A Fresh Start free porn video

(C) NickB 2006 - All right reserved. Email author : [email protected] INTRODUCTION, JUNE 1993 ======================= I can't do this without going right back to the beginning, but I'll try and make it as brief as possible. I was born Paul Hammond, I'm thirty-two years old and I'm what you might call a 'rocker'. I know it's probably not fashionable to say so, but I was into Whitesnake, Foreigner, UFO, Zep, Black Sabbath, Michael Schenker and practically anything else you could bang yer 'ead to. I had motorbikes from the age of sixteen and by the next year had graduated from an orange Mobylette moped with white leg shields (God, did I actually used to ride one of those?), to a Honda CB 125 cause it was cheap. My hair, much to mother's disgust was (I'm sorry to say - well no I'm not actually. It was right for the time, however embarrassing it may be now) a mullet. Of course I didn't call it that and the term hadn't even been coined then. I modelled mine on that of David Bowie - my hero - so it was long and feathered at the back, short and spiky on top. I frequented a club in Brighton called the Hungry Years. Actually, its full title was the Hungry Years Gathering Place and it was where all the bikers and rockers hung out. It was right across the road from the Palace Pier and made for a nice ride there and a nice ride back. It was also where I met Trisha. She was a biker babe, long curly or unruly hair, hippy-style skirts, a biker jacket and that constant smell of patchouli. I liked it anyway. I was heading towards being twenty-one when I met her and my bike had graduated to a Suzuki GS1000. It was a rat with a cut-down registration plate (making it difficult for the cops to ID you) and went like pooh off a stick. It was my pride and joy. Me and the bike were well known in the club and it was almost like a second home, but things move on. Ten years later, found me something of an old 'fuddy-duddy'. Gone was the bike and gone were the trips to the Hungry Years. That was okay, because they had long since ceased to play the old rock standards I so got off on like 'Can't get enough of your love', 'Doctor, Doctor', 'Runnin' with the devil' and many more. By then it was thrash metal and well, I think my head had had enough of being thrown around indiscriminately, my face being whipped by what was now a full head of hair that almost reached my arse. As a youngster, I was always head and shoulders above everyone else. I left school in '77 at just under six feet tall and weighing in at a princely 154 pound (that's eleven stone in English) and by now, I was six feet three and only half a stone heavier (or 161 pounds). I looked like a golf club without my clothes. It was only the leathers that gave me any 'shape' whatsoever and despite having done many jobs labouring or 'lifting heavy things', I never seemed to get any better definition. Trisha and I had moved in together shortly after we met and although we never married, we stayed together because we wanted to. I was attracted to her looks, her smell and intrigued I think, by her interest in Wicca. My interest died over the years, but hers never did, but for the most part, we were like two peas in a pod. As I said earlier though, things move on, or change, or something. I went into computer programming, main from a desire to earn better money, but Trisha carried on doing basically semi-skilled tasks, saying that money wasn't the route to happiness. She may have been right, but I noticed that she didn't mind the luxuries that my new wage packets were bringing in! We had a plan and it involved a house in the country with a few acres of land and possibly a couple of horses. We decided that it would be better if we rented a property and saved for our 'dream'. So we stayed in our rented, two-bed house while I saved my money as far as was possible, trying to keep the dream firmly in sight. As the years passed, we seemed to slide apart. She finally saw that on my own, there was no way our dream was going to come to fruition, especially since she had now become accustomed to those little luxuries, which were now considerably more numerous. She got herself into college, ostensibly to get a better paid job and help me to save. During her two-year course however, my wages had to stretch to cover everything and whilst I was scraping some savings together on a regular basis, she still wanted those luxuries. They had one positive effect though and that was filling me out. I became heavier going up to about fifteen stone (210 pounds) and it suited my frame more, however, I was quite despondent that I never really got a more masculine physique out of it; I just looked 'thicker', retaining the slender arms and generally androgynous bodily appearance that I had always found so embarrassing in the past. Anyway, having successfully completed her college course, Trisha entered the big, wide world of business and better wages. We became happier for a while, feeling more comfortable with ourselves and each other and the lifting of the entire financial burden from my shoulders was a real Godsend. Unfortunately, as time went on and I don't know how it came about, we stopped talking to one another about what was on our minds, unless it was to complain about squeezing the toothpaste from the wrong end of the tube or leaving to toilet seat up. We had little time for each other as work or rather 'careers' seemed to be the focus of attention. We spent less time together and towards the end, sex became less and less frequent. I wasn't surprised as I realised that with both of us so focussed on earning, there was little energy to spend on 'enjoying' each other. Every now and again, I'd mention it and after a long sulk, we might get around to a bit of fun between the sheets but in the end, it just didn't happen at all. I thought it was all due to us saving for our dream house and dream lifestyle, but I couldn't be sure and I have to say, it made me surly and oftentimes more than a little short-tempered. Trisha in the meantime, was rising through the ranks in her job and worked late a lot more often, so I saw even less of the woman I loved. When we did have time together, the atmosphere was frosty and I found myself becoming less interested in what she was up to. Three months ago, she announced that she couldn't stand my moodiness any longer and was going back to her mother's. I was stunned, since I didn't believe that I was the one to blame. She was the one for whom the job was the focus of importance in her life and I felt that I was the one that had been pushed to the sidelines. She packed up a load of clothes and personal effects and that was the last I saw of her for ages. I was devastated. I thought that to her, money wasn't everything, or however it was that she put it. In the end, I just thought 'good riddance to bad rubbish'. I had done nothing that I could think of and true, I wasn't the happiest bloke on the face of the planet thanks to having supported the two of us for so long. I was tired and cranky a lot of the time, but I thought we understood that it was a temporary thing that would ease as we started sharing the responsibilities. Dianne, Trisha's mother, was over the moon. She didn't like me because of my long hair, love of motorcycles and rock music. Despite having it pointed out that my appearance and interests were precisely what Trisha found attractive, she refused to accept me and I guess that could have been part of what parted us. I did try and make friends with her mum, but I always seemed to end up on the receiving end of one of her mother's gripes. She had a tongue like a machete and wasn't afraid to use it. Of course, when we got home, it would always be my fault that any argument or disagreement happened and I'd spend the next few days in the dog house. As if Trisha's leaving wasn't enough to contend with, I finished my contract as a consultant and for the first time in ages, had nothing to move on to. Talk about the shit hitting the fan. So there I was, on my own in the house, no job and nothing on the horizon. I hadn't heard from Trisha since the day she left and although I phoned her mother's on regular occasions, I never had a message returned and what was worse, she never came and picked up the rest of her stuff. I suspect she thought I was too much of a wimp to actually do anything about it. I became depressed and reclusive. I had a tidy sum of money saved for what I thought was our dream and so was fairly self-sufficient, but as each week went by and all I seemed to be doing was spending, I became quite paranoid about the finances. As a result, I dropped to under 154 pounds and at nearly six feet three, I probably looked like a golf club! I became slovenly and didn't much care about anything. I stopped going out and socialising and just faded into the woodwork. After the first couple of months of her leaving, I managed to pick myself up and with the greatest effort I have ever put into anything, I started looking for work again, I cleaned up, washed up and got the majority of my self confidence back. It didn't extend to having the courage to go out socially, but at least the house was presentable, I was clean and fairly smart and when I did go out, like to the shops, I didn't look like some kind of vagabond. Once I picked myself up, I re-evaluated what I wanted from life and what I really wanted was a fresh start, the chance to begin again and not make such an unholy fuck-up of it this time. They say (whoever they are), that admission is half the battle and I realised that I couldn't blame Trisha for where I found myself. I could only blame me and after slapping myself on the wrist a few times, admitting that I was at least partially to blame, I got my act together. I hoped that having dragged myself up from the pit of oblivion, there might be a chance that Trisha and I could get back together. Maybe, just maybe, she would see that I had changed for the better and she and I could carry on, not from where we left off, but from now, with a new direction, new priorities and a new purpose. I started ringing Trisha at Dianne's again, but still I got that cold reception and a complete refusal to allow me to even speak to her. I tried a different tack and suggested that if her leaving was a permanent thing, she might want to come and sort through the bits and pieces that she had left behind, or I was going to throw it all out. I felt quite pleased that I had plucked up the courage to say that, but it made no difference. Trisha never phoned back and for my trouble I got it in the neck from her mum for being such a callous bastard. Go figure. It didn't dampen my spirits as despite Dianne's negativity, I remained buoyant and was getting better daily. See, that didn't take long and it only remains now, for me to bring you up to date to where the real stuff started, the stuff this account is really about. NOW FOR THE PRESENT... ====================== My depression had the effect of making me lose my appetite for anything. I had lost huge amounts of weight and although it meant that shopping was cheaper, it also meant that nothing I owned really fitted anymore. I had dropped from a thirty-eight waist, to a thirty-two and trousers were a definite problem. All of them hung on me like I was a wire coat hanger and without a belt to hold them up there was no way they would stay where they were supposed to. For the moment though, I didn't need to go out and buy anything as I had loads of stuff, just that it was a bit big. If I got an interview or something, perhaps then I'd go on a bit of a spending spree and maybe buy a new pair. I got a proper routine together that started first thing in the morning with a job search. Being a technical person and qualified too, I couldn't go the normal high street employment agencies; I needed the web-based agencies. To begin with, I had lots of jobs around the house that I needed to do, mainly cleaning and so on, but they dried up and I was left twiddling my thumbs. It was at this time that I discovered just how mind-numbing daytime television was. I saw a couple of films I had been meaning to catch up with, but at the end of the day, I felt that I had achieved nothing and in order to keep my spirits up, I needed the satisfaction of achievement almost on a daily basis. I looked at the garden, but that was as far as that got as, although it was summer, we were having what can only be described as a typical English summer - rain, rain and more rain. Oh, occasionally it was interspersed with cloudy, miserably cold weather, but other than that, it rained. I found myself surfing the internet, mainly due to boredom and so, after my daily job search, I would hit Google and surf. It's embarrassing to admit, but I kind of got hooked on porn. In my defence, I was a normal, red-blooded male with no girlfriend who hadn't had sex for lord-alone knew how long, but I went a bit overboard. I had a dial-up internet account, so surfing during the day was an expensive pastime. I got the shock of my life when the phone bill came in and it was in three figures! I knew right then that had to do something about it, but it wasn't so easy to stop. I tried to find other things to occupy me, but it was all too easy to backslide when I got bored or something went wrong. I would just hit the explorer icon and off I'd go again, thinking "Just a couple of minutes". It really surprised me how the time flew when I was engrossed in surfing, finding that a couple of minutes would become an hour without even realising it. I was 'saved' by finding literature, though I use the term 'literature' loosely. I discovered 'adult fiction'. I read a few of the erotic stories and they were alright I suppose, but they tended to come from limited imaginations and tended to follow the same path - good-looking man with big dick (they're always eight or more inches), meets woman who's always good looking enough to be a model with big tits (surprisingly, always above a 'C' cup) and they bonk like rabbits. That's about it and after a while I became numb to the eroticism, requiring a little more than poor descriptions of impossible sex acts, between impossibly shallow people. You can understand how that would get stale after a while (or perhaps you can't. It did with me). I turned to other forms of adult fiction and wound up more or less by accident, coming across some TG stories - Trans Gender. These involved at the very least cross dressing and went all the way to sex change. My goodness! What a revelation that was. I got really hooked. I even found myself preferring those with little or no sex in, because then the author concentrated on the story and that made it more of an adventure. Plus, I found that few of the authors I read, were unable to convey the sexual tension and then it becomes like a police report! It's just personal taste I suppose. I started downloading these short (and some not so short) stories by the truckload. It was great. Reading broadens the mind and I had no shortage of material. Some of it was amazing. I especially liked authors like Tanya J. Allan and her stories such as 'The Candy Cane Club' and 'Shit Happens, but so do miracles', I also liked Angela Rasch and Shannonq for her historical-based stories. One of my particular favourites was Samantha Michelle. These people had engaging styles and a very humorous approach to what could be a very touchy subject. I would spend all day reading and was getting through stories at a phenomenal rate. Now don't start getting ideas that suddenly I found my true calling, it's not like that. I just enjoyed the stories, although in all honesty, I did find myself identifying with a lot of the characters due to the apparent underdevelopment of my own body - except the height that is! Pretty soon however, the well dried up and I found fewer and fewer stories to read. On this particular day, I actually couldn't even find one. I turned to one or two of my favourites, but as soon as I started, I remembered the plot and realised it was too soon to start re-reading these stories as they were much too fresh in my head. I accessed Google and search and searched through hundreds and hundreds of results, but found that I had either been there or they were pay sites and I wasn't prepared to go down that route. In the end, I gave up and closed the connection. "Oh well," I thought. "It was a nice distraction while it lasted." I went off downstairs and made a cuppa. Pouring the milk, I noticed that I would need to get some more shopping soon and since I had nothing to do the rest of the day, it seemed like I good idea to go sooner rather than later. I was not particularly happy about the prospect of shopping, after all, it wasn't my favourite pastime, but it was either that, or get used to black tea, black coffee and bowls of dry cornflakes. I was just heading out of the house, when the phone rang. "Hi. It's Mike." "Bloody hell mate, I haven't seen you in ages. How's it going?" "Not bad Paul, you?" "I'm off work at the moment, but it's looking positive." "Listen, I'm in the area on Monday. How about a drink and some pool? It'll be like old times." I tried to put him off, but to no avail. I had known Mike since I was a kid and I just couldn't bring myself to turn him down, much as I was worried about going out. I agreed to go with him and asked that he ring on Monday, just to confirm. I put on my long waxed riding coat and headed out to the shops. Trisha had badgered me to spend some of the money I had saved on a car, but I decided against that until I felt that I could afford a decent one and the upkeep that went with it. In truth, I put the dream ahead of what I considered to be a luxury item. It guaranteed exercise anyway, although it was not at all pleasant in the rain. I arrived at the supermarket and wandered round with a trolley. I didn't think I had too much to buy, but as I passed shelves, I ended up pulling something off nearly each and every one of them. I was about to go to the check-out, when I bumped into Trisha. "Hi Trish," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "Hi Paul. You've lost weight," she replied with about the same amount of enthusiasm. I ignored the weight observation. "How're you doing?" I asked. "You know," she said depreciatingly with a shrug of the shoulders. I almost felt like pointing out that there would be no need to ask if I already knew, but restrained myself. "Yeah," I said instead. "Me too." The last bit seemed appropriate somehow. "What you up to?" I asked. "Just work mainly," she said. "You?" "Nothing much," I answered. "Mainly reading." "Oh, anything good?" "Some of it. Free internet fiction basically. Some of it's good, some not so. I suppose that's the thing with freebies." We stood face to face for a few moments, neither of us saying anything. "You really do need to come and get the rest of your stuff you know," I said, taking the opportunity to pass the message directly in case that bitch of a mother of hers, had decided not to tell her. "Yeah, mum told me you'd called." So she had been told. That upset me more than perhaps it should, but that was Trisha. She didn't think it was important, so it wasn't. It was to me however. "I wouldn't mind, but I don't think it's good it being there, I mean you left and really, it still feels as if in some ways you're still there," I said, trying to be as reasonable about it as I could. "I'll try and do something about it soon," she assured. "You didn't mean what you said about throwing it out did you?" She was using that "bat- the-eye-lashes-and-he'll-do-whatever-I-want" thing, but this time I wasn't going to fall for it. "I might have to. It can't stay there indefinitely." "That's cruel. I thought we were friends." "I thought so too, but you left me, remember?" I responded, perhaps a little more tersely than I'd intended. I felt that okay, it was harsh, but we were no longer an item and therefore, her expectations of me continuing to do things for her, had to stop. She didn't look too pleased with that remark. "We were friends until one of us decided that the other wasn't fun anymore and what's more, 'friends' don't walk out and not return other friend's phone calls, while still expecting them to help them out." "It's not like that, Paul." "Oh? So what is it like?" She was definitely upset with my interpretation of the situation, I could see her redden. She didn't answer anyway. "That's what I thought," I said with more than a trace of sarcasm. The look she returned this time was particularly venomous. There didn't seem any more to say and I left her there, paid for my shopping and struggled home with four heavily packed shopping bags, wondering with each step, how long it would be before the handles snapped. I got to the front door having successfully negotiated the difficult and busy roads without breaking anything other than out in a sweat. I put the shopping away and had a coffee before I went back upstairs to the computer and the rest of the day passed quite uneventfully. The next day I awoke feeling groggy and generally bad-tempered. I don't think I slept particularly well and I was feeling at odds with everything and everyone. Looking over at the wardrobe, Trisha was top of that list. I went and got breakfast or rather coffee, to be more precise before going through the morning ritual of scanning hundreds of vacancies in search of that one for me. Needle in a haystack, I thought. On the way back to the computer, I looked in the bedroom and the wardrobe door stood open. I went to shut it and my anger from the shop the day before resurfaced. I could see loads of clothes inside and most of them weren't mine. I saw red. In the supermarket, I had no choice but to tell Trisha that I wanted her stuff out. I wanted to move on and her stuff being right under my nose all the time was making that damned near impossible. I was angry too, for what I thought was her unreasonable attitude. She had made no effort to straighten things out and I was fast losing what little respect I had for her. I started removing the clothes and almost threw them in a pile on the bed. Soon I had emptied the entire cupboard of her clothes and put them in two piles in the spare room. Next I went downstairs and grabbed a bin-liner, went back to the bedroom and emptied the old shoes, boots and trainers into the bag, which I put alongside the two piles of clothes in the spare room. Finally, I opened drawers in the chest and started on the underwear, t- shirts and other undergarments, which I added to the two piles that were sat in the spare room. I was pretty satisfied with my work and drank the coffee sat at the computer as it booted up. I fired up explorer and downloaded any emails I may have had, hoping that one might be about I job. Disappointingly, the only mail I ever got was for cut price mortgages from companies that obviously didn't realise that I wasn't a resident of the good ol' US of A (if they were real companies at all), or offers for Viagra at unbeatable prices, fake watches or porn sites. I went to Google and typed in a search string for free TG stories. For once, I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that about the third result was a site I didn't recognise. "Thank goodness for the internet!" I said and clicked on the link. The website loaded quickly and I found a list of stories that it had. In amongst the short list of titles, I saw "A Fresh Start". The synopsis read, "Changed by a magical spell, a man finds himself transformed and embarking upon a fresh start..." "A fresh start eh? Wouldn't we all like one of those? It might be worth a look." I tried not to dwell upon my need for a fresh start, after all, I knew about the reality and there didn't seem to be too much chance of one from where I sat. I wasn't sure either about the subject matter, since many of the stories I had read with regards to magical transformations, had described wizards dishing them out indiscriminately and not being particularly bothered about who they did what with and for what reasons. On the other hand though I thought it might be a story like Bikini Beach. They were quite stringent there and the stories tended to be much lighter and more fun; more like stories of self-discovery with a twist. I opened Word and then clicked back to the website, clicking control and 'A' to select all the text on the page. Then I selected control and 'C' to copy it, ending up, clicking Word back to the front and hitting paste. I watched briefly to ensure that the text was copied and then went back to the site. I tried some of the other stories, but for some reason, it had stopped responding and all I got was the 'Error 404' message. This wasn't unusual and I closed the connection. "Oh well," I thought. "At least I got this one." I went and made some more tea and a slice of bread and something purporting to be edible for a real breakfast, after all, I had worked up quite an appetite when I had my removals hat on. I returned, fully ready to be fed, watered and read. I moved the mouse, dismissed the screensaver and started on the story. I have no idea how long that lasted. All I know was that I was still holding the slice of bread - now dog-eared and hard as nails - and the tea was cold with a thick skin on top. I frowned as I looked at the clock in the corner of the screen. Probably, near two hours had passed and although the status bar at the bottom of Word was reading Page1, I had no idea what if anything I had read. I decided to take a gulp of the now cold tea and grimaced. I started from the top again and the next thing I knew, it was dark outside; the only light in the room was from the monitor. It was ten- thirty and this time, over eight hours had passed. My bum was numb from sitting for so long in my lumpy old chair and my joints all felt like they had been glued together. My back complained loudly as I tried to stand and my head was pounding. As if that wasn't enough, even having just spent best part of ten hours out for the count, I was completely knackered. It wasn't only the physical discomfort I was suffering after having sat for so long in one position, I felt strange, odd; certainly not myself. Perhaps it was just the impromptu naps. I had no idea what had happened either time and went back downstairs for a fresh cup of tea. My mind was racing and something in the back of it was telling me to go finish the story. "Finish it?" I thought. I didn't think I had even started it. Both times I had tried I had drifted off and re-emerged to find that hours had passed. What the hell was happening here? I decided that stress was part of it. What with Trisha leaving, not picking up her things and the job situation, I hadn't been sleeping well and today, my body and mind may just have said "enough!" and I had fallen asleep. Oh well, perhaps a little mindless pap on the television and then bed for some proper sleep. The events of that night seemed dreamlike to me when I awoke the following morning. I wasn't sure whether they had been real or imagined. I thought about it some more as I sat to pee in the toilet. It was all so baffling I thought as I wiped, flushed and washed my hands. I slipped on tracksuit trousers and a sweatshirt and trundled off downstairs, hitching the trousers up every other step or so. "Damn these things!" I growled as I got the bottom of the stairs and stopped to retighten the drawstring. "Must have come loose," I muttered and went into the kitchen. I boiled the kettle for the first cup of tea. My mind was being slow this morning and I had no doubt that it was the effects of the night before. I sat in a bit of a mindless haze, staring out of the window into the weed-ridden handkerchief of a garden. As I sipped at the scalding tea, my mind changed the vision to that of rolling hills, stretching out for hundreds of yards in all directions, flanked by woods. The sky was a clear azure blue and two horses stood grazing in the warm morning sunshine. Wild flowers and long grass nodded in the gently blowing breeze and the trees rustled. I could vaguely hear the sound of birds chirruping their calls to mates sitting in nearby nests, signifying their success in finding food. I was back in that dreamland, a fantasy place nestled deep in the countryside somewhere; that place that was just out of reach in reality, but was home to me whenever I wanted it. I shook myself back and weeds and rotting fences returned. I had drunk half of the tea and curiosity about the story had got the better of me. I took the rest of the drink upstairs and fired up the computer, then opened the 'Fresh Start' document. At least I wasn't in an angry mood like I had been the day before. In fact, since I finished the tea, I actually felt quite good - which was nice. "Alright then; third time's the charm," I said to myself and was just about to start reading again just as the door went. This was starting to get annoying. Something was definitely trying to stop me from reading this damn story. Still, I went to the door to scare off whoever was there, after that, I could get back to the plot. I was wrong. The doorstep had someone standing on it I wasn't expecting. "Trisha!" I exclaimed. "What brings you here?" She looked at me in a curious way, which I completely missed. "Hi Paul," she said in a serious tone and I ushered her in, offering her some tea. She followed me to the kitchen and I put on the kettle. "How are you keeping? You're looking well," I enthused. Again, she had that questioning look in her eyes and still, I missed it. "I'm fine. You're looking er, different." That stopped me dead in my tracks. "Different?" "Yeah. Can't put my finger on it, but there's something different about you." "Is that bad?" I asked. "Not at all." "Then I shall take it as a compliment," I replied, smiling. "I must confess. I do feel particularly perky at the moment." "Perky?" she asked. I just giggled and shrugged and went to the kettle to finish making the tea. We sat and chatted about this and that, while I sat on the kitchen chair, one leg curled underneath me. Before long, all the animosity that had coloured my perception of her since the break-up and especially a couple of days before in the shop, seemed to be melting away and at the end of it she said she was actually enjoying herself, but unfortunately, had to go. I told her that she knew where I was and was welcome anytime. Before she went, I hugged her and gave her a peck on the cheek. She returned the favour and that quizzical look once again came over her face. I understood how she must have felt. The last time we had clapped eyes on each other was in the supermarket and it was an uncomfortable moment for both of us. I guess my lively (or should I say perky?) mood must have been somewhat disarming. I grinned to myself. "That'll keep her guessing," I thought, but it never occurred to me at that point that I had practically had a one-eighty degree turnaround about this woman, a fact that ordinarily would have raised suspicions. She had stayed till nearly half-two and with fresh tea in hand I went back up to the spare room and got ready to read the story. There was no way I was going to be disturbed now. At four the following morning, I rose from my computer desk with a really nice wood grain finish embossed into my face. Once again, I had obviously drifted off trying to read the story and once again I had failed. I turned off the computer with a frown, went to the toilet and then straight to bed. Monday morning was a pain. It was the day that most people started work for the week and despite the fact that I was in good spirits and optimistic about the prospects of finding further work, Monday's still depressed me. When I worked, Mondays depressed me because the weekend was over and I was starting a week of work, now they depressed me because I wasn't. Was there any pleasing me? I had woken this time at about nine. I slipped on the tracksuit trousers and t-shirt I had on the day before and went to the kitchen. Once again, I found myself hitching the damned things up all the time and had to tighten the drawstring again. This time though, I noticed that I was actually standing on the hems of the legs and although I hitched them up as far as they would go, they were still on the ground about my heels. I needed some tea and some time before I did my job searching to try and work out what was going on. I was sure it wasn't just me falling asleep, I was pretty sure it was something else. I was having a hard time trying to fathom it. I sat down to wait for the kettle and rolled the bottoms of my trousers up a couple of inches to stop treading on them. There were a number of things going on in my head and while I sipped the tea, I tucked my hair behind my ears and considered things. Firstly, I had now tried four times to read the story and each time I had fallen asleep. Each time I woke afterwards, I felt as tired, if not more than I had before I started and in the last case, I had actually 'slept' for some fourteen hours. If that wasn't enough, I had even gone to bed for another four or so after that. I needed to find that website again and see if there was anything I should have read, before I started reading the story. Perhaps there was some hypnotic 'thing' embedded in the page and that was what was sending me to sleep. I caught a glimpse of my fingers as I got up to go upstairs and noticed that my fingernails needed filing. They'd got longer and needed some shaping and perhaps a little polish. Polish? I ignored that, putting it down to being tired and confused thanks to the current problem with reading the story on top of everything else. I did however notice that my cygnet ring was missing. That was something I wasn't expecting. I had had the ring forever, it was a bequest from my one and only great aunt when she died. I had to wait five years before I could wear it, it being too big, but when I put it on, I immediately refused to remove it and as I had grown, it had become too tight to slip it off my finger anymore. I eventually found it in amongst the bed clothes. I slipped it on and found to my surprise, that it was so loose now that it would slide right off of a straight finger thanks to gravity. It hadn't been like that yesterday. I shook my head in disbelief, Let it drop from my finger into my hand and placed it on the bedside table. I went and performed the obligatory job search, before I searched for the website. Bringing up Google, I typed in what I remembered to be the search string I had used to find the site the other day and hit return. It took me about ten minutes to go through all the results and none of them took me where I wanted to be. I changed the search string to 'A Fresh Start' - the name of the story I was trying to read, but again, though there were fewer results, nothing I found matched what I was looking for. I tried the history icon and went back to the day I found the website. Normally it records every site you visit, but this time, there was nothing. As a last resort, I typed in magical websites and again, nothing. I was at a loss. I had the story, though I couldn't read it for some reason. I copied the text from the web page, so I had to have been somewhere for that to have happened. I opened the file again to try and see if there was anything I could find out... I awoke to the sound of the door at two that afternoon. It was Trisha again. "Hi Paul." "Oh, er, hi Trisha," I answered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Twice in as many days? We went for months without any contact at all and now I have seen her three times in four days. Things were looking up. Once again I invited her in and once again, we chatted about this and that in the kitchen over cups of tea. I thought about telling her that something was happening, but I couldn't. It was so strange even to me; I couldn't see her understanding any more than I did. I sat curled up on the chair again and flicked the hair out of my eyes as she looked at me, that strange expression on her face. "What?" I asked. She blushed. "I don't know. You're different." "I know. You said that yesterday." "Have you done something with your hair?" "Not particularly. I'm still using the same stuff we were using before you left. I suppose it might be slightly longer over the months you've been gone, but not much." "Actually, it's much longer. Stand up a minute." I stood up and she pulled the curls straight down my back and didn't stop until she reached my bum. "There!" she said triumphantly. "There, where?" I asked. "It's right down to your bum." I could only shrug. "I guess," I responded, not knowing what else to say. Her hand lingered on the top of my butt and I wondered what I should do. I missed Trisha but the parting changed things between us and I couldn't understand why. I spent so much time thinking about what to do that I lost the opportunity to do anything. When it came time for her to go, I walked her to the door. She turned on the step and reached out her hand and touched my face. "Hmm, soft," she said in a dreamy kind of way. "You must have shaved this morning." "Er, no. In fact I haven't shaved since Thursday." "Bullshit! Even you would have had to shave by now." She was right. I had never had much in the way of hair growth on my face and when I was at school, I really wanted to grow a beard. I looked forward to the time that I would be able to, but it never happened. Even at the ripe old age of thirty-two, I only shave once a week and then what I have to take off is less than most men grow before lunch! Again, what could I do but shrug? We gave each other a customary peck on the cheek then she left. Firstly, there was no way that my hair could have grown as much as she said in the three months we had been parted and secondly, why hadn't I needed a shave? "It's that damned story! It must be!" I exclaimed and ran up the stairs to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, there were subtle changes that seemed to have taken place. There were no whiskers and my hair seemed much longer, lustrous and silky than it usually did. My face seemed the same, but then it didn't at the same time. "Same but different," I said to myself, as if to emphasise the fact. I wondered what else had 'changed', although that thought came out somewhat guardedly, as I wasn't sure that anything really HAD changed. I removed all my clothes to give myself the complete once-over. An odd thing I noticed as I stood in front of the mirror was the fact that I seemed to be shorter than before. There were marks on the mirror that used to line up with my eyebrows and now I had to look up slightly to see them (the marks, not my eyebrows!). "Nah!" I shrugged. "Can't be." I was also developing in the chest area. I couldn't just shrug this off as 'man boobs'. I had lost those over the first couple of months after the break up, but I wasn't sure that paranoia wasn't what had grown. I noticed too that the hairs on my legs were now very much finer and that was also true of those on my arms. As for the hair on my chest and torso, well, that was just not there at all, though like my face, this area was another that seemed to refuse to become particularly hirsute. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I could have sworn that my Willy was smaller too. I gave it a bit of a rub and nothing happened. Not that that's particularly unusual, if it doesn't want to play, it doesn't want to play. I was feeling pretty stressed at the thought that changes were happening to my body, so my mind wasn't really on the subject of self- gratification. The odd thing was, my mind hadn't touched that subject for a couple of days and as embarrassing as it may be, I'm not the sort of person who can go that long without a bit of a stiffy at least. What was happening to me? One good thing to come out of all of this was the fact that I still looked a bit wide in the hips, but other than that, I was looking much more toned? I'm not actually sure that 'toned' is the correct word to use, but I couldn't think of another that would fit and not cause me to have a nervous breakdown. I would prefer to think that it was as a result of eating virtually nothing and being constantly stressed out. The phone rang and dragged me back into a reality that I could handle. "Hi Mike," I answered. "Have you got a cold or something? Your voice sounds different." Sounding different as well as looking different? What was going on here? "Dunno mate, maybe. I hadn't noticed." "Well, anyway. You still on for tonight?" "Pool?" "That's the one." "No worries. I'll be there." We said our goodbyes and rang off. I ran back upstairs to the mirror. I was very critical of the reflection this time and considered what I had originally thought. I passed it off as plain old paranoia. "Dipstick!" I said and went back into the bedroom to get dressed. I picked out a check shirt from the wardrobe and pulled it on. It seemed a little big, but I ignored that. I couldn't however ignore the fact that my trousers were way too big round the waist and far too long. "No way!" I exclaimed. I pulled out another pair with similar results. In the end I was down to my last pair of jeans that were frankly too small for me two years ago, but I had never got around to throwing out. I laid back on the bed, put my feet into the legs and hauled them up. They were a bit tight round the arse, but the waist even on these was fairly loose. I stood up and went back into the bathroom. I was pleasantly surprised by the overall look. With the shirt on the outside, I certainly looked quite slim and fit. My shoes though, were another story. I needed three pairs of fairly substantial socks to make my shoes feel like they fitted and still my feet moved around in them. I sat on the bed, dumbfounded by what was happening to me. I seemed to be shrinking. I picked up my ring from the table and shoved it into my pocket. Right now, it seemed like the only part of me that wasn't changing and somehow, even holding it made me feel like me. I slopped around in the shoes for a while, before coming to the conclusion that there was no way I could wear them for the evening, I'd look ridiculous, never mind the blisters that were sure to come. I put my coat on and had yet another shock. The sleeves were now down past my knuckles and although the coat was long, reaching originally down to mid-calf, it now nearly reached my ankles. I didn't have time to really think about this, so I rolled the sleeves up a couple of turns and headed off to town for some new footwear. The woman who came to serve me asked if I needed help and I was unsure of how to put the fact that I didn't know what size shoes I needed. "Well miss. We can measure." For a few seconds, I wondered who she was talking to. Then it hit me. I went a deep beetroot colour and had to point out that actually, I was a man. Then it was her turn to change colour! I got more confused looks as I removed my shoes and the half-dozen socks that were doing their level best to fill in the gaps between my feet and the leather. "They're a bit big," I said blushing. One of her eyebrows shot up. She measured one foot, but not with one of those fancy jobs that gets the width too, just a simple one to get the length. She gave me a sock so that I could try on some trainers and though I tried many, they all seemed far too wide. "Your feet seem awfully narrow. I know it may sound a little strange, but perhaps you ought to try some of the ladies trainers. They're normally made on the narrow side compared to the men's. I'm sure we'll be able to find some to fit." She disappeared for a few moments and returned with a pair of white tennis style trainers with a black motif. "Try these." Bless her. They fitted a treat and I was so grateful. I smiled at her and she beamed back. We walked across to the counter, me sporting my new fitting shoes without socks and carrying my original socks and old Kickers plus the box that the trainers came in. "Tell me," she said very quietly. "How long have you been going through the change?" "Change?" I asked, a little shocked at the question, I mean, did she know? She whispered to me very close and in an almost conspirational manner. "I have a nephew who is going through the 'change' at the moment. I must say though, you are a lot more convincing than he is." "Convincing?" "Some men still look like men no matter what they do. If they look feminine, they're referred to as convincing," she said in that 'knowing' manner. "My. That all sounds really complicated." "It is. It's called counter culture." "So how have you managed to learn so much?" "My nephew, Donny, the poor dear, calls him, er, herself Cindy now. His mother and father have more or less thrown him out on account of his change. More worried about what the neighbours might think. To cut a long story short, he spends most of his time with me. I think it's fascinating. He seems a lot happier now." "I see." "I think it's sad that some of the nicest people can get dealt such bad hands in life." "Ain't that the truth?" I said. "Well, much as I'd love to stop and chat, I must get on. Did you want anything else?" "Er, no thank you. I'll just leave it at these today." "Shall I put them in a bag for you?" "No thank you. These don't fit anymore," I said, pointing a toe at my Kickers. "I think I'd prefer to keep these on, but if I could have a bag to put the old ones in please?" "Right you are then," she said and handed me a bag. I passed her my credit card and set about stuffing my old shoes and socks into the carrier. She looked at my card and leant across the counter. "You need to get the name changed on these my dear. Not everyone will be as well versed with 'that side of things' as I am. It might cause you some trouble." "Thank you. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to try and trick you or anything." "I know dear. You really do make a lovely girl though. I can see why you 'changed'." I smiled a genuine smile. I knew these things were happening, but never before had I heard of a change coming about in such a short space of time. Then again, if I was right about the story being the reason, I hadn't heard of that either, well, not in real life anyway. It occurred to me that I really ought to buy some socks too, since the ones I had meant that the heel was somewhere around my ankles and felt strange. I stopped off in one of the cut-priced shops and looked at their selection. I scanned past those that had pink hoops or little bunnies on, but now I knew what size I needed to buy, I found a pack of five pairs that were pretty non-descript. I left the shop, bags in hand and thrust my hand into my pocket, my finger tips coming into contact with the gold cygnet ring. Across the road, was a jeweller's with 'SALE' signs in all the windows and an idea occurred to me. I went to the window and looked at the necklaces. I knew now that I was likely attract unwelcome attention if I used any of my credit or debit cards and walked the few yards up the street to a hole in the wall. It was a good idea anyway, since I would definitely need money tonight with Mike. I went back to the jewellers and made some enquiries about a gold necklace. The assistant, a balding, portly man, went to the window and retrieved a couple of the pads to show me. "I only want a short one, but I don't want one that's too thin or cheap looking either," I stated. "Certainly miss. What about this one?" It wasn't chunky, but also not one of those real thin cheap things and I blanched slightly at the price. I thought I'd be in for about twenty quid, but this was nearly a hundred, even in the sale. I asked him to put it through the ring before he placed it round my neck. I looked in the mirror and it was perfect, I guess that them both being eighteen karat helped. I was happy to pay the money as it was a quality piece. I was informed that its usual price was nearly twice what I paid for it and decided that I'd got a real bargain, so I was happier still. "Shall I wrap it for you?" "No thanks. I'll wear it," I said and left the shop. I got back to the house and sat down in the kitchen with a thud. I really was changing. Worse, I had changed sufficiently to be thought of as a girl and not a boy - twice. Not only that, but I found myself doing things I would only expect of a woman or a girl and sometimes unconsciously. The ring on the chain for instance was one such example. I loved how it looked and yet it was something I would have associated with girls rather than boys. What was I going to do? I felt like I was losing myself to whatever this change was and I could feel emotion welling up inside me, making me feel like I was losing control. A feeling I could hold back no longer. This was bizarre. I cried and cried and after ten minutes of sobbing, the floodgates closed and I started to feel a little more like a human and not a rain factory. My eyes were sore and my head hurt. I couldn't believe what I had just done, especially since I could find no real reason for it. I don't do that or rather I didn't before all this started. I watched a little TV before getting ready to meet Mike, which was another thing I hadn't thought of. I'd thought about it, but I hadn't taken any of what was happening into account before I agreed to go to the pub that evening. I had taken it for granted that everything was everything and that was that. It was now clear that everything wasn't everything and that wasn't that. Nothing was clear and clearly I had changed more even since the morning. I was more nervous now than I had ever been in my life. True I had been out into the wide world and survived unscathed, but I had only interacted with people who didn't know me, didn't know what or who I was before. Mike on the other hand was a different proposition. Mike knew me well and I was afraid of what he'd think. I was at the pub at the appointed time and I sat on a stool against the bar and crossed my legs at the ankle. As usual, Mike was about fifteen minutes late. I was about to leave, but when I saw him in the mirror coming in through the heavy wooden doors, my heart started racing. I was so pleased he had made it and my first reaction was to run up to him and throw my arms round his neck. Thankfully, I managed to suppress that urge. He looked around the bars and past me three times before I thought about giving him a nudge in the right direction. It would seem that although I recognised myself when I looked in the mirror, the changes were substantial enough to make it difficult to see the real me - or the 'me' I used to be. I walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hi Mike," I said. "Er, hi. Do I know you?" I could see a whole fleet of emotions run across his serious-looking face, one of which had within it, a spark of recognition. "I hope so," I replied cryptically. "No. I'm sorry. I can't place you." "Have you got a drink?" I asked, knowing full well that he had only just got into the place. "Not yet," he replied, looking at me in that curious way when recognition is just out of reach. "I think we'd better get you one then." I looked at him. "Is it still lager top?" He blinked. "Why, yes. How did you know?" I just smiled and ordered his beer. I paid the barman and passed him his pint. I picked mine up off the bar and asked him if he'd like to sit at a table. Well, it wasn't really a question, more of a suggestion really. He was looking baffled anyway and just followed me to a table in a quieter corner of the bar. "So who are you?" "You haven't seen yet?" I asked. "No. Look, just tell me. I really have no idea." "It's me you idiot. Paul." There was a loud 'thud!' as his jaw hit the table. "No way." I nodded. "Yes way." "No way!" he repeated, looking me up and down. "Sorry, but it's true." "You can't be. For a start, Paul's bigger than you. A lot bigger." "He was." "Beg pardon?" "Look Mike. I know this is going to be difficult to take, but until the day before yesterday, I was that long streak of piss, Paul. Now I'm not." I used the term as it was one used by my uncle when I was younger. I hoped he'd recognise it. "You're shitting me." "I wish I were." Mike took a long draw from his glass and looked up. "Look, I don't know who you are, but this isn't funny." "Tell me about it. I nearly was refused with my credit card this afternoon because the woman didn't believe I was who I said I was." Now I know that wasn't strictly true, but it got his attention. "And who's that?" he asked. "Paul. Paul Hammond." "You're serious aren't you?" "Never more so, Mike." Mike sat in silence for a while and I didn't know whether to fill in the gaps or just sit there looking dumb. I opted for the latter, as I didn't know what else I could say to him that would make things any easier to understand and besides, looking dumb was a lot easier. "Do you want a game of pool or what then?" I asked. I had had enough of just sitting there looking at an almost desolate bar room or Mike with that silly look of incomprehension on his face. "I came out here to have a good time." Mike looked up, but what I saw was a troubled man. "I can't deal with this. I'm sorry Paul or whoever the fuck you are, but I'm finding this story a bit hard to believe. Why couldn't you just tell me you're having a sex change? I might have found that easier to swallow." "Believe me Mike. If that was what I'd done, I would have said so, but I that's not the case. I had no intention of doing anything of the sort. I just woke up the other morning and it had started. Anyway, taking hormones doesn't make you shrink and I am about six to eight inches shorter than I used to be. My hands and fingers have reduced in size and I went from a size eleven or twelve man's shoe to an eight in women's." I took a last swig of my pint and put the glass back on the coaster. "If that's not bad enough, I don't know whether I have finished growing bits here and losing other bits there. I have found that due to my physical change, I will no longer be able to use my credit or debit cards and I have no chance of getting another job, because no-one will believe that I am who I say I am. All the legal shit is under Paul Hammond. Now tell me Mike, how much like a Paul Hammond do I look?" He sat in silence, my words hitting him like verbal hammer blows. "Your disbelief is just what I have expected of everyone. I don't quite believe it myself, but here I am. I went into two shops today and both of the assistants called me miss. I came in here this evening and the barman thinks I'm a girl. Granted, all of them seem to think I'm younger than I really am and I suppose that's a bonus, but I don't know how this happened and I really didn't want it. I have been having panic attacks all day because of meeting you, my oldest friend and presenting myself to you like this." I was very near to blubbing. Tears were rolling down my face and I was powerless to stop them. Mike handed me a tissue from his pocket. "Do you have any idea how this could have happened?" "I do, but it's even more absurd than what is actually happening." "I don't get it," he said. "Neither do I." I didn't either. The more I told myself I was me, the less I believed it. Every time I saw myself in a window or a mirror, it seemed as though the transformation had gone a bit further and the less I saw Paul, the image I had grown up with, learned from and got used to. "I guess I can't call you now Paul, can I?" "I s'pose not." I sniffed, still blotting a few vagrant tears. "What then?" "I don't bloody know! I only started this two days ago. I never really had the chance to think about it." "Doris?" "What?" "What about Doris?" "Are you taking the piss?" "Well, Paul's out. I just thought I'd try something else." "Not Doris; makes me sound like my aunt." "Edna? What about Ethel?" "Fuck off!" "Just a thought." I was beginning to see the old Mike again. "Sharon? Tracy?" "Do I get white stilettos for those?" "Perhaps not," he said. I think he must have gone through just about every damned girls name in the book and each one sounded daft. I mean, I'd been a boy for thirty-odd years and now all of a sudden, I was having to choose my name again. This time in female. "Er, what about Danielle?" he said at last. I thought about it for a few moments. I liked that. It had a ring to it and it was far away from Paul. I didn't feel much like Paul now and while Paula would probably have been the simplest choice, I'm glad it never came up. It was too similar and people may have expected Paula to be like Paul. So far, I didn't think that was possible. "I dunno, maybe. It seems to fit." "Okie-dokie, Danielle it is!" he said clapping his hands together and getting up. "Now what about that game of pool - Danielle?" We stayed in the pub until closing time, playing pool and reminiscing. He beat me fair and square, but then he always did. "Your pool playing hasn't improved." "Your sense of humour hasn't either," I countered. "Listen Danielle. I'm sorry I doubted you. No-one but Paul could have known half the stuff we've been talking about tonight. I believe you are who you say you are." "Don't. You'll make me go all blubby again." "Blubby?" I giggled. "Sorry, tearful. I forget myself sometimes." "You know, it's hard to imagine you as Paul. I really hope you manage to get this all sorted out." "So do I, but I could have been changed into an old trout with a face like a bag of spanners." "Have you seen yourself lately?" he quipped and quickly sidestepped my slap. "Bastard!" "It's been fun. I'd better go." "Yeah. Don't leave it so long next time." I watched him walk down the road a ways and get into his car. He could be a right royal pain in the arse that one, but he was kind and he didn't blast me out like I thought he might. I know it must have been hard to take, but I didn't expect him to be quite so calm about it. I wandered back home and sighed as I walked up to the front door. Coffee was my first thought and I made it strong. I had had a few beers and was a bit wobbly and thought it best to straighten up a bit at least before going to bed. I had no sooner ground the coffee, when there was a knock at the door. "Mike. When I said not to leave it so long, I had considered a few days, weeks even, but this is really taking your obligation a bit far." "Fuck off!" "Sorry. Did you want coffee?" "I thought you'd never ask." I led him through to the kitchen. "What's made you come back tonight then?" "I can't seem to get the image of you out of my head." "That's not nice. Do you want an aspirin?" "It's not funny." I handed him some coffee and we sat for a while. Every now and again, I had to tell him that my eyes were further up and he'd graciously blush and either look away or look at my eyes. "I can't see that being here is a good way to get my image out of your head." "No, you're right. I had better go. Lisa will be starting to worry." "Lisa?" "My woman." "My goodness!" I said. "The great Mike Jones getting tied to one woman." "Not exactly." He started to move closer. At first I didn't notice his motives, but they became apparent all too soon. "We've been together for a couple of years now, but it's starting to get a bit sour." All the time he was edging closer and wound up with his hand on my knee. "You know what I mean?" he asked. I didn't know what to do, I mean, here was a guy I had known since the year dot and if wasn't much mistaken, he was making a pass at me. True it was a bit ham-fisted, but it was definitely a pass. He continued to tell me how his job was driving a wedge between him and Lisa and to my horror, his hand started the journey up my inner thigh, then back to the knee. "It's becoming that bad, that I don't even want to go home most nights." Here it comes I thought. The 'my wife/girlfriend (delete as appropriate) doesn't understand me' ploy. "Could I stay here?" "We do have a spare room or there's the couch." "I didn't think we'd need those," he said then, wallop! There it was. His hand strayed further up my leg and he actually started rubbing my crotch. I nearly died on the spot! "Oy, oy, oy!" I exclaimed and slid off the chair to the side to escape his attentions. "What?" "What do you mean what?" I asked. I was completely gobsmacked by having him touch me at all, let alone there. "I saw you looking at me in the pub. That 'come-on' expression. I thought that's what you wanted." "It most certainly isn't," I snapped. He got up and came towards me. "Oh come on. You know you want it," he said and took my arm. "No Mike." I struggled, but even though he was smaller than me as a bloke, he had always possessed greater strength. Now, I was even smaller than him and my strength seemed even less. My struggles got me nowhere. If anything, they only made him tighten his grip still further, hurting me. "Let me go!" I cried. He pulled me to him and with his free hand, he grabbed my hair, holding my head firmly where it was and kissed me. "Mmmmph!" I tried to tell him to get off, but his lips were tightly glued to mine and I could feel that he was trying to force his tongue into my mouth. He pulled away and the kind face I had seen earlier in the evening had been replaced by one that freaked me out. He looked like he was crazed. "Don't be like that. The more you struggle, the harder it's going to be." I relaxed slightly, trying to keep my presence of mind, searching for something that I could do to stop this predator getting exactly what he wanted. He pulled my hair hard and forced me to my knees. "Open them." he commanded. I knew what he meant and while he held me in place, I pulled down the zip of his trousers. "Hmmm. Don't stop there." I fished about and freed his dick. "Go on then, bitch. Suck it." I was nearly sick. I could see this thing throbbing and twitching in front of my nose, smelling of piss and all I wanted to do was vomit. I didn't move, knelt there on the floor in front of him, I just wished that the ground would open up and swallow me whole - just what he was hoping I would do with him. "DO IT!" he shouted and hoping that this would all end, I forced myself to let this hideous 'thing' into my mouth. I was starting to zone out, trying to pretend that I was somewhere else, doing something, anything else and not performing oral sex on someone I thought to be my best and longest friend. Boy what an evening this had turned out to be. "Deeper!" he growled, his breath shortening and he pulled me towards him by my hair, thrusting forwards at the same time with his hips and his member lurched forward in my mouth, only to hit me on the back of my throat, my nose deep into the pubic hair surrounding it. I gagged and I heard him snigger. "That's it, bitch. All the way." I was trying my best to hold back the tears, deal with the fear and his tool all at once and something in me snapped. I managed somehow to pull back slightly until just the tip was in my mouth and bit. I bit hard, as hard as I could and while he yelled in pain, he instinctively pulled away, dropping the handful of my hair and dropping to his knees, both his hands now clasped protectively around his privates. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and noticed the red in amongst my own saliva. Christ, I had drawn blood! "You fucking whore. What have you done?" His voice wasn't questioning, more of a rage response and he got back to his feet. I tried hard to get away, sliding and crawling across the vinyl floor of the kitchen, tow