The Stone-Fox Tapes free porn video

[ Note: The scenario with the VCR is borrowed from the estimable Dee Janes. You should go and read those stories too. ] The video player seemed to stare at me like a rectilinear mechanical toad squatting amid the remains of some disaster in an electronics warehouse. The woman tending the stall appeared more than keen that I should buy it, though in truth my interest had waned as soon as I was close enough to discover that it wasn't a U-Matic - a video format from the heroic age of technology - after all. She bore a disturbing resemblance to Cameron Diaz, and, mistaking my disinterest for the non-committal attitude of the canny haggler, began to describe the merits of the device with a strangely masculine attention to technical detail. Eventually, and for reasons that still elude me, I gave in to her bluster and allowed myself to be convinced to buy the beast, along with an armload of other obsolete components in order to retain some measure of shopper's honour. As I emerged into the wintry afternoon sunlight, my reluctant purchases heaped into a shopping trolley borrowed for the purpose, I wondered what the hell I'd got myself into this time. Ostensibly, I'd been on a mission to buy myself some presents because enough people had mentioned that I 'needed some cheering up'. Julia had finally cleared the majority of her worldly goods from our briefly-shared flat the weekend before and had left, as departing girlfriends are wont to do, a series of holes. Mostly where books, CDs, clothes and the like had been, but also a small one somewhere in my centre. The fact that my personal hole wasn't that large was a contributing factor in her departure, it transpired. She had cited an entire range of phrases that could only have been culled from some self-help book or other - emotional autism was my worst crime, I was told. Along with casual cruelty, taking her for granted and not growing as a person. My pointing out that if she were looking for excuses to leave, she could at least have put some original thought into it, and anyway Java didn't code itself and the odd 4AM finish was the reason we'd got to live in such a nice place, were just taken as yet more proof as to my unsuitability as future partner material. Thus I had walked into town, more to shut up the well-meaning than for any particular desire for purchase, and mingled with the shopping throng. When I lifted the device from the trolley, I almost abandoned the thing on the spot, since it was clearly made from Soviet tank bits welded to a surplus road roller chassis. However, the same odd feeling that had driven me to buy the player in the first place compelled me to risk permanent injury as I struggled it up two flights of stairs. Similarly, I was hanged if the thing was going to be allowed to sit and gather dust after all this hassle - it was going to show me moving pictures, or we'd both expire in the attempt. And show me moving pictures it did. Pictures of such remarkable clarity that I had to check that I'd not connected the DVD player to the telly by mistake. At first the scenes on the tape were jumbled and random -as if someone had compiled a sequence of jump-cut channel hops into some attempted-hypnotic whole. As time progressed however, the material settled down into a long montage of scenes featuring Diana Rigg. Now, you can say what you like about old Avengers programmes, but it's all good as far as I'm concerned. Good enough, in fact, that my hand was inside my boxers without apparent conscious thought. As I reached lift- off I half noticed a strong smell of ozone, as if something were considering emitting smoke, but I was past caring by that point, capable only of concentrating on my approaching orgasm and the pictures on the screen. At the instant I came, a blue-white bolt arced from the video and hit me squarely in the chest, knocking me back and unconscious into the depths of the sofa. * * * Daylight kicked me into shape, or at least turned the hangover up to eleven. I wobbled upright off the sofa and kicked my trousers off from where they were hobbling me around my feet. I felt woozy, off-balance and everything ached - as if I'd run a marathon and then spent a night on the ale - but the steamhammer in my head made any mental process over and above getting to the bog before I puked and/or pissed myself hard to deal with. The fact that there was a woman staring back at me from the bathroom mirror lifted the fog somewhat, though it still felt like someone else's problem. I guess I should have panicked, but as anyone with a passing interest in psychedelics will tell you, not only do you get to see Elvis piloting spacecraft or wee chaps surfing the waves breaking on the living-room carpet, you also sometimes get to see deep inside your own head. It wasn't the first time I'd seen a woman there, so I hauled my boxers to my ankles and slumped onto the bog. I'd lurched half upright again before realising that my crotch felt... damp. I peered downwards to discover the neck of my T-shirt gaping somewhat due to the breasts it contained. Beyond that was a vulva framed by a pair of hips that, while not childbearing, were definitely not the sort that would generally belong to a bloke. Oh. Bloody. Hell. I still wasn't in much of a mood to panic, though by rights I should have been curled into a catatonic ball on the bathroom floor, sobbing quietly about lost manhood or some such nonsense. I grabbed a handful of bogroll and gingerly dabbed at my apparent new parts, then kicked the boxers into the corner nearest the laundry bin, where they were swiftly joined by the T-shirt. Since it was going to stop when I came down from whatever-substance-it-was, I wanted a damn good view of what I looked like. Cheekbones, mostly. Shoulder length brown hair surrounding an oval face that did regal and stand-offish about as well as it did evil grin and 'Well, hell-o...', thanks to those cheekbones. Average-sized breasts that were comfortably in proportion to a trim-but-not-hardbodied waist and hips. Height - about the same. I looked... Stunning, stunned and more than a little familiar. But mostly stunning. I stood under the shower for about twenty minutes, trying to wake up, work out if this was real or not and piece together last night's events: Bring home video (Ow! Mind your nipples!), plug video in, watch odd tape (Oh! Oh, I may have been a bloke but even I know what that bit is. Not now though), wake up in a different yet familiar body. There's something missing, though. I absently rubbed a spot between my breasts (My! Breasts!) that seemed more tender than anywhere else, as if I'd be bruised or hit... Ha! A lightning-emitting video player? I would have called that a bloody stupid idea, but that was before I found myself standing in the middle of my own bathroom dripping quietly and wondering if the female pubic area was towelled vigorously, carefully patted or left to dry out of its own accord. 'Bugger it.' I thought, probably plenty of time to worry about that sort of thing later, and wrapped myself in my bathrobe as usual. I wandered. Huge mug of coffee in one hand and bacon sarnie in the other, I moved restlessly from room to room, trying to work out what felt different, what felt the same and what the hell to do next. The oddly loud silence when the heating clicked off and the hint of a chill reminded me that clothing would probably be a good idea. Julia might yet have left something behind, too. I opened the wardrobe doors to be greeted by the clatter of depleted hangers and a half-dozen refuse sacks obscuring the remnants of a footwear collection that would have disturbed Imelda Marcos. Tipping the bags out on the bed revealed a pile of summer dresses and casual tops that no sane person would be seen dead in, underwear in various shades of white or nasty, and a much smaller pile of mostly black things that even someone with my limited fashion sense could approve of. I remembered the day Julia had consigned the boot-cut jeans to the back of the wardrobe, claiming shrinkage and poor quality. Well they looked damn fine on me as I slid on a pair of vaguely-heeled black boots that she'd complained 'made her ankles look fat.' I glanced in the mirror - so far, so topless sixties rock-chick. None of her bras fit worth a damn. The size seemed right, but I overflowed the cups, and the four-breasted look isn't good on anyone. I shrugged mentally and dragged on a plain black baby-t that showed off my waist, among other things, to slightly better effect than I was at comfortable with. Still, no-one to see but me, and I could always find something else to cover myself further. As if for spite, the entry phone buzzed loudly. I picked it up without thinking, and time slowed to a crawl. I couldn't put the thing back down again because whoever-it-was would know I was in, and yet I didn't know what I sounded like. I guess if I sounded like old-me, then that would be some sort of proof that this was the product of Owsley-grade acid and I should just relax and enjoy the ride. If I sounded, well, female, then the world had spun off-axis and I should probably just relax and enjoy that ride too. But do you know what you sound like to other people without recording it first? Of course not. When you do record it, is it anything other than a horrible shock? Of course not. The entry phone handset was still inching toward my head as entire ecosystems of horrible scenarios lived and died. In the end, I gave up and decided to enjoy the ride. "Ah... Hello?" I think I still sounded like me, though with the lower registers missing. "Oh. Er. Hello there." It was Dave, otherwise known as 'Big Dave' - because everyone knows at least one Big Dave - who I'd known for ages. He seemed confused. Since he'd spoken to old-me on this entry phone before, it was looking like my voice had changed. Interesting. "Is, um, Alex about?" This was the tone used by someone who was expecting to speak to an old friend, but who'd been confronted by a mystery voice that was either going to be a previously unknown female (or male) companion or an incompetent burglar. "Um... Not right now." 'Well, not in so many words' I added, under my breath. I wasn't sure if I wanted to deal with people right now or not. I suppose I knew I would have to sooner or later, or the whatever-it- was would wear off, but the likelihood of psychedelics was lessening by the second, were I bright enough to admit it. "Hm. Could I come in and wait? It's parky out." Oh, good one. An excuse to check out the random totty or crap burglar. How could I refuse such combined curiosity and grovelling? Even if the silly sod did live just round the corner... "Oh, sure. Come on up." This was going to be interesting. I had about thirty seconds to find a normal and non-suspicious pose or place to be in. What /was/ 'normal' for this sort of situation anyway? Open the door wearing nothing but a duvet and a 'just shagged senseless' expression? Stalk the place with a set of paint-samples and a look that screamed 'predatory girlfriend'? Hide under the bed? Not answer the entry phone like a damn fool in the first place? In the end I remembered that I'd decided to enjoy the ride and leaned against the door-frame in time to watch Dave puff his way up the final flight of stairs. "Hi. I'm Dave. I'm a friend of Alex's," he said while getting his breath back. "Hello, Dave. I'm, um, Alice. Alex got some message on his phone and had to rush off. He didn't say anything about not letting people in, so if you promise not to steal the stereo we'll probably be ok." Speaking about yourself in the third person is a pretty strange feeling, and not one I liked. Alice? Well, it'll have to do for the time being. "Ha! That old rig? If anyone stole that, they'd soon bring it back for a refund!" Were all his jokes-for-strangers that crap? What in hell was so fascinating about my chest that made him talk to that instead of... Oh. I looked down to discover that the combination of a thin cotton T- shirt and a freezing draught had made my newly enlarged nipples extra obvious. I allowed myself a smirk when Dave looked up to discover that I'd noticed the direction of his gaze. Were straight boys all this obvious? Apparently so. At least he had the good grace to blush and look away. Checking out what might be your best friend's new girlfriend? Busted. I turned to go back indoors. "You'd better come inside - it's too cold to be standing out here, and I think I need a jumper." Dave scuttled in as I held the door open. The least I could do would be to put him to work to make up for his transgression. "Um... Could you make the coffee-machine do its thing? I still don't know where anything is," I lied sweetly. "Oh, yeah. Sure. This place can be a bit of an adventure if you're not used to it." 'You cheeky sod,' I thought as I rummaged through the pile of Julia's clothing for something that wasn't ugly. I gave up and scrambled into one of my own jumpers - a huge knitted thing that would have belonged to a trawlerman in a previous life. With any luck I'd look 'cute' rather than 'sexy' and Dave would remember that he'd been going out with my other best friend, Emma, for ten years. Things felt nearly normal after that. Granted, Dave was continually looking at me as if he knew me from somewhere, but as we sat around the kitchen table and slowly drained large mugs of coffee, it was as if nothing had changed. Even Dave's unfortunate tendency to assume that everyone he talked to was as knowledgeable and interested in the arcana of NT server administration as he was. During a particularly tedious and involved saga about domains, I forgot I was supposed to be a complete stranger. "It does mostly serve you right, you know. Microsoft follow standards in the same way that fish follow migrating caribou. If you'd used a proper OS in the first place you wouldn't have this problem..." Dave's eyes bulged slightly as he tried not to breathe coffee. "Alex. You total bastard." Oh shit. Here we go. "Are those things real? Who did your face? And the hair... I would never have guessed until you said... How did you learn to sound like that? No, wait. Don't explain yet. I'm going to call Emma. She's going to completely freak out when she sees you," he said, jabbing rapidly at his mobile. "'lo Em. Me. You seriously want to whistle round here now and meet the new woman in Alex's life. Yeah. Fair enough. Bye." He stuffed the phone back into his combats and turned to me. "She'll be round as soon as is likely. Dead excited, by the sound of it." I folded my arms on the kitchen table and rested my chin on them in semi-mock despair. "Oh God. Did it cross your mind that I might not be interested in being paraded about like a performing seal at the circus?" I said, peering at him through a curtain of brown hair. "Um. No. That does seem an awful lot of trouble to go to just to meander about in your own flat. From where I'm sitting it's a definite shame not to show it all off." "I'll take that as a compliment." "Good. I mean, those boobs look real to me. They must have cost a mint," Dave charged on, seemingly untroubled by the concepts of good taste. "Well, now that you come to..." I was saved by the sound of the entry phone. "If that's Emma, she must have run the whole way," I said, as I escaped to buzz her in. "Be a sweetie and unlatch the door." I stared at myself in the bedroom mirror again. Sill definitely female. Looking slightly shell-shocked this time, though definitely 'wearing boyfriend's huge jumper' cute. Emma's probably going to hate that. I could hear lowered voices, so I walked back into the kitchen as Dave closed the door behind Emma. For some reason there didn't seem much point in continuing with the Alice charade. "Emma. Hi. I'm sorry Dave's dragged you round here at such short notice," I said. She stared at me briefly, turned to look at Dave with raised eyebrows and then looked at me again. "Alex?" "Yep." "Wow. I totally hate you." I must have looked horror-struck, because she rushed across the kitchen and gathered me into a hug. "Oh, angel, I'm sorry, but you know what I mean," she said, as I peered round her vivid purple mane at a shrugging Dave. "You look utterly stunning and you're a bloke. I'm just envious." That hug felt lovely, but I disentangled myself anyway. "You approve?" I said, cautiously. "Of course I do. Now show me. Bedroom." She almost dragged me off while ordering Dave to brew more coffee. I slumped on the bed as Emma closed the door. I was trying hard to just go with the flow, but increasingly I felt like curling into a ball under the duvet and waiting for all the weird shit to go away. I looked up to discover that she was looking at me in a half-fascinated, half- appraising way. "You look really, really good. I'm not just saying that, you know," she said. "Thanks, but... You know that bit about being a bloke?" I was explaining it to myself as much as anyone else. I'd experienced some pretty full-on trips in the past, but there was no way this was a hallucination any more. Time to try to deal with it. "What? No! How? Show me? Please?" Emma sat down next to me and held my hand. I'd known her for something like ten years, and while she'd always been this tactile, some odd barrier between us has fallen away. "Well, um, ok. But I'm not wearing a bra or anything..." I said, feeling strangely shy. I wouldn't have been keen to show myself off in other circumstances, but this would mean really looking at my new body. I wasn't sure about that. "Oh, come on. If what I think you're saying's true, then you won't have got anything I haven't seen plenty of times before." "That's not it. I..." "Look. I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours, 'k?" I giggled at the childish tone she'd used and nodded. Emma stood and unzipped the blue fleece she was wearing. I was disconcerted to see that she was only wearing a bra underneath. She quickly shrugged that off and her ample bosom wobbled freely as she shimmied her way out of the long black cybery skirt. She sat back down on the bed to pull off the chunky trainers and tights. "Right then. Your turn," she said. I started with the boots. They were quickly joined in a heap on the floor by the jeans, jumper and T-shirt. I stood there in just my (or Julia's) panties and let Emma stare at me open-mouthed. "Bloody hell," she breathed. She glanced at my crotch. "Are you, um, 'all girl'?" "Yeah, as far as I can tell. I was convinced I was off my head this morning, and now I'm a little too freaked out to check..." I tried to fold my arms, but my breasts got in the way a bit and that felt weird, so I let my arms drop to my sides where they brushed my hips and that felt weird too so I just flopped back on the bed with a sigh of exasperation. Emma hugged me and I was surprised to find that my eyes were leaking. We sat there for what seemed ages as Emma gently rubbed my back and made shushing noises while I sobbed quietly. Eventually, I regained some composure. Emma held my shoulders at arm's length and grinned. "You big girl." I stuck my tongue out at her. "Not as big as some." "That's as maybe, but you've still got bigger tits than that ex of yours," said Emma, brushing my hair away from my face. "I found that out for myself earlier. That's why I was doing without a bra." "I wondered where the clothing had come from. If those were her panties, she's got a fat arse and no mistake." "They're not supposed to fit like this then?" I said, pulling the waistband out sideways a few inches. "Not at all. Now turn around - we're going to get you calmed down and then we're going out to get you some clothes that fit. Though you could wear a potato sack and still look gorgeous, you cow." Obediently, I shuffled round on the bed. Emma proceeded to massage all the kinks out of my shoulders. I think I'd started to purr quietly about half-way through that process, but when she produced a brush and started to de tangle my hair, I was in heaven. "Is this a service you extend to all your friends who're taken unexpectedly female?" I said when she'd finished. "No, just the ones I really care about. "You're taking this remarkably well. Some people would have run screaming and left me to it." "Yeah, well, serves you right for going out with her," said Emma, tartly. "I still have no idea what happened, and I guess you'll tell us when you work it out yourself, but in the meantime I'll do what I can to help you deal with all of this. Meanwhile, I want to show you something." She led me to the big mirror on the front of the wardrobe. "What d'you see?" "Um, nude women?" I said. "The one with the purple hair's got great tits." "Thank you. But if you can tear your eyes away from her and notice the slimmer one with the cheekbones, I think you'll see someone who looks very happy indeed. Joyful, even. Now, I don't know how much of that is suppressed hysteria, culture shock or what, but mark this young woman; you seem outwardly happy with your lot. Accept that bijou fact-ette and move on with your life, for we have shopping to do." "Oh goody. A whole new wardrobe?" I said. "Not likely, what d'you think this is? Bad tranny-fic? At minimum you need some underwear, but if there's some good basics to be had we'd better bag those too. Friends don't let friends slob around in Julia's cast-offs." "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think that you didn't like my ex much." "Hush now. We'll talk about that later. We need to get you down to M&S pronto," said Emma as she re-zipped her skirt. * * * There was shopping. Nobody stared, other than the woman in the underwear dept. who eyed me critically, muttered '34C' and then left us to our own devices. We came away with about a week's supply of underwear in various flavours of black, a couple of long skirts and a selection of tops that, according to Emma, could be worn for work and then dressed up for the evening. I wasn't entirely sure how that might become relevant, but let it slide. What I was sure about was that wearing a bra made me feel almost armoured against the rest of the world. That was odd. Dave & Emma's flat was slightly nearer town than my own, so she asked if I'd be ok on my own while delving through her bag for the door keys under a handy street lamp. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Um, would you guys like to come over for food later on? You've both been wonderful," I said. "Of course, sweetie. We'd be delighted. Half-seven ok? Oh, should we bring booze?" "If you would. I'm going to have to pick up some bits from the mini- mart anyway, but the sort of wine they keep is probably best avoided." "True that. Later, then." She leaned over to give me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. I must have looked slightly confused, because she grinned and said, "Girl thing. Better get used to it." Our local shop is run by an extended family who all seem to take turns in minding the place. This evening, the mother of the teenagers who could be seen shifting stock in the back of the place was on duty. She looked at me oddly when I walked in, and I wondered if I'd committed some clothing faux-pas by wearing my old leather jacket. Granted, I couldn't zip it up anymore without it looking odd, but it was warm and the only thing I owned with enough storage to make up for the impossibility of getting anything in the pockets of the jeans I'd 'liberated' from Julia. I dumped my usual set of purchases on the counter and started to dig out my wallet. "Hello," she said, "are you staying with Alex round the corner?" "Um, yeah. More or less." I guess if you saw a strange woman wearing a distinctive jacket usually seen on one of your regular customers, you'd ask too. "Oh that's good. It was a shame to see him on his own. You'll be good for him." "Ah, thanks." I took the carrier she handed me and turned to go. "Tell Alex I said hello, ok?" "Sure. Um, bye." * * * I mentioned this episode to Emma and Dave as I refilled their glasses after we'd demolished the pasta I'd created. One of the other things that had annoyed Julia was my ability to knock together interesting meals from uninspiring combinations of ingredients. "You did troll about looking glum and unapproachable most of the time," said Dave. "I did?" I was, well, shocked would be putting it too strongly, but... "Yup. The old Alex certainly gave off an air of being a grumpy bugger. Until you got to know him, of course." The last hurriedly added when he noticed my expression. "Since it's obviously escaped your notice, that old Alex is still in here." I tapped my head for emphasis. "Just because the container's changed, it doesn't mean I'm going to lose my brains and start wittering about knitting and fluffy kittens. At least I hope not. Actually, that would be bad. You have my permission to shoot me if that happens." "Speaking of that container," said Emma, "are you actually going to tell us what the hell happened? Frankly, I'm dying to know." "Well, if you'll follow me and the wine into the sitting-room, I'll have a go at explaining. It's going to be a bit odd, though." "So turning up on your best mate's doorstep to discover he's changed into fit totty overnight is normal? Ow! That hurt, Em." Dave collapsed into a chair and rubbed the shin that Emma had kicked. "And so it should. 'Fit totty' indeed." Emma composed herself in a corner of the sofa, thankfully not the one where I'd woken this morning. "So then, Alex. Tell. We're all ears. Agog, even." I launched into the tale of how an antique-looking video player came to be lurking near the television and why I suspected it played a starring role in my transformation. When I got to the part about the thing playing old Avengers episodes just before zapping me, Dave got this look on his face that was partly road-to-Damascus but mostly road-to- the-off-licence. "What?" I had hips I could put my hands on to great effect now. So I did. Emma smirked. "I bloody knew I'd seen you before!" "Um, yeah. In the pub last weekend." "Well, yes. But not like that. Here, look at this:" He pulled an Avengers DVD from the rack and pointed at the back. "That's you, that is." He was right. I could see myself reflected in the blank television screen looking gormlessly at the picture of Diana Rigg on the DVD case, and there was a lot more than a passing likeness. I sank into the sofa, clutching DVD in one hand and wineglass in the other. Wine seemed like a very good idea right then, so I slurped down the best part of the glass before allowing Emma to pry the DVD case away from me. "I think what Dave the diplomat has failed to mention is that it's obvious to anyone with sense in their head that you're still Alex. How you hold yourself and what you say hasn't changed a bit. You just... Look different." "I look like HER, though. Am I a copy of her? Do I just THINK I'm Alex? Are the things I remember real? This is all a bit too Phil Dick for me to cope with." I slurped more wine and realised that my glass was empty, so started to look around for the bottle. "Who's this Dick bloke she's on about?" Emma stage-whispered. "Science fiction author. 'Total Recall' and 'Blade runner' were both based on his stuff," said Dave. "She?" I muttered. "Bloody hell." Emma took charge. "See now, that's Alex all over. A ten second drunken freak-out and then back to normal. Relatively speaking. You're not some dreadful robot assassin young woman, and if you are I shall slap you silly. Now. There are now two things I wish to learn. First, how in creation did that box do whatever it did? Second, what are you going to do for a name?" "I have no idea how the thing worked. To steal a line from Arthur Clarke 'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic', so whatever's underneath its cover is going to be impossible to fathom. Could be nanotech, could be a black hole in a jar, could be intestines or a crack squad of underpants gnomes. The scariest option is that it's normal electronics in there and this is all happening inside my own head." I held my hand up as Emma started to object. "Yes, I understand that you think this is real, but if this is inside my own head, you're bound to act the way I expect you to." She slapped me. Not hard, but it was enough to shut me up. "I refute that. You are not Bishop Berkeley. You're acting like Alex when he gets drunk and argumentative." "Anyway, moving ever-so-swiftly on," she continued, "have you thought about changing your name, or are you just going to stay as Alex? It is fairly gender-neutral after all." I stared at my booted toes and wiggled them absently. I'd rarely been hit; we're all brought up to believe that thumping people is just bad and it's what the stupid people do. However, somehow Emma had managed to rattle a jumble of thoughts into place. "I'm not sure. There's 'Alexa', but that reminds me of that space-woman off the telly and that's so not me. Alyx-with-a-Y sounds a bit too porn-star... I think Alix-with-an-I might work best. It's me-but-not- me, if you see what I mean?" "Not really, but that wouldn't be the first time," said Dave. "What are you going to do about work?" "I've honestly not had time to think about that. I have no idea at all." "If I might make a suggestion," said Emma, "why not just walk in there and tell them that you're TS and that you're starting your real-life test? Most people know what box that goes in, so they'll just deal with it. They'll put the fact that you look different down to a change of haircut and the addition of make-up, since that's the easy explanation. Hell, all you'll really have to do is wear a low-cut top and most blokes will be too busy staring at your boobs to notice that you look like Dame D. The fact that you won't need to go for surgery is neither here nor there; it's not like you're expected to show off your new bits at any stage. It'll also make the paperwork really easy. The system knows how to deal with people who've changed gender by medical means, there's no point confusing the issue by letting them know the truth. If you did, they'd put you in a cage and prod you with sticks for the rest of your life." I considered it for all of three seconds. "You know, that's a brilliant idea. I love you. Both." "And we love you too, sweetie. Now, we should probably make our excuses and leave, since you'll have a busy day tomorrow." "Um, I'd kind of thought I'd bunk off tomorrow and get in a bit more girl-practice. If you weren't doing anything else, that is..." "Oh, of course. I think we're both working from home tomorrow." Emma looked expectantly at Dave, and he nodded vigorously. "Good. That's sorted then. And with that we shall withdraw and bid you a good evening. Come on our Dave, get that wine down yer neck, like." As soon as Dave and Emma left, I emailed my boss, telling him that I was taking a sick day on the Monday and requesting a meeting with him and our HR person the day after. The sparseness of the message would probably put the wind up him, but sod it; he'd probably be relieved that I wasn't leaving or lodging a grievance, so turning up in a skirt would hopefully seem tame by comparison. As a university department, they'd be falling over themselves to be seen to be inclusive, tolerant and diversity-aware anyway. Now that Emma had defused that particular mental land-mine, that bit felt easy. There were going to be a whole load of other things to think about and deal with over time, but right now I was feeling tired and tipsy and it was time to crawl into bed. I dumped Julia's abandoned ugly clothing back inside the wardrobe. As I closed the door, I caught a view of myself from an angle in the mirror. I didn't immediately recognise the woman standing there and almost looked round to see who the stranger in the room was. That was a very odd feeling indeed. I guessed that people who have had plastic surgery may feel the same way and made a shrugging 'What the hell' face at her. She looked effortlessly gorgeous doing it and I spent a good while studying myself from various angles. For better or worse, this was likely to be the way my body looked for a good long time, so I'd better get used to seeing it. After a while, I undressed, piling my clothes in a careless heap. This was the first time I had felt able to study myself properly; the couple of glasses of wine probably helped. However, as I was removing the capacious Julia-knickers, I glanced up at the mirror to see Emma Peel with her breasts hanging freely and panties around her knees. I'd wrapped one arm over my chest and started to haul my underwear back up before I realised that it was me in the mirror, so it was actually OK to have a bit of a perve. I grinned and arched my eyebrows at my reflection, then hauled the knickers off, wadded them into a ball and lobbed them at the bin in the corner. Unsurprisingly, I missed. My aim disturbed by my wobbling breasts and differently-moving hips. I collapsed back on the bed and propped myself up on my elbows to view my reflection in the mirror again. My breasts squidged out sideways and I peered at the lightly-furred mound between my widened hips. Tipsy or not, I still wasn't sure how much fiddling and prodding my new plumbing would cope with before breaking or falling off. Although as soon as I thought that, more sensible parts of my head reminded me that it was all likely more robust than the anatomy I'd previously been used to and actually wasn't this the ideal opportunity for a test-drive? I shifted position slightly and cupped one hand over my crotch. I could feel labia. And I could also feel fingers on /my/labia. It was freaky as all hell. I glanced up to see myself in a familiar porn-star pose in the mirror, looking uncertain but turned on. Yes. Other parts of my body were getting hard and as I stroked a finger up and down. I realised that my shoulder was becoming uncomfortable and I was probably going to need both hands now. I scooted up the bed and arranged myself on the pillows, one knee pulled up to allow better access. I could feel my labia parting as I moved my knee sideways, and I wiggled that leg back and forth so as to get full value from the sensation. Once I'd got used to that, I began to feel about for my clitoris. Even though I'd been a man for all of my life save the last twenty hours or so, I found it within seconds. I uncurled my toes and resolved to be a lot more gentle with myself. I wished I could properly see what I was doing, but pulling my clit-hood back slowly felt a lot like rolling the foreskin off the head of my penis had, only a great deal more so. I pushed the hood back and forth, one finger each side of my clit, and that felt very nice indeed thank- you. I paused and slid my hand further down out of sight, one finger parting my inner labia, until I found what I assumed was the entrance to my vagina. Next time I was coming equipped with a hand-mirror. I carefully pushed one finger inside myself and once again marvelled at being able to feel it from both sides. I returned to rubbing my clitoris and just lay there for a while, revelling in the sensations. I could feel an orgasm coming, as if from a long way off, but it was hard not to become distracted and have that feeling recede, which was insanely frustrating. I changed hands, brushing a nipple with my upper arm, and cursed myself for being an idiot. I gently stroked that nipple and continued rubbing my clit. This time the onrushing orgasm would not be denied and hit me like a speeding truck. I lay there, eyes unfocussed and breathing heavily while I tried to get my senses back in order. I could seriously get used to that sort of thing. The woman in the mirror was looking very pleased with herself indeed. I made a show of licking my fingers clean and then wriggled underneath the duvet to sleep. * * * I came to the following morning with that post-alcohol feeling of bursting bladder that's common to all the sexes. I scuttled to the toilet, entirely aware of how odd it felt that the freely-bouncing breasts were mine. Attached to me. A couple of hours later I was showered, breakfasted and outfitted in a long skirt and opaque tights. I really liked the way my chunky old jersey looked with the leather jacket, so I girled it up with a long purple scarf from the Julia-pile and toddled round to Dave and Emma's looking every inch the boho art-rock chick, which was entirely appropriate. We sat around for a while, guzzling coffee and inspecting Emma's latest work. She designed clothing for a variety of gothy/fetish shops and web sites, and it was a strangely liberating feeling to be able to look at much of the range with the eyes of a potential wearer, rather than feeling like a bit of a filthy old perve. For her part, Emma seemed really pleased with the way I'd just thrown an outfit together and kept going on about how it 'was really me' and how I'd instantly managed to find my own style, rather than dressing like I was still a bloke or going over-feminine. She was further galvanized when I mentioned that maybe my hair could do with tidying up for my appearance at work the day after. She pounced on her mobile, saying, "I know the very person. You'll totally get on," as she prodded through her phonebook. "Katie? Yeah, hi. Look, I know this is short notice and everything, but have you got a slot left today? It's a friend; she just needs a trim. No, you'll love her to bits. She's a really special person. You do? Oh, you're an angel. Really. Yes, we'll troll over as soon as. Bye!" "You're in luck: Katie's had someone cancel, so if we motor round to her place we can get you dealt with right away." So motor we did. We were met at the door by exactly the sort of woman I found devastatingly attractive. Her hair was long, black and shaved at the sides. A sleeveless T-shirt showed off tribal tattoos encircling both sleekly muscular arms, and a pair of purple combats completed the ensemble. Had I still been male, I would probably have been trying not to stare, but as it was I think I felt a first stab of loss. Emma must have noticed something because she immediately took charge. "Katie, this is Alix. She's got to go and be professional at her manager tomorrow. D'you think you could work your magic? Something low- maintenance that even a man could look after." I glared at Emma and she stuck her tongue out at me. Katie viewed the exchange with some curiosity, but let it pass and guided us into the room where the hairdressing happened. "Sit yourself down and don't worry - I know the ideal look. Emma, be a love and go burn some coffee for all of us?" Katie set to work on my head, and was pretty much finished by the time Emma returned with the coffees in one hand and a small child in tow. "I hope you don't mind, but Jack wanted to come and say hello," she said. Katie looked round. "No, that's fine. Just keep him away from anything sharp or poisonous." "Will do. How old is the little terror anyway?" "He's eight months." Katie took two of the mugs from Emma and handed me one. "Wow. I hadn't realised that much time had gone by. Speaking of poisonous, have you had any joy with his father?" "No, the useless tosser doesn't want to know," Katie said bitterly. "He'll cough up the maintenance, but doesn't want to be involved otherwise. God, Men. I despair. I'd have been in real trouble if I hadn't been able to work from home." Katie was clearly exercised by this and downed tools in order to pay proper attention to both her son and her coffee. "Oh, that doesn't remind me but anyway," she went on. "I've got that fake hair you wanted in the back room. Um, Alix, could I get you to keep an eye on Jack for a couple of minutes?" Emma was smirking again. Honestly, that woman was remarkable. "Um. Sure. No problem." "Oh, super. You're a lifesaver," said Katie, plonking the child in my lap. We stared at each other for a bit. I wasn't too hot with any offspring below the age of about seventeen, but in a spirit of either desperation or experimentation, I began to recite Edward Lear's 'The Pobble who had no toes' because my mother had done the same when I was that age. Jack seemed entranced. I had no idea how long Emma and Katie had been watching me, but when I came to the end of the poem, I looked up to see them both grinning like idiots from the doorway. "I told you she'd be a natural," said Emma, smugly. "I'm impressed. You're the first person to entertain him with poetry," said Katie. "And to think she used to be a man..." I could have killed Emma when she said that. I mean, it's not like it was going to be a secret, but it was my not-secret to tell. "No, really? That's so cool!" Katie's reaction was rather unexpected. She retrieved Jack, dragged a stool over and sat opposite me, holding my hand. "I knew Emma was bursting to tell me something, but I had no idea. If there's anything you need or I can help you with?" "Thank you. I'll take you up on that. Emma's being wonderful at the moment, but I can't lean on her forever..." "Of course. Um... If you don't mind my asking, when was your surgery? It's really hard to believe that you weren't born like this." "You know, that's a bit of a long story. Do you have half an hour?" * * * "So you're that Alex? The one that went out with that Julia woman?" said Katie. "The very same." "Wow. Really. I love the new you." She waved a hand to indicate my entirety. "Thanks. Though it's taking some getting used to not being the old me." "Yeah, I guess. Sorry for asking so many questions, it's just that you're so... Natural." "I'll take that as a good thing," I said. In truth, I felt entirely un- natural. "Good. Hey, you know that your ex has been going to 'Sanctuary' a lot recently?" "Has she by God, the two-faced bitch," said Emma. I was really going to have to ask her what Julia had done... Oh, sod it... "Two questions: One - what's a Sanctuary when it's at home, and two - Emma, please explain why you dislike Julia so much? I'm obviously not going to be angry, but I would like to know." "In reverse order, she's a manipulative cow who didn't like the idea of you having friends she didn't approve of and did her absolute best to make sure you didn't get to mix with them." "Oh hell. So that means..." "Yes. The reason we didn't get to see you for a year was down to that nasty piece of work." "Shit. I'm sorry, Em. I didn't know." "Not your fault she's mad. Move on and be glad she's gone. We all are." Katie took up the explanation. "Sanctuary's a gothy-alternative club night. I guess your ex has been out on the prowl there the last couple of months. At least, that's what I've been hearing from my customers." "Months? But she only left... Oh. Bloody hell." "Oh, Alix. I'm sorry. I didn't know. You're not angry with me?" "No, Katie. Of course not. I'm peeved with myself if anyone, but mostly that - what was it, Em? Oh, yeah - fat-arsed bitch." Emma giggled evilly. "That's the spirit. Hey, you know what, you should totally go to Sanctuary and show the cow up." Katie nodded vigorously. "Completely. You can come with me. It'll be great, please say you will?" The idea was very appealing, but I had the prospect of dealing with work looming over me. "I'm really not sure. It's not like I've got anything suitable to wear..." "Oh, no problem" declared Katie, "we're about the same size and I've got lots of clothes that I've not worn since having Jack." "Right then. That's settled," said Emma with an air of finality. Some bitching and outfit-planning later, Emma and I walked back to my flat. "You know Katie really likes you," she said. "That's good. I've a feeling I'm going to need a lot of friends this weekend." "No, idiot. Not like that. She REALLY likes you." "What? But I thought she..." "Haven't you ever heard of tranny-chasers? No, obviously not. There's no reason why you should. Katie's bi, but she likes her men to be very... Female. You, my girl, are her fantasy made flesh." "Wow. I had no idea." "That much was patently obvious. Just be aware that if she makes a move on you and you end up hurting her, you'll be answering to me, clear?" "Yes mum..." I paused to consider in a nebulous sort of way where I was about to steer the conversation. Ordinarily, I'd just leave it, but things were far from ordinary. "Hold on... That's all a little convenient, isn't it?" Emma stopped and viewed me in a manner usually described as 'speculative'. "Alix, dear. How long have we known each other?" We'd met when Dave and I had decided that since we were into our second year of university, living in halls would be too juvenile. One of the other students on Dave's chemistry course was living in a rambling old house that his father had bought to serve as an 'investment' by letting rooms out to other students. His theory was that the place wouldn't get trashed since his dutiful offspring would be on hand to keep order and vet potential letters. As it was, said offspring had learned just enough chemistry to set up a MDMA lab in a lock-up across town and was more interested in swanning about in his BMW than remembering to charge rent and get the gutters looked at. The pair of us couldn't quite believe our luck, so advertised for an extra tenant just in case we needed to make up the shortfall in the rent. We were sitting behind a table filled with empty pint glasses in the darkest corner of the student union bar when Emma hove into view. In a purple mohawk, biker jacket and DMs, she cut a horrified swathe through the crowd of rugger buggers and Benneton babes. "I think I'm in love," I said. Dave gurgled into his lager. Emma loomed over us. "Don't tell me you two jokers are advertising the room for rent..." Dave recovered the power of speech first. "Ah, yeah. That's us. We're harmless, honestly." "That much is obvious, since you're either chemists or IT spods." She went on in a similarly dry manner. "So, what's the catch, other than secret cameras in the shower or thirty of your horrible chums turning up for Tuesday night D&D sessions?" I spluttered. "Christ. Even we wouldn't stoop that low. You'll want those guys over there with the Marillion badges and junior real-ale club T-shirts for that sort of thing. The only obvious catch is that the owner of the place might be carted off in the night by the drug squad, but for some people that might lend a certain social cachet." Emma grimaced. "Thankfully I'm not that desperate for street credibility. I'm in though. Be warned that I'll walk at the first sign of a twenty-sided die." I finished my pint in what I hoped was a theatrical manner, but probably just looked alcoholic. "You seem to know an awful lot about the D&D thing for one who professes to hate it." "Half my floor in halls were in thrall to the White Wolf organisation, the other half to Wizards of the Coast. I earned my aversion, laddie. Now, who's round is it?" I looked back up at Emma from where I'd been studying the pavement, somewhat lost in thought. "Um... Ten years?" "So," said Emma, brightly. "In that terrible decade, have I ever given you the shaft, pissed on your chips or otherwise given you vague cause not to believe that you're one of my best friends and that I have only a deep and abiding love for you and what I hope to be your best interests in mind at most times?" "Um, well, no. Not as such. It's just that it's all a bit... Convenient?" Once again, Emma was ahead on points and looking to score a conversational knock-out. She stopped walking and studied me. "Look. Dave and I both knew... Well, I did, and when I told Dave so did he, that you'd probably want to spend a couple of weeks doing that blokey-isolationist post relationship thing. The one where you get drunk and listen to old Sisters of Mercy CDs a lot. No, don't look like that. I know you do because I've seen it before. So anyway, believe it or not, we were going to drag you out this next weekend and accidentally-on-purpose introduce you to Katie. I knew you'd get on well, your current situation notwithstanding. You're right in one respect; it is all a bit fortuitous, but were I you, I'd stop asking daft questions and go with the flow. You've got quite enough on your plate as it is." I stood there and considered. Emma was, once again, right. With my life being turned on its head, I should just take the good things handed to me and stop asking damn fool questions. I probably wouldn't like the answers anyway. "That was a girly chat, wasn't it?" "Yes," said Emma, "was it what you expected?" I hugged her fiercely. "In that it was a lot like most advice you've ever given me, only it didn't require me to down half a bottle of vodka before asking, yes." "See? You're getting the idea now you're not testosterone-poisoned. Now, continue walking. It's cold." We walked the rest of the way to Emma & Dave's in a thoughtful yet companionable silence. So far the general shock and terror at my transformation was running at a level zero. Indeed, there was a good chance that it would work in my favour as far as Katie was concerned. However, that was only about a third of the things I had to worry about. The next third was what on earth was going to happen at work tomorrow. Despite Emma's theory that they would only be concerned with being seen to be doing the right thing, I was shit scared. That was, for better or worse, what I called 'real life'. I broached the subject when Emma handed me a welcome mug of coffee back at hers. "I mean, this is about the first time I've ever worried about what to wear to work in the morning. It's like going for the interview all over again." "If I recall that interview correctly, it involved talking to a bearded Java hacker over several pints of real ale in that pub the networks team frequent. Dressing up meant finding a clean Linux T-shirt." "However," she continued, when I started to object, "I take your point, and please don't think I'm making light of the situation when I return to last night's suggestion." "What, show off some cleavage and all will be well? I know I work with Java geeks, but they're not arseholes. Meanwhile, the HR bod is a woman and I don't want her or anyone else to think that I've turned into some pink and fluffy male-imagined parody of a woman overnight." I let out the rest of the breath. "Sorry about that rant." Emma held up both hands. "No, you're quite correct. In fact I hadn't realised that you felt so strongly about the matter. You have surprising depths even after ten years, Alix." "Thanks, though it's not a situation I've had to work out a position on before, so you're forgiven." "Good. Well, in that case I suggest your other long skirt and that wrap top. If you dress too blokey, you're going to look like you cross- dressed for a bet and that you're not comfortable in your newly chosen gender role. Leaving aside for the moment that you didn't actually choose it. On the other hand, if you girl it up too much, say with a short skirt and too much slap and nailie, you're right into parody territory. Besides, it's January; you'll freeze your tits off. The long skirt's practical, the wrap top will show off your body without actually revealing anything, which should give the impression that while you like the way you look, you're there to do your job rather than just be decorative. Um. You do like the way you look, right?" I sighed and stared into my mug. "I can't yet answer that in any meaningful way. This is far from ideal, but it could have been a lot worse. I'm apparently a woman now, but I'm seemingly in good health and as far as I can tell, better than average- looking. Not that it should be important, but..." * * * Tuesday hove into view far too soon. I hid under the duvet for an extra ten minutes, but in the end the day was going to continue whether I liked it or not. I stumbled on automatic pilot through a shower, breakfast and into the clothing I'd piled on a chair in readiness for being half-asleep. Both Emma and Katie had muttered about wearing nice underwear as part of making a good impression. I didn't feel anywhere near ready to deal with anything as obviously girly as what they'd had in mind, but nonetheless I wrapped myself in a fresh seam-free bra and wriggled into a pair of Brazilian-cut knickers. It almost seemed a shame to cover them with opaque tights, but a glance out of the window revealed that I'd be risking frostbite of the nether regions. It was still strange to feel a breast squashed against my leg when I went to pull the Julia-boots on, and it was strangely pleasing to be without that queasy-groin feeling of trapped testicle. However, the entire experience was cavalcade of strange, ranging from 'just a little bit odd' to 'How am I handling this without a screaming fit?'. All that mental shrugging was making my mental shoulders ache. Our HR dept - a woman called Liz who'd also been handed the departmental intranet to look after - was on the floor above my section. She looked up as I arrived in her office doorway and looked briefly confused, since she was clearly expecting Alex rather than Alix. "Hello. Can I help?" She had that reassuring tone that they spend weeks teaching on HR courses. "Um, yes. I have a half-nine appointment?" Ugh. Upspeak. That would have to stop. Her eyes performed a brief boots-to-haircut double-take. "Alex? This is a..." "... Surprise?" I finished for her. Rarely is the spirit of the stairway with me, but sheer terror sometimes gives it an edge. "Yes. Ah, how long have you... Oh, God. I'm sorry. Where are my manners? You must hate those sort of questions. Come in and sit down. Um, sorry, but what do you go by now?" She pulled her bag off one of the chairs and started looking round her cluttered office for somewhere else to put it. There didn't immediately seem to be a suitable flat surface, so she hovered for a while before dumping it on a pile of blue folders. I was feeling less nervous by the second. "Hey Liz, it's still me in here. Calm down. In answer to your questions, a fair while and Alix, with an I." She considered me from the other side of the comfortably untidy desk. "Yes, I can see that now. It suits you. Look, please don't take this the wrong way, and I mean this in an entirely unprofessional capacity, but you look really good. I think the change suits you. You know Peter's going to shit and die..." I grinned like an idiot. "Thank you. This wasn't an easy decision, and I live in fear of an adverse reaction..." Liz slid into sensible HR mode. "Naturally, the university is fully committed to diversity and maintaining a tolerant environment. We fully support the rights of the staff and students to express their chosen sexuality or gender presentation." She paused. "... And those are really nice boots. Where did you find them?" I smirked. "Stole them from my ex-girlfriend." Liz looked uncomfortable again. "Oh, sorry. Did she leave because..." "No. She left just before I found out she was a manipulative two-timing cow, not because I looked better in her clothing than she did." Liz bit her lip and failed to stifle a giggle. The tension was gone. I joined in the giggling and a terrible feedback loop was established. At that moment, my boss, Peter, turned up and recognised my leather jacket from behind. "Bloody Hell, Alex. That haircut makes you look like a girl." Liz stared at him, horrified. I turned round, smiled as sweetly as I could manage and said, "Really? You think?" "Holy crap!" To his credit, he regained his managerial composure almost immediately and began a protracted set of apologies for rudeness and lack of sensitivity and gender-awareness, which culminated in him being dispatched to fetch coffee and croissants from the cafe on the next street. Some while later, Peter was explaining at length what he'd be doing to make my 'transition' as pleasant an experience as possible. "If only you knew, matey," I muttered. He turned to face me as I was dabbing at remnants of croissant with a little finger and removing them from that finger with the tip of my tongue. Those remnants came from a paper napkin I'd balanced on one knee, crossed over the other one to bring it nearer. I was probably holding my cappuccino in a girly way, too. I noticed them both looking in my direction expectantly. "What? Oh..." I glanced down at the way I'd arranged myself and grinned. "Sorry. Female moment. It'll probably happen again." "Um," Peter began. "Oh, go on. You're bursting to say something potentially inappropriate, I can tell." "Good," he continued. "It's slightly like you're Alex's sister or something. I mean, you're still you, but, um, female. And not in a bloke in a frock sense. I don't think you could have been anything but a woman, and that's very odd if I think about it too hard." A voice inside my head allowed that he didn't know the half of it, but knowing that other half wouldn't help in the least. "I shall say thank you before the barrier on such personal remarks is dropped forever. Or at least until the fuckwits forget who I used to be, but just you wait until my development machine crashes again before accusing me of such femininity." "Is that a concern?" said Liz. "Yes, of course. There's a good chance that several people I know will react very badly. It's going to be horrible, but I think I'll spend the next few months waiting for the other shoe to drop." "Come straight to me in that case," said Peter. "Earlier comments aside, as Liz said, we have a firm policy on that sort of thing and everyone's very much aware of it." "Understood. So, I think we're done here. I've put off showing my face to the rest of the team downstairs for long enough." I was sure they meant well, but only time would tell. Peter stood up. "Right you are. I'll go and compose some email to get people up to speed. I'll walk with you to your office." * * * And that was it. There were a pair of SMSes on my phone when I checked it. One each from Emma - "Good luck! Did you wear something low-cut?" and Katie - "Heya sexy, doing ok?" I replied to them both, then started to sift through the accumulation of email. I spent the rest of the day hammering on someone else's broken code, interrupted only by lunch at the cafe where breakfast had come from and the odd soul brave enough to think up a semi-valid excuse to go and view the 'transsexual'. Anti- climactic, as I imagined these things went. The rest of the week followed in similar mien. I'd always used hacking on code as a way of ignoring any problems I might otherwise have to deal with, and this was not an exception. I'd also given Katie my email address to save my thumb, and we were continuing a getting-to-know-you conversation that was becoming fairly suggestive. On Friday afternoon, Valerie turned up with coffee in one hand and a printout in the other. Up until now, she'd been the only woman on the team, and had cultivated an image of being usually less-than-impressed by any behaviour judged typical of 'men'. Probably correctly, given the antics of a couple of the less socially-aware coders, but they were clueless rather than malicious, and a hard stare seemed to work wonders on them. "So the transsexual empire claims another victim." Oh hell. This felt like it was going to turn out unpleasant. "Yes, absolutely," I said. "I'm just another confused little boy who's having a horrible life and wants to swap his penis for an existence of pink, pampering and something else beginning with P." "Or indeed not," I added. "Touche," she said, not dropping eye contact. "Am I to expect a mob of feminist separatists burning a pile of barbie dolls on my lawn soon? Because I warn you now I live in an upstairs flat and the bloke on the ground floor will call the polis at the first sign of dungarees." She sighed. "No, not at all. I like you, Alix. You're a damn fine hacker with a bloody awful choice in partners..." "Does everybody go to Sanctuary apart from me?" "What? Where?" "Sorry. Private non-joke. Do go on, you were being nice about me." She took a deep breath, though the words still came out in an untidy pile. "It's just that I don't want to see you end up doing something awful to yourself that you'd regret as soon as you discovered it wasn't the expected answer to your problems. I've never known you to have much capacity for self-delusion, and I'd hate for you to start now." I decided to veer close to the truth. A Valerie on 'my side' would be a good thing. "Well, not that it's anyone else's business, I'm not planning on a visit to the surgeon any time soon. While this wasn't something I had much choice in, I shall proceed slowly and carefully. I rather like the way my life is, mad girlfriends or no." She looked at me with raised eyebrows. "No surgery yet? But..." She gestured at my chest. "Interview almost over, I think. I have HR on speed-dial and need the practice at making formal complaints." Valerie had the good grace to look horrified. "Shit, Alix, I mean..." I held my hand up. "However, the designer of the push-up bra should be made to wear one of his creations until he's very sorry indeed." In a fit of sleepy madness at morning, I'd decided to wear less boring underwear so I could go direct to Katie's after work. Anyone with some sense in their head would have taken it in an overnight bag, but at that time in the morning I was still a shambling lump. "Ok, Alix. You've made your point. For what it's worth, I apologise for any remarks that could have been taken as personal. It's just... Be careful, OK?" She looked defeated, which wasn't something I wanted. "Apology accepted, Val." On an impulse, I stood and hugged her briefly. "What was that for?" "For worrying about me, I think." She looked at me oddly, shook her head in a bemused fashion and walked off, still carrying both coffee and printout. I sagged into my expensive swivel chair and stared at the ceiling. That could have gone a whole lot better. It could also have been very much worse. I rolled my head to the left and stared at my screen side-on. There was no way I was going to calm down enough to write any more code today, and the idea of marking time with web-wandering filled me with ennui. I needed to be somewhere I could let off steam with people who knew the score and wouldn't be surprised when I burst into tears and threw things. Half an hour later, I was on Katie's doorstep. "You're early," she said, cheerfully. "Yeah, um, sorry about that. There was stuff." "That doesn't sound good. You want to come in and talk about it?" "I was rather hoping you'd say that." Katie's house had been built at a time when it was still well understood that the sensible focus of family life was the kitchen, rather than the room where the television was kept. Accordingly, there was plenty of space for the scrubbed deal table that was currently home a sewing machine, laptop and several piles of papers. Jack, in high- chair, was already resident at one end. I claimed the next chair round. "I'm sorry. Am I interrupting teatime?" Katie turned round from filling the kettle. "No, don't worry. His highness over there decided he'd had enough, so now we sit around for a quiet digest until mum comes round to claim him for the evening." The details of child logistics had managed to pass me by, and I felt guilty for causing such disruption. "Oh. Ah, does she mind?" "No, not at all. Dotes on him, in fact." "Oh, um, good. I'll bet she's itching to tell him terrible tales of her youth, or what you were like as a child. I know my grandfather did." Katie looked at me sideways again. "Oh God. I'd not thought about that. That'll be something else for the list of instructions." "Instr