massage,
alternating deep, penetrating technique with soft and
sensual glides along my upper back, shoulder blades and
neck. I began to writhe and squirm. I shuddered. He
straddled my waist and began massaging my lower back, using
his thumbs and the blade of his palms to work out the knots
there. I tried focusing on images of non-sexual things;
taxes, bicycling, cleaning the toilet. It didn't work.
His hands slid down to the top of my butt, I barely
suppressed a moan but I think he heard it because he gently
turned me over and began massaging my arms and legs. I
smiled, tossing my long hair from my face. When he moved
closer I closed my eyes, lips parting, awaiting his kiss
and when it came, I felt fireworks.
He moved astride me and I felt the rock hard erection
through his pants. I was so wet. I slid my panties off,
dropping them to the floor. He took off his pants and
moved on top of me, straddling me. He kissed me deeply and
we locked lips, my tongue and his intimately entwined.
Before I could protest, he dropped to my crotch, kissing my
tender lips and teasing my pussy with his tongue, swirling
it round and round, rhythmically striking my clit. Arching
my back in response, I felt the pleasure building.
Sebastian lifted his mouth, his fingers making a seamless
transition of stimulation. He moved above me and touched
the tip of his cock to my vagina, pressing it in just
slightly only to withdraw. He did this several times in
concert with his finger symphony on my clit. I wrapped my
legs around his back and drew him into me. When he entered
me I was overcome with emotion. He was gentle but
passionate. We made love like angels and animals, switching
from one position to another. When I felt his control
slipping away I let mine go too and we summited the peak of
climax together. When I came, the bolts of pleasure struck
like lightning again and again, my every nerve electrified
and tingling. I felt joy. I also felt sadness. In my
'little death' I felt Tom had truly died.
Sebastian gazed into my eyes. I laughed softly. He looked
like he'd just had a religious experience.
"Rowan, that was the most incredible experience I've ever
had."
I caressed his face with one had, running my long fingers
through his hair with the other.
"Me too, 'bastian."
Love scenes in the movies don't prepare you for the reality
of what happens for a woman after sex. The wet spot comes
from you. I kissed him and rose to go to the bathroom.
Sebastian joined me at the foot of the bed.
"Let's take a shower," he said. "Wait here a second."
He led me by the hand to the bathroom. Closing the door
behind him, I was greeted by the spicy smell of incense and
the soft light of several candles set upon the counter and
around the tub. We stepped into the shower together. It
was warm and wonderful. I turned my head sharply and
swatted him with my long, wet hair. He yelped, feigning
injury. Pulling me to him, he kissed me deeply. We made
love again...
Retiring to bed, Sebastian and I sat propped up on pillows,
paging through a recent Victoria's Secret catalog. We
laughed at the contrived expressions of sexuality on each
model's face and made up our own subtitles.
We fell asleep in each other's arms.
My last coherent though was something from Jessica's last
film, "Sin City." In the scene, Bruce Willis' says to
himself, "An old man dies, a young girl lives. Fair
trade."
I wasn't an old man but I can relate to that.
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