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David silently accompanied me right through the airport. He left me at the door to the plane. I sat down in my seat in the nineteenth row at the window. Next to me were two Chinese men in their forties. Both gazed up and down at me as I passed them to reach my seat. As they sat one said to the other, "We need more American tourists. How much do you think I should offer this one for a fondle of her tits?" The second man laughed. Quite absently I said, "One hundred dollars," as I turned to look out of the window. The second man stopped laughing. It took me a moment to realise that I had answered in Cantonese. I kept my face towards the window and hoped the silence remained behind me. I began to suffer a headache during the safety demonstration, and couldn't tune in. I laid my head against the cabin wall and slumped into a deep sleep. It was dark when I awoke. I tried to recall fragments of a strange dream. I had an uneasy feeling like I'd forgotten something, or missed something important. I looked around and remembered that I was flying home. All around me people were sleeping, but I felt surprisingly awake. I sat up, and felt the slight change in weight as straps pulled down on my shoulders. I could feel my erection under the blanket that now covered me, but I put my hand down to my crotch and felt nothing. Why had she done this to me? I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. I was angry, confused. I didn't know what to think about or do. And suddenly I could think. I looked back over the day since waking and realised that I'd been in a trance. I was in shock, but perhaps I was coming out of it now. I was barely able to lift my own suitcases from the trolley. David had done it with one in each hand. Would I get my strength back? What was I now? Then I felt the urge. I crept over the two sleeping men next to me and set off down the aisle towards the rear. There was a small queue waiting for the toilets. I crossed my arms and leaned against the side of a chair. Then I discovered that it wasn't really comfortable to cross my arms in their normal position as they were pressing down on my tits. I tried folding them under my chest, which was much more comfortable as they took some weight off the straps on my shoulders. The problem with this was that my arms squeezed my tits up and out, meaning that they were all I could see if I looked down. Judging by one or two looks from a guy ahead of me in the queue they were all he could see aswell. I tried to ignore him. I sat on the toilet seat. I'd gone for the zip in front, and not found one, then realised what I was going to have to do. I pulled my knickers down from under my skirt and lifted that up to sit down. It wasn't until I sat that I realised I was still wearing heels. It was a long way down. I released the stream, just like I would usually, and it felt normal, until the last squeezes caused a dribble to run down my right cheek. It reminded me forcefully that I had to wipe. I bent down to pull my knickers up and rearrange myself. It was all pretty similar to normal. But the little things that made it different were so different. Men sit, men wipe, men drop their pants and lift up their shirt tails. But men can also stand if they don't need to sit. I wanted to stand, and shake myself off. I didn't feel like I'd finished with just a wipe. I had the uncomfortable feeling that when I pulled my knickers back up some last remaining drops would leak out. I did pull my knickers up, and my skirt down, and everything felt safe. I automatically looked front for the zip again, after pulling my skirt down, but couldn't see a thing past my tits. No wonder skirts zipped up at the side or back, though it was probably a bonus rather than the real, more aesthetic reason. I wondered what the hell I would do with a pair of jeans. Buy them with side zippers? More likely I would get rid of these mounds of fat as soon as I could. That set me to thinking about what I would do next, as I got back to my seat. The first hurdle, which appeared almost insurmountable from where I sat, was to explain to Jan what had happened to me. Lucy had somehow deceived her into believing that everything in Hong Kong had progressed normally, and that I was coming home as Michael. She wouldn't recognise me as Michael, and worse, what was I going to say in front of my kids? Why should she take a stranger back home with her? It was likely that the whole family would be waiting for me, and I didn't know what to say! I could feel tears coming as I thought through all the disastrous possibilities of my family staring at me, laughing at me, rejecting me, my daughters crying and my son freaking out. I had to think about something else, so I switched on a video and ordered some noodles. I managed to order the noodles in Cantonese, and decided to watch a Hong Kong flick to see the extent of Lucy's black magic. It was a fairly mindless chop socky, so I could lose myself easily in something lightly enjoyable. After twenty minutes I found that I had only missed a few words. I had also found that I was full after half the pot of noodles, so obviously my capacity to eat had lessened, though whilst full, I didn't feel completely satisfied, and kept picking slowly at the noodles. I began to think back on what had happened to me in my missing months, and slowly the memories filtered back, and a picture began to unfold. The first weeks were very patchy. All of the physical work was done up front, and the pressure this placed on my body had sent me into a coma. I remember coming around and a concerned nurse wiping my brow. I gathered from her that I had been gone almost five days. Over the next few weeks I remained in bed constantly. I was virtually unable to move. The nurses and doctors explained quite factually what they were doing, and it sounded as if they were proud of it. The reason for my immobility was some form of spinal block that meant I had virtually no control over my muscles from the neck down. My immobile time was not unprofitable, however. As I was awake, my training began. I was rolled into what I came to think of as the training room. The lighting was soft, there were large screens within my vision, and speakers pumped out words regularly against a background of gentle classical music. I know I was drugged before entering the room. Though I was lucid, I felt quite high, and very relaxed. The training consisted of words, images, or both together coming at regular intervals from the speakers and screens. I found myself repeating the words a beat or two after they came. One day it would be English words, the next Cantonese, another French. Gradually the words built into phrases and short sentences. The images would match the words or phrases. After just a few days I could recall hundreds of words in the foreign languages. I also knew that I was beginning to speak English quite differently. My voice was higher, and suited a softer intonation, which the training room was giving me a lot of practice in. I received physical training, though it was out of my control. The nurses would attach bindings to various joints and then pull my body into contortions. It was painful, but only slightly. The nurses were adept at finding my points of resistance, and just stretching those slightly. Once my body had adjusted, they would pull the bindings a little more. The stretching was sometimes combined with the training room, as the relaxants helped me to respond to the stretches. It was a matter of weeks before they could get my legs into a box splits, or my head could rest between my outstretched legs. One of the less noticeable changes, or rather, one that slowly grew on me, was my breasts. It wasn't until the stretching exercises began that I could feel or see any parts of my body. Shock number one was the movement of my chest. At first these were slight shifts that were only perceptible because I wasn't used to them. The doctors kept injecting various parts of my body, including my breasts, with some form of growth fluid. I look back and realise that it was the same stuff that Lucy showed me not so long ago. Her amazing liposculpture solution. The injections that I felt were in my breasts, butt and hips, and the black magic went to work. By the time I was released to begin walking again, my breasts were truly heavy on my chest, though they were very firm and didn't flop. I remember that first time I was allowed out of bed. A single step was enough to exhaust me. Part of the reason was my complete lack of balance as the unaccustomed weight on my chest drew me forward. The next strangeness occurred when I sat back down. There was nothing resting on the top of my legs. By that, I mean I couldn't feel my penis. At this stage I could still see between my tits, and there was nothing down there but hair. I put my hand there to confirm and only felt the smooth outside of a slit. I guess there were still some quite relaxing drugs in my system. Over the next few days I relearned to walk with the help of a physical therapist. He recoordinated my muscles in a way that felt entirely unnatural at first, but I soon grew used to. I discovered that I had to hold my shoulders back to counterbalance my breasts, and not swing the shoulders, to reduce swing across the chest. Upper body swing came from the arms below the elbows. Lower body swing was reduced by taking short steps, one foot in front of the other, and sliding my hips side to side to allow the feet to lift without lifting above the waist. That large side to side swing of the hips was what allowed the legs to move without having to move the upper body. I was able to walk with a book balanced on my head. I knew it was a very feminine walk, but I found myself little inclined to oppose it before it became habitual. The training room was used for fashion, beauty and makeup. I very quickly found myself able to identify not only types of female clothing, but even makes. I don't know why I didn't resist practising putting on makeup, but after having faces imprinted onto my brain in the training room, it seemed only right to make what was reflected in the mirror look the same. I absorbed the basics of other feminine issues quite quickly, including hygiene and grooming. When I began to learn to dance I can remember pain. It was a blur at first, but I recall more clearly some of the later sessions where I could complete routines without prompting. Mistakes were still punished by painful shocks, executed with a button press by my trainer. I was lucky that the routines were not advanced, requiring mostly slow movements. The most complex exercises were around and on the pole. Soon after I learned all that was required for the dance routines, the scenery changed. I was sent to work in the strip club. Everything was put together here, all my training and physical motions, and gradually I was weaned off the drugs until I was lucid. As I became lucid it was as though I was waking from a dream. All of my experiences whilst under drugs were pushed into the background. Like with dreaming, the information which I had assimilated was sorted, categorised, and written to memory. The dream itself faded unless I worked to recollect it. The information though was there, naturally. I walked like a woman, talked like a woman, and danced like a stripper. I could clearly remember that last night of work in the club, the group of Johns, the last dance for Mr Big. I remember thinking about the money I was making, as though that was a crutch for my behaviour. And I could remember some of his last comment, about a wedding present. That would tie with everything that Lucy had done. She hadn't just transformed me for her own fun, but for her future husband's fun. It was his bachelor party, and I was the entertainment. The ex-boyfriend, now on show as the big breasted, blonde stripper. How sick could someone be? I remembered the purse that Lucy had given me. Inside was a box, decorated like a present. I pulled it out and looked around it. Nothing special or curious, it was simply wrapped in decorated paper and tied with a ribbon. I undid it and opened the box. Inside was a dildo, in two parts, with a typed instruction sheet. I pulled out the paper and reclosed the box quickly. Why would Lucy provide me with that? Well, except as a cruel joke? The instruction sheet mentioned dilation for post SRS patients, but apparently I had had an organ replacement. That wouldn't require dilation, would it? As I considered the indignity of pushing a dildo inside myself, I realised that my body felt quite comfortable with the experience. I couldn't specifically remember it occurring in the hospital or club, but it had definitely been a regular part of the routine. Worse than that I realised that it was a part of the routine that I enjoyed. Because I couldn't remember anything specific, I couldn't recall what was enjoyable about it. I suddenly became aware that I was considering putting a dildo inside my vagina, an act which I looked on with disbelief and disdain, but wanted to try. The last time something felt so mentally difficult but physically necessary was probably when I wanted to lose my virginity. Here I was wanting to lose it again, and once again the hurdle to cross was in asking the girl to do it. All was quiet around and I was alone with the girl. I plucked up my courage and my purse, dropped the box inside and headed back to the toilet. The queue was again an exercise in ignoring other people. I felt quite desperate to get into the toilet, and I kept thinking that the guys staring at me knew what I was going to do. Just once I thought about turning back to my seat, but realised that I didn't want to. I couldn't figure out where the urge was coming from, but without analysing it too deeply, all I knew was that I wanted to do this. As I entered the cubicle the desire grew stronger. It was like needing to pee. Once you get to pulling your pants down you know you can't hold it back. So I sat on the toilet with my panties around my ankles and opened up the box. I rechecked the instructions whilst screwing together the two halves of the dildo. For both lubrication and hygiene a condom was recommended, almost insisted upon. I remembered the loose condoms in the purse and fished one out. I broke the wrapper and took it out, then held the dildo in one hand and rolled the condom down it with the other. My nails suddenly struck me as very attractive. They were quite long and painted in the same red as my blouse. I had to roll the rubber down with the tips of my fingers to avoid cutting it with a nail. Fortunately the condom fit quite securely onto the slightly ribbed plastic. The tip was between my legs and angling up to my new vagina before I paused to consider what I was doing. I was going to drive a dildo up into a vagina that I shouldn't have. But the physical demand was too strong to argue with. I needed it there. With an intake of breath I slowly but firmly pushed the tip past my cunny lips and deep into the cavern behind, the ribbed plastic causing ripples in my vaginal muscles that were interesting, to say the least. I let out the breath with a sigh, the physical relief evident as my whole body seemed to relax. The relief was a pleasure in itself, and as I relaxed I lay back against the bulkhead and absent mindedly stroked the dildo in and out between my widely spread legs. It felt good, better than good. But it was disquieting. A small corner of my mind kept pleading that I was raping myself. But the feeling that the action generated was growing unstoppable. Light waves of pleasure lapped at my body with every stroke, and I could feel the tide coming in. The ensuing orgasm caught me completely by surprise, and I bit my lip to stop myself from crying out. A muffled croak escaped me as I shuddered on the seat, tensing up every muscle around the invader inside me. I tried to pull it out, and almost squealed as the motion brought on aftershocks that caused me to clamp down on it again. I lay my head back, and waited for the last of the ripples to fade through my body. Slowly and gingerly I then extracted the dildo, suffering from squirm inducing sensitivity as I did so. Then it was out, and on came the twinges of guilt. Questions such as why had I done it, and why couldn't I control myself. The same questions I used to ask myself after masturbating. Time had passed and a queue was waiting, so I hurriedly pulled myself back together, and the dildo apart. I stepped out with my hands securely around my purse, and hoping that the dim light would spare my blushes. There were just a few hours to go to touchdown. I put on another video. I wasn't going to analyse what I had just done, but lose myself in another action flick. As the obligatory piece of movie fluff got to touch a gun for the first time in her life a stewardess bent across to pass me a tray of breakfast. The two Chinese businessmen were rousing. I started to pick at the food and ignore their conversation. I stared intently as the action hero patronised the pretty young thing who had earlier torn her hair out as he drove her car madly through the streets and then run away from him towards the most obvious bad guys in movie history. Was this frailty expected of me now? From what I recalled I had a similar look to the girl. I was probably bigger and bustier but she was incredibly pretty and cute. I could only remember the face I shaved in the mornings, not the one I had now. The Chinese guys next to me could only see the woman on the outside. What would their opinion be? Would it be like Lucy's fianc?, whom I recall stating that I was 'stunning'. Was I really so unrecognisable as a man? Some things were obvious, but I could get rid of those, regardless of Lucy's views. Getting my body back in shape was just a matter of help from the doctor and working out, which I was used to. But what about my face? Would Jan even recognise me? Janice, waiting for me at the airport. Not knowing what had happened and with the children expecting their father. Would she recognise me at all? It would be better if she couldn't. At least that way I could break the news slowly. What if she did? What if the children did? My own children, wondering why their father wasn't their father anymore. I couldn't deal with them right away. As much as I wanted them to run into my arms, I needed to get Jan alone first. That would be hard enough, but not so hard on them. The next thing to sort out was how. I couldn't stop before the arrivals lounge, unless there was a payphone that I could call to her mobile. Then what? I could say that I had missed the flight and ask her to come back in a couple of hours, without the kids. Strange, but possible. Or I could say that I was being provided a taxi home later that day. But as I thought about it I really wanted to meet her on neutral ground, and not go to my old home where everyone would be expecting a joyous reunion. At least if she came back it would be neutral ground at the airport. But she wouldn't leave Katy behind, nor probably Kim, unless she was in nursery. At least Richard wouldn't be able to make it. But perhaps she had come on her own anyway, due to the early hour. Perhaps her parents or mine were babysitting? How could I determine if she was alone? I was beginning to think that the best solution was simply to walk out of the doors into the hall and look. If I walked past I would know if I was recognised. Also, if I walked past without paying attention to whomever was waiting, I was less likely to be recognised. That way I could get out behind her, and see if she was alone. If she was alone, I would call her over to the information desk, or something, as though I was bearing a message, then maybe invite her to have a coffee. If she wasn't alone, maybe the same ploy would work, or maybe I would just chicken out. As I mulled over the plans and ploys, I realised that I didn't want to be recognised until the time was right. Was my transformation so complete that my own family wouldn't recognise me? I knew that it would suffice for a first glance, at the very least, so I only had to work on making sure that they didn't take a second glance. Then how to get Jan to recognise me? As I mulled the potential conversations I began to feel anger. This wasn't my fault. Why should I have to pussyfoot around delicately? I didn't want to cause my family grief, that was true, but the first thing after convincing Jan that I was her husband would be to take my complaint to the police. All I had to do was tell Jan the truth, and she would back me all the way. After the plane landed the two Chinese men allowed me out in front of them. Carrying only my purse I walked quite steadily out of the aircraft on my heels. They, along with many other things, would be the first to go. As I carefully climbed a set of stairs to the terminal I swore that the tight skirt would also be the first to go, as well as the stockings that it was scraping against and riding up. As I walked closer to the baggage collection I wished for a pair of dark sunglasses to hide behind. Other women had them. I wouldn't have to meet the eyes of anyone walking the other way. I looked down at the floor, only to have my hair fall into my face. That would go once I found out what was written on the back of my neck. With my head back up and pushing the hair back out of my eyes I began to feel like I was at a funeral in a clown suit. The looks I was receiving were making me feel naked. I would probably have been less noticeable naked than the way I was dressed. Even at the passport control my breasts were compared with my photo. As I reached the baggage carousel and saw the cases beginning to arrive I thought back to the weight of the cases. I wasn't sure I'd be able to lift them off, but damned if I wasn't going to try. I found a trolley and rolled it in behind a mixed group. When my cases came round they came together. A couple to my right reached for a huge backpack just as I reached for the first case. It felt like lifting sixty or seventy kilos and I struggled to even slide it off the belt onto the floor. As it fell the guy pointed at the second and asked if it was mine too. When I nodded he reached over and yanked it off to the floor. "Which is your trolley?" He asked. I dragged my case up off the floor and stumbled towards it. "This one," I answered, standing by it. He gently lowered my second case onto it then helped me with the first one which was still at my feet. "Are you moving house?" he smiled. I smiled back. "Thanks for the help." Silently I was seething, with embarrassment and damaged pride. But he wasn't to know that, and much as I hated him right now, I had to give him the benefit of the doubt. He might be a nice guy. "Do you want a hand with the trolley? My name's Dan," he said, holding out his hand whilst simultaneously pointing over his shoulder with the other to the girl behind. "And this is Becky. We just got back from Oz and need to settle back here. What's your name?" I looked over at Becky as Dan reached for my trolley and laid the rucksack on it. Where he was quite handsome in a boyish way, she was quite beautiful in a cute, girlish way. Her tan was even and her hair blonder than platinum. She reached her hand out too. "Er, Tiffany." I responded, shaking both their hands. Dan pushed off and Becky slid her arm in to mine as I turned to follow him. "Nice to meet you, ErTiffany," Becky laughed lightly. She appeared a light and bright person. "Have you just come back from Oz?" "Hong Kong," I replied quickly, feeling a little nervous at having a girl on my arm and wondering who was watching. "Business or pleasure?" "Business." "You're not dressed for it. Have you been holidaying too?" "No, all business." "Then you're meeting your boyfriend here?" "Not exactly." Becky hummed for a moment. "You don't have any rings, so it's not a husband or fianc?. A girlfriend?" "A friend." "I didn't mean it in that way." She flashed me a smile. It was friendly and pretty and made me even more nervous. I didn't usually get into these situations with women unless I was drunk, and those times were before I married. "Are you travelling into London?" "Well, I don't know yet. That depends on whether somebody is waiting for me." "Oh, I thought you definitely had someone waiting. Well, if she's not there, why don't you travel in with us. Dan'll be able to help with your bags." "That's very kind of you." "Not at all. We haven't been here for years and we need a bit of direction. If you travel with us we'll be plugging you for the latest gossip!" Dan pushed the trolley through the doors into the arrivals hall. The crush of people at the barrier was only made more confusing by the plethora of signs hiding their faces. We were almost out into the crush, dodging kissing couples, before I spotted Jan a yard behind a wide coach driver. She was looking back at the entrance from customs. I didn't stare, but she was wearing a loose white summer dress with a pink cardigan to keep her shoulders warm. She looked relaxed and radiant. There were no children visible. "Have you seen her?" asked Becky. "Yes." I turned to face her. "Why don't you give me your number, Becky, as I'm going to be in London, and we'll meet later." "That would be great," she gushed. "Have you got a pen?" I shook my head but Dan was already pulling a biro and paper from a pocket in the top of the rucksack. A quick scribble and he passed the paper over to me. He hefted the rucksack and held out his hand again. "Looking forward to meeting up with you again," he said. Becky gave me a peck on the cheek. They left me with a wave and the trolley. And with no idea of how to approach my wife. "Excuse me," I coughed, reaching for the pink-clad shoulder. Janice turned around and looked up. I wished I had a normal set of shoes. "Janice?" I watched the flicker across her eyes. "Yes. Do I know you?" she said, with some uncertainty. I pushed on. "Can we go and get a coffee or something?" "I'm waiting for someone." "I know. That's why I'm here. We need to talk." I turned to leave and almost grabbed her hand as I did. I checked just to make sure she was with me. After a moment of indecision she was. "Is Michael in some kind of trouble?" I considered the answer as we walked. I had taken a minute to drop the suitcases with left luggage so that Jan wouldn't jump to conclusions before time. Fortunately she jumped to another tack before I had to answer. "Was there something last second that kept him in Hong Kong?" "Do you mind if we get something to drink? I'm parched," I responded. "You're not airport security, are you?" "No, I'm not. Here we are." I walked up to the cafe bar and ordered a latte. Janice wanted a cappuccino. I almost ordered it without asking her. We sat down. Since the first introduction I had barely looked at her face, but now we were sat opposite each other across a table. "So," Janice began, "where is Michael?" I looked into her eyes. Again I caught a flicker across them, but then it was gone and a stern, questioning look came over her face. "Tell me!" I had thought she was going to recognise me at last. Now I had to spit out the words that I didn't want her to hear from me. "Janice, it's me, I'm Michael." Again I watched, but no flicker. Her face was impassive. Then she snorted lightly. "Is this a joke?" She began to look around. "Where's the camera?" I reached for her hand to get her attention back. "There's no camera. It's not a joke. I am Michael." "What am I supposed to do? Pull the mask off? Ask you about our first kiss?" "It's not a mask. And it was at the Christmas party. You'd offered me a lift home." "Are you wired? Who's feeding you the lines? Michael's in on this and I'm not happy. Tell him he can make his own way home!" She got up and turned to leave. I grabbed for her wrist. "It's me, Jan!" "Fuck you!" She wrenched her hand away easily. I watched her storm out of the cafe and into the crowd. I was too stunned to move. I gathered myself and my luggage. It was time to take stock. I had little cash left in my purse, but a few cards in my new name. Hopefully there was a little money behind them. I found a taxi that would take credit cards, and that would also take me for the forty five minute journey. The driver helped me with the bags to the front door of the house and left me there. Jan's car was in the drive. I knocked. After a few moments Jan opened the door. I was already prepared. I pushed her aside as I walked in. She yelled behind me but I ignored it and went straight into the living room. Richard was pulling his shoes on but stopped to stare at me. Kim and Katy ran in from the kitchen and paused when they saw me. Jan strode back in from the hall, the door closing behind her. She took stock. "Richard," she said calmly, "when you've got your shoes on you had better head off. He looked enquiringly at her, but seeing her face he finished tying his laces and headed for the hall. There was silence until the front door closed behind him. Kim and Katy went back to their business in the kitchen. Jan followed them. "Can I offer you a coffee?" she called back. "No, thank you." She came back in and sat down. "Those were Michael's cases out front." "They're mine. I am Michael." "No you're not." "What can I do to prove it to you?" She thought for a moment. "It doesn't matter. Proving it doesn't matter. You're not Michael. He was my husband and the father of my children. You can't be those things." "Janice," I remonstrated, "this was done to me against my will. I am your husband and I don't want to be this. I need your help to undo this and to get the person responsible." She took a deep breath. I could almost taste her hesitancy and confusion. "I need to get Kim to nursery. Wait here for me." So she did and I did. Eventually she came home with Katy in her arms. She set her down in her room to play, and came back down. I was sitting where she left me. Strangely, I hadn't looked around much. It felt like an invasion of someone else's home and privacy. Jan sat down again in her chair. "So," she began, "what is your story?" I told her everything that I could recall, though skimming some parts and leaving out others. She sat listening with barely a word. I rounded it right off to the present day, and after I had finished she sat contemplating me. "Well," I asked, "do you believe me now?" "When I first saw you I thought that you resembled Michael, but only in the eyes. Otherwise, you bear little similarity. The story is, quite honestly, a little farfetched, though it would be believable if it wasn't for the fact that I've spoken to Michael every day for the last three months. Do you know what we spoke about a week ago?" "Of course not, you weren't speaking to me. That was someone impersonating me." "They impersonated you well enough to fool your whole family! Look, Tiffany. I hope you don't mind me calling you Tiffany?" She carried straight on. "Michael is going to walk back in here. Until he does, there's not a lot I can do for you." "I don't understand." "You can't stay here, you do understand that, don't you?" I thought about the children, and I nodded. "You know that I don't work, and I can't support you. So you're going to have to find a place and support yourself. All I can do is try to find out where my husband went for myself." I nodded again. "Anyway, if you need to make any calls, feel free, and then if you need a lift somewhere, I'll take you. I need to go check on Katy, then I'll have to go pick up Kim. You know where the kitchen is." I took out the telephone directory and started calling around. Just under an hour later Jan drove me into the centre of town to a back street hotel that had a room free. With my cases out of the car I went back to the passenger window before she drove off. "You pulled me over to you before letting me out of the car. When we broke the kiss you looked shocked. A few weeks later you told me that it was with that kiss, the first kiss, that you fell for me. I always told you that I didn't really know when I fell for you. Well, it was when I saw that look on your face, that look of shock and indecision. You looked cute, and beautiful, and lost, and I wanted you more than I ever wanted anything." I stopped, and saw the same look. She shook herself. "When you find somewhere, when you're settled, give me a call." She said, then drove slowly away. I spent the rest of the day looking for an apartment, but nowhere would use a credit card for a deposit. I couldn't find evidence of a bank account among my belongings, but I found a couple of notes from Lucy. One related to the credit cards. I had a five thousand pound limit, apparently my earnings from the strip club. After one month they would be cancelled and unusable. This hotel was just over a hundred pounds a night, with breakfast. I could last the month in this hotel, but by the end of it I needed the rental and deposit on a place. Another note clarified a little of my story. Tiffany Michaels was a valid identity, but she had no history. Apart from my passport I had no documentation. I had no qualifications. I had to start from scratch. I had no one to help. I needed a plan.