Tranquility - The Story Of A Pridigal; Accepted free porn video

Tranquillity - the description of a prodigal; accepted - by Nicci Knox This story is not a fantasy neither is it a true biography. It is a marginally fictionalised account of part of the history of a dear friend of mine who, having read most of my work, explicitly asked me to write it - and has approved it. I have fictionalised it only in respect of the names, some localities and to 'fit it in' to my overall sisterhood theme. Those who have read some of my previous offerings will by now have some idea of what I mean by that last statement. It is therefore dedicated to 'Laura' and to the two generous and open hearted ladies who rescued 'her' and became instruments of her redemption in so doing. It's also dedicated to the memory of that other great hearted and noble lady whose life was so tragically cut short. Oh! And it's by way of being an offering of a sort to Jane Hudson, who reviewed some of my earlier stories so kindly indicating that, like me, she knows that, whatever 'normal society' may think of us, we too can find acceptance and have our assurances. If this appears somewhat 'mawkish' or sentimental in places, I make no, apologies. Perhaps I am mawkish and sentimental. And to those who have no spiritual susceptibilities, again I make no apologies. You don't have to read it; you don't have to believe it; you don't have to agree with it. But I know the truth within it. Chapter 1 Sanctuary I The almost imperceptible movement of the light curtains and the pretty nets, stirred by the light breeze awoke me; together with the sound of the birds joining together in their glorious hymn of thanks for yet another delightful morning. The thunder storms, threatened the previous evening in the regional weather forecast, had not materialised and even the previous evening's sultry heaviness that had resulted in headaches for me, Ruth and mummy had dissipated. The air was once again fresh and cool and clean for the moment although, if the early summer heat wave was determined to continue as seemed likely, it would no doubt become 'a scorcher' by mid-morning. But for the moment I lay back endeavouring to luxuriate in the ambience of the day-break but unable to escape the memory and emotion of my recurrent, but now thankfully rather less frequent, dream of wandering in summer woodlands with Alys and laying ourselves down in a shady glade to make gentle but none-the-less passionate love. Alys my love, my life; as I thought of her the tears that are still never far away filled my eyes. Tears of sorrow, yes; but sorrow mixed with understanding and acceptance of a kind - safe as I now was, and had been for nearly four years, back within the loving care of my family. But that understanding couldn't yet mitigate my grief into silent weeping. Alys was the only girlfriend I'd ever had who both loved me and accepted me for myself. I'd thought, as she had, that our life together would continue for ever intertwined and mingled. When, in less than six years, she'd developed and succumbed to motor-neurone's disease I'd been completely devastated, borne up whilst she was still with me only by her cheerful acceptance, her patience, her disregard for her condition and its inevitable consequences and for her concern for me and everyone else. I could hardly bring myself to attend her funeral. Somehow I forced myself to go to what at her decree was a celebration of her life not a leave taking. I broke down completely when Rhiannon, Alys's blind sister, sang Marilyn Baker's beautiful song 'All I ever do is love you' and I fled from the Chapel, to spend the next several months in almost total seclusion railing against God for 'taking her from me'! And the next eighteen months desperately trying to forget her; selling my body to anyone who wanted it on the streets of Cardiff in a bid to finance my craving for the stupefying affects of alcohol and the 'habit' I'd developed in a search for oblivion - however temporary. Why I didn't contract AIDS or become HIV positive, I don't know. I just didn't. Mummy and Ruth have their own theory why. They consider that the loving God I railed against and turned my back on still protected me, despite myself. Maybe they're right. It was, in fact, my sister Ruth, two years younger than me almost to the day, who eventually found me, rescued me and brought me back home to be received with acceptance, joy and love like the prodigal son ... or, I suppose in my case now, more like the prodigal daughter but without an older jealous sibling, of either sex. My only sibling has been both loving and totally committed to my rehabilitation from the first, as had my wise, generous, loving, only remaining parent - both of them totally committed to assisting me in returning to a state of grace. II It was the still ever watchful and wakeful Ruth alerted by the sounds of my grief, despite my best efforts to control it, who appeared at my side. "O my darling!" she breathed, as she knelt at the side of my bed and laid her head on the pillow beside mine. "We're always here to love you and care for you." So saying she twitched aside the light duvet that covered me, slid into bed beside me, wrapped her arm around my neck and shoulders and drew me down to lie with my head resting on the hollow of her shoulder, my dark hair spread across her neck and upper arm and my cheek nestled to the side of her naked breast, her pert nipple almost to close for the focus of my eye, her free hand stroking my cheek. The gesture was so like Alys that my tears flowed anew. Eventually, of course, I calmed and we both dozed for while, contented; me in the cosy cocoon of my generous sister's body, she I hope in the confidence that she had managed to impart rest and security enough to enable me to face another day. We stirred as mummy came in looking, as she always does, calm eyed and serene with a long silk wrap over her matching night gown although, God knows, [and I say that advisably and reverently] what turmoil exists under the cloak of her serenity and love. I, at least, have given her ample cause for inner turmoil and an expression of weary anxiety and distress that she has never shown, even from the first. Like me winter and summer, at night mummy wears a long skirted, sleeveless silk night gown - always with a lace trimmed hem and lace panels over her bosom. Unlike me she doesn't wear knickers in bed unless she has to, and then she wears a pair of plain silk briefs. I like to wear lacy French knickers, to match my night dress, that cling with gentle friction lightly embracing and caressing my masculinity. Ruth sleeps naked summer and winter other than, like mummy, when she's forced to wear briefs. But then, like my darling Alys, she doesn't wear knickers during the day either, except from necessity. "Come on, my darlings," mummy said, her gentle smile greeting us. "Remember, it's Sunday. It's time to get up and get ready." Obedient to her summons we threw back the covers and raised ourselves from the bed. Part of our weekend ritual is to stand together immediately upon rising, the three of us hand in hand and looking one-an-other in the eyes, to repeat the simple prayer 'one day at a time sweet Jesus, one day at a time'. It's part of my solitary weekday ritual, too. As it is, I'm assured, also part of both their rituals. Well, it's more than a ritual. It's an act of dedication and an acknowledgement of the need we have ... or at least I have ... of the strength and support freely available to undertake the living of the day. It's also part of our weekend ritual that, following our act of dedication, we all three shed whatever we're wearing and shower together. Mummy is a doctor. In recognising of my condition, my needs, she decreed that from the start we should have no secrets from one another. As she said at the time, 'after all, we're all girls together now'. She also privately determined that I needed the close proximity of her and my sister's bodies to be assured of their concern and care, and to assist in the restoration of my potency. The total impotence that resulted from my abuse of my own body is now, at last largely diminished. These days, finally my body is able to react as it did in the early days to the stimulus of the delicate femininity with which it became and still is my delight to clothe it. I can at last both achieve and maintain a proper and satisfactory erection. Mummy disclosed later that showering together enabled her to undertake covert regular inspection of my body - the gradual diminution of skin blemishes, the measured return of some kind of flesh cover to my naturally skinny, bony frame and body and lustre to my hair - in order to judge my physical and mental recovery, and she admitted that she was never so relieved as on the morning when, to my utmost horror and embarrassment, the proximity and touch of their wet naked femininity produced in me a sudden and intense spontaneous arousal that swelled into massive tumescence and climaxed profusely, completely unassisted. Till then she'd begun to fear that my impotence was permanent. So had I. Or maybe I should say, I'd become resigned to the thought that I had become the author of my own emasculation. Fresh, dried and powdered from the shower we departed to our separate rooms to dress. With a mind to the continuing heat wave I chose a set of delicate, lace trimmed white cotton underwear - panties, short chemise and suspender- belt with, in deference to mummy's feelings, white stockings - under a white sleeveless top and a light, full, scarlet summer skirt. Both Ruth and I are aware that mummy thinks that going bare legged to church is somehow being disrespectful to our Creator. Later, after breakfast, once I'd tidied my hair and made-up my face, I added a hair band and three inch court shoes that matched my skirt. Mummy, of course, looked her usual immaculate self in a pearl grey, linen suit with slightly darker stockings that set off her black haired, pale skinned beauty to perfection. Ruth was dressed pretty much like me except that her skirt and shoes were of a light apple green that so well complimented the auburn cascade of her hair and her fresh faced, freckled complexion. Like me, she wore a matching hair band, too. It's strange how often, at weekends anyway, without any form of communication we dress alike - although of course I knew from earlier that she wasn't 'on' so I knew that, unlike me, as usual she would be knickerless. And some of Alys's happy words suddenly came back to me, echoing in my mind, bringing a smile to my lips. "Some-ones happy," mummy commented, catching my expression. "Oh!" I started, reddening as I did so, "it's just a memory of something Alys once said. It always makes me smile when I remember it." Mummy and Ruth both turned towards me, smiling in their turn. "Good," mummy continued, "memories can bring you joy, you know, and when they do you're beginning to properly understand just how important the one whose gone was to you. Would you like to share it with us? You don't have to if it's private to you." "No," I said, flushing a little more, "I don't mind. I think I'd like to. I was thinking of the similarities and difference between the way Ruth and I are dressed. It just that Alys was like Ruth. She only wore panties when she had to, and never wore a bra'. The first time we dressed together she made a joke about it; 'well, as we're not supposed to be both wearing knickers, if you going to, I'd better not!' And from then on she didn't." And that set us all grinning anew. Mummy's Scottish grandfather immigrated to Canada for a while where he married a full blood Abenakie woman. Eventually they returned to Scotland and their family was born and raised there. My great-grandmother's genes must be pretty strong; along with her colouring I've inherited an almost total lack of body hair, including very weak facial growth. That last means that I seldom need to shave and I don't need to use pan-cake make- up to disguise a masculine visage. Ruth takes after our Cornish father. She is a true Celt; Auburn haired, green eyed and pink, freckled skin with obvious feminine curves - unlike mummy whom I favour for colouring, build and looks. We two are very alike, her slender body is nearly the same height as mine and she has scarcely any more bosom than I have - although her nipples and aureole are, of course, far bigger and responsive. Our father's death, when the airliner he was piloting was lost over the Timor Sea, when Ruth and I were seven and nine respectively, put a severe strain on mummy's faith for a long while and left the three of us bereft and distraught. It was mainly the love and care of mummy's sister that eventually brought us all through that dreadful 'valley of shadow'. We arrived at church in good time. Mummy's sister, my aunt ... and Ruth's of course, Reverend Pat Drummond is the minister and we were due to go to her place for lunch after the service. It's nearly always the same, either we go to lunch with her and Matty, or they come to us. Matty is Pat's husband. For years, unbeknownst to any one, he was a closet transvestite, dressing in Pat's clothes when he was on his own in the house. Then, during my absence, something happened that made her decide to 'come out' and live her life honestly, as a shemale. She is still married to Aunty Pat, of course and, having survived the initial trauma, they are still a loving and balanced couple. Mummy, Ruth and I have often speculated at the nature of the event that caused this decision, but neither of them has ever disclosed it. 'It's not our secret to reveal' they said to mummy and Ruth initially and, of course, we've never pressed the matter since. Whatever, from that time Matthew became Matty. She still continues her architectural practice, in the city. It caused several difficulties at first, and she lost some clients, particularly corporate ones, and one of her partners and some of her staff; but she's made it her business to be open and honest about things and has more than regained the initial ground she lost by openly dressing as herself - no longer having to rely on Pat's wardrobe to supply her furtive attempts. Like me, she no longer has any of her original masculine clothes. It helps that mummy is a doctor, as it does in my case, too. Health problems don't have to be advertised. Matty was delighted when I came home, as myself as I now am. She considered that 'it helps to redress the balance in the family'. Both she and Aunty Pat are as supportive and loving as mummy and Ruth. Pat was conscious of an undercurrent of uneasiness that still existed in the church society following Matty's decision to refrain from living her life as a lie; and from my own reappearance; transformed from Nathan to Naomi, for all I know. Her theme for the morning service was taken from Colossians chapter 3 verses 12 and 13: 'You are the people of God; He loved you and chose you for His own. So then, you must clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility and patience. Be tolerant with one another and forgive one another whenever any of you has a complaint against someone else. You must forgive one another just as the Lord has forgiven you' [NEB]. But as I listened to my aunt talking about 'motes and beams' in peoples eyes, it suddenly struck me that there are two sides to every situation. She was saying something important to me, too, not just to 'them'! And I was confronted with my own attitude towards Adeline. I'd tried not to think of her more than I could for years, and I'd definitely cast her in the role of villainess in my life - the one from whom all my troubles had sprung. Chapter II Adeline I I didn't realise that Adeline is bi-sexual. In my naivety I doubt if I would have understood the concept when I met her, anyway. Neither did I know that her bi-sexuality has a bias towards her own gender. She was the Sports Activity Manager at the sports centre where I secured my first job ... as a lowly administrative assistant ... after I left school at eighteen having failed to gain the A - level grades I needed to secure a place in university. The idea was that I would continue to study whilst I worked, re-sit my exams the next summer and try to achieve entry the following year. That might have happened too, if I hadn't become besotted with Adeline in the mean time and shaped my life to conform to her desires. The centre was a big one that encompassed sports fields, swimming pools and a diving pool as well as every kind of gymnasium and indoor sports court you could imagine. And Adeline, nearly nine years older and only an inch or so shorter than my moderate five-feet-nine-inches, could easily compete with [and usually outdo] all the other specialist coaches throughout the centre. She was magnificent; athletic but with a sallow skinned beauty that complimented her rich chestnut hair and deep hazel eyes. Sallow her skin might be but her complexion was flawless and the promise of her tight, high breasts sweeping hips and hard but rounded bottom was only to evident through the light shirt and plain tailored shorts she habitually wore. I worshiped her, as an unattainable goddess, from the first; as did every other male employee in the place - apart from Jeff the Assistant Activity Manager who, although I didn't know at the time, is gay and at that time lusted after one of the other coaches who unfortunately didn't return his feelings. I have to admit that she quickly became my main fantasy in my furtive, covert, guilt ridden masturbatory fumblings. I couldn't believe it when, some two months after I started work, she stopped by my desk one morning and asked me if I'd like to attend a small party she was holding to celebrate her birthday. "It's my twenty seventh," she told me in a somewhat conspiratorial whisper, "but I'm not making a big issue of that. I'm just asking a few friends round and we'll have a bite to eat and a drink or two." Then she added, "I'd like you to come if you can." I was flattered, of course, and accepted there and then - although still unable to believe my luck or to credit that I wasn't dreaming. I had to consult my mother and sister as to a suitable gift and card for the occasion. "I must be there to make up the numbers or something," I told them. "She can't really be interested in me for my own sake." Suitably armed with a bottle of Muscadet and a bottle of Merlot, and a silk scarf in rich autumn colours I rang the call bell on her apartment block on the water front. Obeying the summons, I entered and walked up the two flights to her flat to be received and greeted if not exactly like the guest of honour, at least with enough warmth to indicate that I by no means there to 'make up the numbers'. In fact 'the numbers' weren't all that many; apart from myself and Adeline there were only four other guests. Gillian, one of the girls from the centre, was there with a friend, Cecily who I realised later ... months later is her lover, and Jeff and a friend of his, Martin. Looking back on it Adeline and I were the only 'straight' couple there - if you can consider Adeline straight. Fuelled by the company and by rather more wine than I was accustomed to, I surprised myself by how well I coped with the rather unusual circumstances of the occasion. As it was, both the other two couples made early moves to depart but, when I made to emulate them, Adeline asked to stay a while making some joke about 'every one deserting her on her birthday'. Once we were alone she seduced me; not that I was unwilling, only terrified that my inexperience and naivety would result in humiliation. I needn't have worried. She was a sympathetic and understanding lover, who took my virginity in a generous manner that made it all a thrilling and joyous adventure. We became lovers from that night and it was she who taught me how to accept the submissive role; how to respect and pay court to a woman's body; how to gently caress, kiss and stimulate every part; how to use her breasts gently until her reactions told me to be more severe; how to use my fingers, lips, tongue and teeth to incite and inflame the font of her femininity and to await her signal before attempting to possess her; how to restrain my own climax until she, too, was ready to release her passion; and how to relax and let her take my masculinity into her mouth to use her lips, tongue and teeth to bring me to the brink of spending myself, but to refrain and will my body to wait her command to climax. Later, once I was completely captivated, she taught me how to accept her domination of my body even to the extent of learning how to relax enough to allow her to use a dildo or a vibrator to penetrate my rectum. And it was she who persuaded me ... decreed that I should dress in girls clothes. Initially, of course, it was in the privacy of her bedroom. One evening, as we tenderly undressed each other during extended foreplay, she asked me to wear the panties I had just slid off her hips, down her beautiful shapely legs and off her feet. To say I was thunderstruck is an understatement. I know now that, as they pass through puberty, many boys are fascinated by girl's clothes, particularly their panties, often fantasising about them to the extent of wearing them if they have a suitable female sibling or relative to urge them into making early 'experiments', or at least as a source of supply of the necessary garments for more surreptitious attempts [as was my situation! NK]; but it had never occurred to me to do so - even with a sister only two years my junior. At first I tried to make a stuttering refusal, but the immediate change in my lover's demeanour rapidly made me recapitulate. It was a revelation. As Adeline carefully drew the soft, silky garment over my feet, up my legs and around my buttocks, flanks and genitalia - the reverse journey to that which it had so recently taken over her body - the delicate femininity caressed my skin, setting all the already electrified nerve endings tingling and reacting, awakening feelings of wonder and excitement, and a far more powerful arousal than any I'd so far experienced. I didn't know it then, but that simple act of putting on ... or rather, being dressed in a pair of my lover's panties, still warm from her body, was to completely alter the course of my life. "There," said Adeline, grinning as she lightly caressed the enormous erection tenting out the fragile lace front of her panties, "that's not so bad, is it? You certainly don't seem to be finding the experience particularly obnoxious!" I couldn't in all honesty deny it, even if I'd wanted to. And our love making, that night, seemed to take on a new dimension. Things developed. Initially, Adeline continued to dress me only in her panties, but she did so with increasing frequency. Gradually she progressed by adding suspender-belt and stockings then a camisole top or a bra', suitably padded of course, and with each addition the feelings of anticipation, excitement and stimulation increased until I began to feel that to be so adorned was my right; disappointed almost to the point of petulance if I wasn't feminised; and conceited and pretentious when I was, flaunting my new image in front of her mirror in self-admiration interpreting to the best of my ability the physical movements and facial expressions of a young woman - basing my rendering on observations of both Adeline herself and my sister, in whose stature and bearing I had recently developed a suddenly far more observant but covert interest. Looking back Adeline's apparent caprice, in withholding her demands at times, was as much part of her plans for me as was her initial request and its subsequent progression. All the time, my reactions to the feel of the delicate femininity in which she clothed me continued, fuelled by the times of abstinence as much as by the actuality. It was my rapidly developing craving to be dressed in such exciting, stimulating fabrics that enabled Adeline to introduce her dildo into our relationship. "It's only to be expected," she argued, "If you're going to dress like a girl, you should be prepared to accept the natural consequences. We girls have to put up with having your cocks thrust into us, in all sorts of different orifices. As a girl, even if only a make believe one, you shouldn't be surprised to have to suffer the same fate!" And she brooked no refusal on my part. I had to make my choice she told me, 'no dildo, no more dress up games'. I capitulated immediately, unable to countenance being barred from ever again experiencing the thrill of feminisation. And, to my shame, I confess that I became by no means averse to the buzz brought about from an impromptu erection motivated by the pressure of such an instrument on my prostate. I'm sure that the progressive improvement in veracity, in my posturing 'en-femme' in front of the mirror, enabled her to judge the time for the next steps - make-up and hair arrangement, which she subtly introduced as a 'fun' addition with my eager co-operation; and finally outerwear and public display. II As could only be expected, work at the sports centre was at it busiest at the weekend and it was 'all hands to the pumps' on both Saturday and Sunday. Church attendance for me had gone by the board and, although my mother understood the situation, she was disappointed. Neither of them being fools, both my mother and my sister were aware of my changing disposition. They also assumed that my recent intense involvement with a woman nine years my senior was of a sexual nature, and hoped that Adeline was treating me fairly and sympathetically but knew that any intervention on either of their parts would be more than a mistake. Rather against my own judgement I was prevailed on to pursued Adeline to visit for the standard 'evening meal' over the Christmas period. I'm ashamed to admit that I was disconcerted and embarrassed when my mother unselfconsciously asked us to link hands and say Grace before the meal. Although it was, and is, our custom I was mortified and tried to unsuccessfully to persuade my mother that it was unnecessary. That was the first time I openly denied Him. But Adeline seemed to 'take it all her stride' and, afterwards, confirmed that she considered that she'd spent what she described as 'an interesting evening', and that she thought both my mother and my sister were 'delightful'. My mother seemed to have had her concerns somewhat mollified and, for her part, she too expressed satisfaction with the evening and with my 'lady friend'. I didn't learn until much later that Ruth's concerns were far from allayed. Although younger, she is, and was even then, far more mature and perceptive than me and she quickly discerned Adeline's sexual predilections and wondered just what attraction I had for her. As she told me much later, after so much had happened, 'she hadn't been in the house more than a few minutes before I felt her mentally undressing me, assessing my maturity and trying to gauge my availability; and it wasn't a nice feeling'. It was part my job at the centre to arrange work schedules and to allocate the two days off each week that each staff member was allowed. Adeline, of course, could only be absent on the two quietest days - Monday and Tuesday - and I had no difficulty in switching my days to coincide with hers. With my mother and sister both working, or at college, those days it followed that I could spend the time with my lover and mistress with no difficulty. One Monday in late Spring I entered the flat as usual, using my own key, to find Adeline fully dressed in a pair of light summer trousers and a short sleeved blouse, and contemplating her open wardrobe. "Are there you are," she said almost absently, "the strain on my wardrobe is getting a bit too severe. I think it's time we bought you some knickers of your own. I'm just deciding what we can dress you in so that we can go to Taunton to buy them. After all," she turned to me with a faint smile, "we can't risk a shopping expedition here in case we bump into someone who knows us." My heart leapt up and hit the back of my teeth and my stomach began to churn as the full purport of her words registered. But, terrified as I was at the prospect, the thought of actually going 'out there' into the wide world en-femme engendered an excitement and an arousal that I couldn't deny; as Adeline sent me off to shower and prepare whilst she completed choosing my costume. On my return she inspected me critically, far more critically than heretofore, to satisfy herself that my face and body were as smooth and feminine as possible and presented me with the clothes she'd chosen. A matching set of delicate, lacy nylon underwear - panties, bra', suspender-belt and half-slip - stockings, a fairly plain long sleeved, cotton blouse in pink and white candy stripes, and a light, flowing summer skirt that matched the pink stripes in the blouse. By the time she'd made up my face and dressed my hair, added a hair band and a pair of two inch court shoes of the same pink, the reflection that greeted me in the mirror of her dressing table was that of a more than passably pretty young woman dressed to suit the season. And off we went to Taunton to visit the chain stores and fit me out with a feminine wardrobe of my own. Adeline was careful and made sure we didn't buy too much in any single store, and we returned to her car between each shop to store the bags in the boot to avoid carrying a growing number of bags into each successive establishment, but by the time we'd finished I had become the possessor of a several sets of delicately, feminine underwear, several blouses and skirts and a couple of dresses, in addition to a supply of nylon stockings, four or five pairs of shoes and two light summer coats. I can't even now begin to calculate what it cost. It was the most terrifying, exciting, glorious day of my life to that time. Initially, as we walked out of Adeline's apartment block, I felt as though my clothes remained visible but had become transparent and that everyone we passed could immediately identify the incongruous masculine appendage nestling between my thighs and know that I was a boy masquerading in a female exterior. And the feeling only reduced marginally as the day progressed. Too, the delicious femininity that wrapped my masculinity brought about its usual reaction and I was plagued all day with a series of erections that could only be controlled in one way, necessitating constant visits to the toilet - narrowly avoiding going into the 'gents' - to accomplish it, presenting me with yet another problem of how to avoid soiling my fragile panties with either pre or post come. I'm sure I used more toilet paper in that one day than I did in the average week! Then there was the problem of avoiding disclosure on the occasions that Adeline insisted I try on the various outer garments she considered necessary - altogether a highly stressful but, as I've already said, gloriously exciting day. With my own wardrobe stored in Adeline's flat it soon became the norm for me to transform myself into my alta ego as soon as I entered. She quickly decided I needed a 'femme name' and settled on Naomi. "After all," she said, "Naomi starts with the same letter as your given name and it fits well with your sister's. Ruth and Naomi, yes, I like it." And Naomi I became. III It was nearly a year after I'd started at the centre that Adeline told me she'd been offered, and accepted, the post of overall manager at another sports centre - even larger than ours - on the edge of Bristol. "Don't worry," she added as my face confirmed the shock I'd received, "I'm not going to leave you behind. I told them that I can't possibly take the job unless I can bring my partner with me. Oh! By the way, I didn't say, there's a flat attached to the centre that goes with the job. I'll ... we'll be living there. They didn't mind, and when I told them that you worked at this centre with me, and what you did, they were delighted. They're two short on the admin side at the moment and one of those posts, as Assistant Controller of Finance, is yours for the taking. One thing though, I'm afraid I wasn't thinking. When they asked your name I forgot and I called you 'Naomi'. I couldn't back track, so they think you're a girl. If you're going to come with me you'll have to be Naomi full time." Initially, after the 'settling in' period, my life in Bristol as Naomi was idyllic. In a more senior position now, and the acknowledged lesbian partner of 'the boss', it was relatively easy for me secure the same two off duty days as Adeline - Monday and Tuesday, as before - and, as the main financial assistant, it was easy for me to make the necessary tax and insurance deductions from my salary without making disclosures or raising suspicions regarding my gender. I don't know what the rest of the staff made of us. We never hid our relationship - Adeline often referred to me as 'my darling' on the fairly infrequent occasions that our paths crossed during the day. I imagine they must have wondered at the seeming incongruity of such glorious and athletic beauty being captivated with such a slender, flat chested, black haired, pale skinned nonentity as myself. At work I was a rather serious looking young business woman usual seen wearing high necked long sleeved blouses, slender knee length skirts with nylon stockings and flat shoes. Perhaps my underwear was rather more exotic than my exterior might suggest; matching sets of delicate lacy nylon or satin lingerie that caressed and teased the nerve endings of my skin and around my hidden masculinity. But if anyone ever noticed they made no comment, presumably assuming that either I liked to express my femininity in such a manner - which I did - or that it was the behest of my lover and mistress. As manager Adeline worked long hours, from early morning opening to late closure, even on her 'days off' she sometimes had to spend a couple of hours in the centre mid-morning. My working time was much more structured, and usually limited to a normal working day, which enabled me to leave the centre for the flat in the early evening and undertake the domestic necessities that quickly became my responsibility. At home I quickly shed my formal exterior and carried out most of my chores wearing only my underwear, thrilled by the occasional glimpses of myself in the several mirrors clad in delicate, femininity and at the sight of my cock, which I managed to train to behave itself all day, straining and thrusting against the fragile lace of my panties. Again, I trained myself to complete all my work before I gave myself up to the joy of preening and posing un front of the largest mirror, that in our bedroom, delighting in the image that confronted me, allowing ... encouraging my arousal to intensify and usually culminating in a masturbatory frenzy. Outside, in 'the world', I dressed in my working clothes for my solitary household shopping trips; accompanying Adeline I dressed either as a sophisticated young woman or in almost school-girl naivety to suit the mood of my mistress - sometimes of an evening, at her command, as a painted, short skirted, generously bosomed trollop with my essential underwear completely missing or, at least, reduced to a minimal 'g- string', either of which circumstances put me in imminent danger of exposing my masculinity with any and every movement. In bed I was, as I had been schooled to be, attentive, dutiful and submissive. At Adeline's direction I always retained my suspender-belt and stockings and, sometimes, my bra' or camisole - which ever I was wearing, bra' suitably padded of course. I know now that that was a sop to her sexual preference, by doing so she could more easily retain the pretence of my assumed gender. Our love making followed a pattern. I paid court to her body gratifying her with my fingers, lips, teeth and tongue bringing her to climax several times before she fellated me and then dominated me with her 'strap on' taking me in my 'shemale cunny' - as she liked to call it. Finally, if I was still capable and she was in the mood, she allowed me to possess her. And if she was in the mood I was in trouble if I wasn't capable! At the conclusion of our love making, which was always the most passionate and demanding on her part when I'd earlier played the trollop, she liked to dress me in a pair of silky, lacy French knickers before we settled to sleep. A habit I've retained. It was during that period that my mother and sister met Adeline for the second and last time. They came up to visit us for a summer's day. Although by then I was fully feminised, at Adeline's suggestion ... direction, I dressed in tee shirt and a pair of her jeans, ankle socks and trainers, over my lacy nylon panties and camisole. They've told me since that they didn't realise how she had changed me, assuming that my long hair - which, again at Adeline's instruction, I wore free for the occasion - was part of the modern trend. Everything changed, abruptly, when Cheryl took a job as a swimming instructor, coach and life guard at the centre. The sight of her beautiful costume clad, bronze body cleaving the water of the pool quickened most pulses including mine but, more importantly, including Adeline's. One November evening thick fog settled over Bristol. Adeline seized her chance and invited Cheryl, who lived with her family several miles outside the city, to 'spend the night at our place'. "You can ring your folks" she said, " I'm sure they'll be more than relieved to think you're not trying to get home at this time of night, in this murk, and Naomi and I can easily fix you up with a clean pair of knickers in the morning, and a spare toothbrush for that matter. And your work stuff is at the centre already." Cheryl agreed with alacrity that confirmed Adeline's reading of her predilections and Adeline 'phoned across to tell me we had a guest for supper and the night - luckily for me, or I might still have been in my dishabille when they walked in, as it was I had time to scramble into my blouse and skirt and hastily busy myself in the kitchen making the evening meal stretch to three. All was well until Adeline invited Cheryl to 'share our bed for the night', rather than accepting a 'shake down' on the sofa; an invitation that she readily and enthusiastically accepted. There was no way I could see of opposing my mistress, and vetoing the suggestion, and no way could I see, in the circumstances, of maintaining the pretence of my masquerade. So it proved. Arriving at work at my usual time the next morning well after the arrival of the instructors, and already feeling faint and sick, I was greeted with sniggers and derision by the rest of the staff and my name had suddenly become 'Nancy'! By midday I was 'Nancy boy' and by mid afternoon, by which time I'd spent most of the time hiding in the toilets or elsewhere, I was 'Panty boy'. I didn't return to work again and moved out of the flat the next morning - for Cheryl to take my place immediately. By the next evening I managed find myself a small flat in Taunton and it then took me nearly two months to secure a place in the almost exclusively female world of the staff of the local sixth form college library, as Nathan. There was only one other male there, Ben, one of the porters, who was nearing retirement age. There was nothing wrong in the way that the girls treated us but, somehow, they managed to exclude us from the inmost circle; and consequently my whole existence - work and social - remained somewhat solitary. Chapter III After Adeline I My flat was little more than a bed-sit, only the presence of a separate bathroom and kitchen, and it's own entrance warranted it's rather grandiose title of No. 4, Jerusalem Court, but at least it was mine and it was away from the site of my recent shame and from those who were witness to my exposure - via the kind auspices of Cheryl! For a long while after decamping, during my search for a job and during my return home for Christmas and after, I reverted strictly to my masculine ego. I even tried, totally unsuccessfully, to grow a beard and moustache. But even then, I couldn't bring myself to get rid of my feminine wardrobe. In any case, I'd only had Naomi's clothes with me when I'd moved and had to get over arranging the lease by pretending that I was my own cousin, securing the flat on behalf of 'Nathan'. And had had to acquire a replacement masculine wardrobe in pretty short order, too! Over the Christmas period my mother, apart from expressing satisfaction that I was now less than forty miles away, had scarcely mentioned my break up with Adeline after my explanation that 'she'd found another girl friend and we parted pretty abruptly'. My hint as to my previous status went unnoticed. Ruth had been more forthcoming. "I'm glad," she said. "She wasn't for you." Once my life was back on some sort of even keel I began to feel the urge to regain my femininity. Initially it was only a slight niggle that I could easily repress but not ignore. The feeling grew making me feel increasingly restless to the point of becoming short tempered and edgy with my work colleagues. After some months I found that I could resist the temptation no longer and put on a pair of knickers again. In no time at all of course, it became my regular habit to strip off and shower as soon as I got in and to deck myself in my adored delicate, fragile, lingerie and to resume my luxurious French knickers with a camisole as sleep-wear. And from that it was only a short step to wearing panties, under my masculine clothes at work and elsewhere, if I thought there was a reasonable chance of it not being noticed. But, although my temper improved no end, and I soon resumed my previous mild friendly disposition with the girls, I couldn't screw myself up into 'taking the plunge' and going out completely en-femme - even though I ached to do so. II The opportunity presented itself out of the blue. Tiring of my almost entirely solitary social life I accepted an invitation from the girls at the library to accompany them on an evening out. Perhaps 'accepted an invitation' is rather misleading. After all, it was me who precipitated the event. One Tuesday afternoon I came into the tail end of a conversation when they were arranging a Friday evening rendezvous in town and, not expecting any reaction other than being told politely or not, as the case may be, to 'get lost', I asked whether it was 'a private outing or could anyone join in'? There was a moment or two's silence then one of them said, in a light hearted tone 'you're welcome to join us if you want to but remember it's strictly a hen-night, and you'll have to come dressed accordingly'. At those words my heart began to pound, my stomach churn and my face redden. Was this my chance? I knew that my reluctance to assume my alter ego in public was because, heretofore, as Naomi, excepting for that brief period when I'd fled my life at the Bristol sports centre, or during my domestic shopping expeditions, I'd always been accompanied - by Adeline. But I knew too that it was now or probably never again; and I responded before I could change my mind. "Is that a challenge of some kind?" I asked "because if it is, I'll do my best." The girls were all looking at me by now. "You can take it as one, if you like," I was told. The rendezvous was in the centre of the town and, as I made my way to it, the old feeling of exposure returned with a vengeance and I felt that everyone one I passed could easily discern my masculinity under the feminine exterior that I presented. It had taken me a long time to decide what my image should be. It seemed to me that to present too sophisticated an impression would be a mistake in that 'girly' company. Likewise, I'd felt that to dress as an out-and-out 'tart would be a mistake, too. The slightly off-white sleeveless, scoop-necked, slim fitting summer dress - that finished a modest inch or so above my knees - seemed to fit the occasion. But I have to admit that I was rather more adventurous with my underwear; I chose a matching set of lacy, black nylon panties, suspender-belt, slim half-slip and, for this occasion, bra', suitably padded of course to give me a definite if modest bust line. I added a pair of black nylon stockings and a pair of plain black, three inch court shoes, and carried a black lace stole against the possible cool of the later evening. As is my custom, I wore minimum jewellery - only a simple silver wrist watch with a black satin strap and a black satin 'choker' - but I dressed my hair with care and applied subtle make-up to emphasise my cheek-bones, redden my lips and line my eyes. Several of the glances I received on my way to the town centre, were overtly admirational. The rest of the girl's, all five of them, were already there. It took them a while to register my arrival as I walked towards them, giving me time to wonder whether after all I hadn't rather overdone it. Two of them, Sarah and Kieran, were dressed in light summer trousers with crop tops and flat shoes. Janine and Edwina wore almost impossibly short skirts, also with crop tops. Only Freda wore a dress, shorter but not too dissimilar to my own. "Hell's teeth! Nat!" Kieran suddenly exploded, as she was the first to recognise who I was. Then, in half jocular half accusatory tones, "you've made me bloody cream myself!" The other four swung round to stare, open mouthed, at me for a minute before returning to the now flush faced Kieran at the crotch of whose pale blue summer trousers a dark and wet looking patch was rapidly developing. It was obvious too, from the expressions on their faces and the sudden tensing of their muscles, that some of the other girls were finding themselves excited. And I could feel my own arousal growing as my masculinity began to expand and harden against the constraining lace of my panties. Freda broke the deadlock. "Well," she said in as studied a natural tone as she could manage, "my flat's probably nearest. We'd better all go back there so that Kieran can clean herself up and all of us can get used to our new Nat ... or Natalie, as I suppose we'd better start calling her." With that, she set her drink down on the table, stood up, and led us all out of the pub, along the main road and to her flat near the railway station. At the flat the rest of us indulged in somewhat restrained conversation as Freda led Kieran away to 'tidy up'. It wasn't until the two of them returned, with somewhat self-satisfied grins on their faces that the mood changed quickly to one of excitement and near conspiratorial companionship. Kieran had now shed her trousers and was wearing a light, short denim skirt - presumably one of Freda's. Naturally, the girls wanted to know how I'd managed to contrive such a convincing disguise. And, of course, I had to resurrect my mythical cousin Naomi, from Exeter, who looked a lot like me and sometimes stayed overnight in my flat. I explained that she'd come up a couple of evenings previously and advised and assisted me in what to wear. "These are some of her clothes," I told them. Then the bomb shell landed. "As it's thanks to her, my knickers, along with my trousers, are now drying out in Freddy's shower and I'm not wearing any at the moment," Kieran informed us boldly, "I think the least Natalie can do is show us what she's wearing under that dress. I think she should show just how far down Naomi's clothes go." The rest of them readily agreed and in no time I was the centre of a group of my female workmates all intent on seeing that I complied with the demand; a demand with which I had little option but to comply. Still with a large degree of reluctance, I slowly reached up behind me to unfasten the zip and allow my dress to sag open off my shoulders and slide down the silky material of my half slip, to enable me to step out of it, to reveal my black lace lingerie. Five pairs of eyes opened wide in a mixture of astonishment, disbelief and excitement. "Okay," Kieran continued, "off with the slip. We want to see what colour knickers you're wearing." Again there was no help for it. I slid the slip down to reveal my panties, suspender-belt and stocking tops - to renewed murmurs of excite and speculation. I could feel the heat rising in my face, throat and shoulders as my skin flushed a deeper red than I would have thought possible. In the past, in front of Adeline, in the privacy of her flat and later our shared apartment, I had always preened and postured in my dishabille, adoring flaunting my body clad in delicate femininity; but here and now, with so many of the girls present, I was flooded with stomach churning embarrassment particularly as I was suddenly overcome by an intense arousal that sent my rapidly stiffening and swelling cock tenting out the minimal lacy restraint of my panties. Freddy came to rescue, "Okay girls," she said. "Now we know what Natalie's wearing, down to the last detail, it's time we were on our way out. Oh by the way, in case you're interested, in honour of our new sister's first evening, I've taken my knickers off too!" At that there was a general scramble, on my part to resume my slip and dress, Edwina and Janine to remove their panties and fling them into - or rather in the general direction of - an armchair and for Sarah to remove her trousers and panties, fling them too to the wilds, and ask Freddy to also loan her a skirt. And, eventually, we retraced our steps to the town centre with me transformed once more into Naomi - or Natalie as the girls had christened me - with her five knickerless, female companions. As the evening progressed the girls became more and more raucous in direct proportion to the amount of alcohol consumed; and they became more and more careless of the shortness of their hemlines. Judging by the hilarity that greeted the increasing frequency of startled expressions on the faces of other revellers, I began to think that they were becoming engaged in a rather risky game, taking every conceivable opportunity to flash their unprotected quims at all and sundry. Whatever, the result was that approaches by gangs of young men were unexpectedly circumspect and I didn't find it to difficult to deflect the few 'come ons' that came my way - me, the only one of our party who remained relatively sober and who took reasonable care to minimise the times when my own hemline, and a view of the delicate panties that I alone retained, became vulnerable. Sarah and Edwina departed first, having drawn the short straw and being due to staff the library with Ben and Miss Forsythe, the Chief Librarian, during its limited Saturday opening. I finally parted from Janine, Kieran and Freda sometime in the early hours, returning to my own flat to contemplate what, on the whole, had been an exciting and stimulating evening. As I removed my dress and half slip, the memory of Sarah stripping off her trousers and panties in full view, coupled with the occasional glimpse of one or other of the other girl's pussy's during the evening, brought me to a fresh arousal that thrust and throbbed against the delicate lacy restraint of my panties, to an extent that necessitated my pleasuring myself until I shot my load into the flimsy femininity, requiring me to stand in bra', suspender-belt and stockings at the bathroom wash basin to rinse my despoiled knickers first in cold then, using hand soap, hot water to rid them of the result of my outpouring. I started at a sudden noise behind me and turned to see Kieran standing watching me launder my panties. "I'm sorry," she almost gasped, "I had to come. I saw from the light that you were still up. Your door wasn't locked so I just came in. I shouldn't have, forgive me." With that she made to turn away but, reaching out, I restrained her; still dressed in her crop top and one of Freda's skirts; still presumably knickerless; I drew her to me and we kissed gently at first but with increasing urgency and force. She drew me out of the bathroom and towards the bed, where we collapsed as she wriggled out of both the top and the skirt - to confirm that she was indeed still knickerless - and to reach up behind her back to unfasten and discard her bra'. Equally willing, and freshly aroused by her actions, I allowed Adeline's training to take over and I quietened her to lay her gently on her back, legs parted. Momentarily I raised myself up on my knees between her legs to reach behind me to unclip my own bra' and allow it to fall off forwards, but still wearing stockings and suspender-belt, before paying court to her gloriously pert little breasts and her proud shaven font. Gently at first, but with increasing insistency I worked with my lips, tongue and teeth at the sweet lips of her vagina, spread before me, and at the swelling bud of her clitty, bringing her off to three separate orgasms - each one more powerful and longer lasting than the one before. Still, when I finally entered her she erupted in climax after climax again until, both spent, we collapsed in each others arms and slept. I woke to find myself alone in my bed. Kieran hadn't gone far. As I opened my eyes and allowed them to focus I could see her standing naked in front of my open wardrobe. The draws of the composite chest were open, too. She must have heard me stir. Turning she regarded me, arms and legs akimbo. Her glorious body, her pert, tip-tilted breasts and resplendent pubic bush lit by the mid-morning sun streaming in through the window. It was obvious what she was looking at; my accumulated femininity." "Well, well," she finally said with a level gaze, "I thought as much. I thought you were more used to wearing women's clothes than you pretended last night." "They're ... they're Naomi's clothes," I tried to stutter. "Don't be silly," she said, abruptly. "No girl leaves that many clothes at a place where she stays only once in a while. A couple of spare pairs of knickers, some stockings, maybe even a blouse and skirt or two. But this is a full wardrobe. There must be more than a dozen changes of clothes, and goodness only knows how much underwear, to say nothing of shoes and coats and things. No my boy. It's only too obvious. You're a transvestite, a 'panty boy'. We should have called you 'Nancy' last night, not Natalie. Besides, clothes apart, you gave yourself away at least twice last night, when you reached up behind you to unfasten your dress, and again, later, when you unclipped your bra'. It takes a lot of practice to do that as smoothly as you did. No, you're a panty boy alright. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that you've been wearing girl's knickers to work, under your trousers." I could feel my face draining of colour then burning into a deep blush and I knew that further denial was impossible. I knew too that she knew that her last sally had more than hit home, confirming her suspicion. "It's a pity," she added in somewhat mollified tones. "After all, I have to admit you're a good screw ... a bloody good screw. And the way you licked me out was superior to most women - and, believe me, I've had plenty of experience, both ways! I don't know who trained you but she must have been an expert. Older than you, I'd say and likely a dyke into the bargain. I wouldn't be too surprised, either, to learn that it was she who first dressed you in her knickers and that the rest stemmed from there. Yes, it's a pity alright but I like my men to be men and my girls to be girls. Not somewhere in between. There it is. Facts are facts. I'm afraid I couldn't look at you from now on without wondering what your knickers look like. And remember I've seen most of yours now and know what the choice is." If I assumed she'd depart as quickly as possible, I was wrong. Instead, she turned round and sat back on the bed beside me - still totally naked, a somewhat wistful expression on her face. Suddenly she flipped back the duvet and began to gently kiss and caress me with complete indiscrimination as which part of my body she addressed. One moment she was kissing my mouth, the next my inner thigh above my stocking top, then my shoulders all the time gently bringing my recalcitrant masculinity back to life. Finally she took my cock in her mouth and began to fellate me into stiffness and solidity. "You even react to arousal more like a woman," she breathed in my ear, as she continued her dextral stimulation. "I guess, whoever she was, she was always in control. One last screw then, let's make it good'n." Kieran retained the initiative, not allowing me to take any form of control. Not even allowing me to stimulate her - using her own fingers to bring herself to readiness and, as she straddled me to ride me to climax, playing with her own breasts and nipples. True to my training still, I restrained my own climax until Kieran had exploded twice - saturating my thighs and stomach, and my bed-sheets and suspender-belt, with her flood each time. After all, I felt she probably deserved it. III Obviously I couldn't go back to work. Not after my experience at Bristol. The thought of facing Kieran again, after the way she'd diagnosed my life so accurately with the added possibility ... probability that she'd told the rest of the girls, was intolerable. I spent the rest of Saturday morning and afternoon pondering what to do and, eventually, rang Miss Forsythe asking if I could 'come round to her, urgently'. After a few moments pause, she acceded. Ostensibly dressed as Nathan but, more out of defiance than anything else, dressed underneath in Naomi's underwear, I made my way to her house in the outskirts. I'd been preparing my speech on the way. Although I knew both she and her partner, a pretty woman called Bridget we'd seen at the library once or twice and whom Miss Forsythe describes as her 'live in companion' fuelling rumours amongst the girls of a 'probably suppressed' lesbian relationship, were members of a local unaligned non- conformist church and I'd decided that I had no option to be completely honest and try a get her help in obtaining a transfer to a vacancy I knew had arisen in a college library in Somerton. Miss Forsythe refused point blank to accede to my request that I 'speak to her alone, for a minute or two', insisting that I speak in front of both her and her companion. After a few moments hesitation I screwed up my courage and more or less blurted out my prepared piece. "I'm sorry to have to tell you that I can't return to work on Monday," I told her. "I'm afraid a situation has arisen between me and one of the girls for which I can't see any resolution. It's not a question of rape, or anything like that," I added quickly as I saw her face change, "but it's so awkward that if you can't accept what I say I'll have to just walk off. I wouldn't be surprised if you get to hear pretty quickly after the weekend anyway so I might as well tell you now; she has discovered that I'm a transvestite. I spend much of my time dressed as a young woman. Even at work I usually wear women's underwear. I can't contemplate the thought of facing her again, at the library, or the other girls who'll probably already know by now, too. I was wondering whether you'd be able to arrange for me to take the Somerton vacancy - or, at least cover there temporarily, while I find something else." Miss Forsythe heard me out in silence, but had not taken her eyes away from my face throughout the diatribe. I think my face had become redder and redder as I spoke, certainly my chest was heaving with the pent up emotion of release, my stomach was churning and I was pretty close to tears. "Are you wearing female underwear now?" She asked, quietly; almost politely. "Er ... yes." I finally replied, wishing now I hadn't been so defiant. "Show me," she commanded. My defiance suddenly renewed, I snapped out of my outer clothes to reveal myself in camisole, panties, suspender-belt - all in delicate, lacy, pink nylon - and stockings. Miss Forsythe took in the sight. "Don't you know that it says in the Bible that for a man to 'put on a woman's garment is abomination unto the Lord thy God'!" she burst out. "Oh yes," I replied in suddenly ice cold, steely tones, "I know Deuteronomy chapter 22, verse 5 only to well. I've studied it, too. But what about the first part - 'The woman shall not wear that which pertaineth unto a man'? Yet you wear trousers to work nearly all the time. In fact you're wearing trousers now. And are you sure you're not wearing anything made of 'diverse sorts' of material and has all your vesture got 'three fringes on its four quarters'? It's all in there, you know, you can't take part of it and ignore other bits - to suit yourself." Miss Forsythe flushed a deeper scarlet than I've ever seen before, and seemed about to make an explosive retort. She didn't, because Bridget intervened. "Hmm, I think he might have you a bit there," she murmured mildly looking at her companion, then turning to me, "you're an interesting young man. Tell me, are you a believer?" "I used to be," I replied in the same almost conversational tone. And that was the second time I openly denied Him. Bridget turned back to Miss Forsythe and a look passed between them that, on later reflection, seemed to confirm the girl's suspicions of the underlying but probably repressed nature of their relationship. And, on reflection, I'm inclined to think that Bridget, not Miss Forsythe, is the dominant partner. "I think on the whole we should assist this child if we can." She said. Then, to me, "go home and stay there until you hear from either Marion or me, we'll let you know if we've been successful. If we're not we'll try to help you decide what to do next. I think, by the way, you'll be happier if you can make a decision as just how you want to live your life; either as a man or as a woman. This half-and-half business may suit some people. It doesn't seem to suit you. Wearing women's underwear under a masculine exterior seems to me to suggest an unhappy state of confusion that needs resolution. Oh! And remember that you may have given up on Him, but God hasn't given up on you. He still loves you, you know, just the way you are, fancy knickers and all. After all, He made you that way." I got my job but neglected Bridget's advice and continued my double life. It ended in tears again of course; twice more! It wasn't until three moves and about two years later that her advice or some of it at least, finally sank in, and I decided that I would present myself as Naomi for my interview, and for my subsequent work, in the library of University of Wales, Aberystwyth. And it was there in Aberystwyth, as Naomi, that I met Alys - as dark eyed and raven haired as me - and we fell, totally and completely in love, and she accepted me for what I am. Chapter IV Alys O my darling Alys! Wait for me my precious beloved, I know now the strength of your assurance and share it, too. We will be together again, happy at last at His knee! Chapter V After Alys I The sound of my heels ringing out 'clickerty-clack' on the polished wooden floor of the Chapel, as I fled from Rhiannon's pure contralto pouring out the words ... 'when your heart is aching, when something happens that makes you doubt my love' ... and from my own misery, will live with me for ever. I fled from the Chapel, the Chapel surrounds, the streets of Aberystwyth, through the sweet summer air back to the cottage-bungalow on the edge of Borth where, in order to accommodate Alys's increasing immobility, we had made our home. We'd bought it using money left to Alys by her Grandmother once it became increasingly obvious that her condition precluded living in anything but a single storey dwelling - and that one that we ..., I had adapted to the passage of the motorised wheelchair she'd quickly had to s