Your Wish Come True: Chapter 3 -- Strange Obsessions free porn video

Many thanks for all the kind responses so far. I'm glad people are enjoying the story. This instalment is quite long. I hope this doesn't discourage anyone. Chapter 3 Strange Obsessions He begins to have strange dreams. With new interests emerging, he hastily concocts a story "OH, Di! I've missed you so much!" They were in bed together, entwined in each other's arms. Their lips met and he felt her tongue hot against his own. He kissed her gently--feather-light kisses--on her closed eyelids, her chin, her throat, her shoulder, down to her breasts. She yielded willingly, offering herself for more. He couldn't remember her ever being so eager or uninhibited, even when they were first married. Nor himself so ardent. As he caressed her breasts and held her nipples in his mouth, sucking them gently, he could feel his own kisses, his own caresses, the warmth of his own tongue. They melded into one, impossible to tell which was which. Was he kissing Dianne, or was he the one being kissed? Whatever the case, the kisses made him feel like he was melting. Then it definitely seemed he was Dianne, and Dianne was him. The male Dianne was making love to him with eager passion. Her fingers were near his pussy, teasingly close, playing in his pubic hair, roving, trying to find a tender spot that longed to be touched. Where was it? He couldn't tell, but it was close, his lover was nearly touching it. He gasped, unable to stand the suspense. The fingers were soft, feather weight, teasing. "Take me, take me now! Oh, god! I need you inside me, oh fuck me, now!" He was awake. Awake in the darkness. His heart pounding in his chest, throbbing in his ears, his penis hard with arousal but the dream receding. A dream. What was it? Oh yes, he remembered dreaming he was with Dianne. They were making love--wonderful love. Then it had become very strange and he had become Dianne. He couldn't remember ever having dreamt anything like that before. The memory brought back his fading erection. He hoped Dianne had really felt like that when he had made love to her. He fantasised about being a woman, being the object of desire, keeping the dream alive for a bit longer. The thought was making him tremble all over. He turned over and rubbed himself against the bed, imagining he was the woman on top, his legs astride. He came in great gasps as he tried to imagine his breasts being held and nuzzled. He drifted contentedly back into sleep. DEREK woke early and felt refreshed, positive and determined. He didn't get himself breakfast, but picked up a sticky bun from a bakery, which he ate as he walked to the station. He had no time to lose. After yesterday's unsatisfactory morning he was determined to get to work early and get himself organised. He had to make some lists and make sure he knew what he was doing. There would be no unprofessional slip-ups today. He had been sorting his day out carefully for over an hour before anyone else showed up. As others finally started to arrive, he came out of his office and took a spot near the little kitchenette, where people were coming to make themselves cups of tea or coffee, and chatted idly with them. There were a few other solicitors, but most of the group were paralegals, articled clerks and secretaries. Normally he stayed in his office and asked someone to bring him a cup of strong coffee, but having been cooped up in there for so long already he needed to stretch his legs. Actually, it wasn't so much coffee he wanted so much as a bit of friendly company. A few of them asked if he were feeling okay after going home sick yesterday. He was lucky to work with such a nice crowd he thought. He discovered there was a lot he didn't know about many of his co-workers, and he was enjoying finding things out. The connections and undercurrents and relationships and alliances all seemed much clearer and more interesting today than usual. Office politics were always a fact of life, but in the past he had thought of it as a necessary evil and a complication of the real job he was there to do. Today he was more interested in people's personal lives than their professional ones. It was good, too, to have a laugh with everyone before the day got seriously underway. HE decided not to go out to lunch. Brian had a meeting, so he ordered up a dish of pasta and a pastry from a nearby restaurant and gossiped and chatted with Penny before doing some more preparations for the afternoon. She was a wealth of information about the people they worked with as well as people in other legal practices in the City. Today he was particularly enjoying finding out the latest about different people's love lives, which struck him as something new. He had never really bothered with that kind of gossip before anyway, but particularly since his divorce he had found it rather painful to talk about other people's relationships. Today he felt no pain. His curiosity was actually enthusiastic. I must be getting over it at long last, he concluded. As he had hoped, there were no significant slip-ups today. He felt very much on top of things once he had forced himself to get organised, and kept ticking off items from his list--not a mental list but an actual written list he had made. (The writing was neat but maybe a bit more juvenile than he remembered it being. That's what happens when you use a computer all the time, he thought. A few words he wrote didn't look quite right. Were they misspelt? He drew little circles above the "i's instead of dots. That was better.) Getting through it all was hard work though. He had to read most documents and even individual paragraphs several times, before he felt he really understood what was being said. He had to make an effort to concentrate and was constantly fighting distraction. He had never felt this way before, and yet it wasn't getting him down; he was doing it automatically as though he accepted that this was just how it was. He wasn't always successful at keeping his focus, however. In one meeting with a client, one he had known for years, he found himself unable to stop thinking about the nervous tick the man had. He had always had it as long as Derek had known him, and it was not really that bad, just the trace of a twitch every so often. But today it was filling his consciousness with morbid fascination. He tried not to look at it, but he saw it in his mind. He kept waiting for the twitch. He concentrated very hard on the button of the man's jacket, which worked so well that he began to drift off into another world, the door of which was somehow through the button. The room and its voices faded into the background as he went into his reverie. He had to force himself back to reality, but there was the twitch again. He hoped the man hadn't noticed anything odd in his behaviour. This tendency to drift off was evident whenever anyone was talking about something which he found boring, which was quite a lot today. His eyes would become glazed and heavy and it required great effort to suppress a yawn. Or he would become preoccupied with the feeling of a particular tooth against his tongue and be twisting his mouth around as he explored the sensation. He found that by concentrating very hard on some aspect of the face of the person speaking, their nose or the way their lips moved, and by nodding and agreeing every so often, he could convey the impression that he was listening closely. What the person was talking about penetrated his consciousness very dimly, but so far it had not seemed to matter. The truth was he was finding the people side of the job more interesting than the legal side, though he was really making an effort to do his job well and his impression was that he was just about achieving this. He was also concerned that everyone besides himself had everything they needed, and he was more aware than he had ever been of the role that each person had in the office and was not just focussed on his own. He was normally rather shy and reserved, getting to the point quickly while trying not to be too abrupt or impolite. But today his shyness seemed to be replaced by something else. He knew that underneath he wasn't brimming with the friendly confidence he hoped he was exuding. Far >from it. He actually felt quite nervous and uncertain a lot of the time, and a feeling that he was not in his element. He seemed to be constantly aware of trying to make a good impression. It wasn't for motives of ambition either. He was familiar with that. There seemed to be an absence of any strong desire to dominate or have power over anyone, or be given professional praise or recognition, and there was no sense of competition with others. On the contrary, he was being very careful to include people in decisions and was if anything more doubtful of his own opinions than others'. In fact he was worried about how, like yesterday, he was feeling inclined to fit in with what other people were saying. He was feeling reluctant to give his own opinion first and was preferring to wait to take his cue from others before he said what he thought. He did sometimes have to disagree with someone occasionally ('So I still can!" he thought with relief), but it was with great reluctance and some trepidation, and he did it with great concern for the other person's feelings. Yet on one occasion when he had to stand his ground on some point or other he actually felt his voice was trembling. He realised with a certain puzzlement that what he really wanted was for people to like him. He was aware of searching for signals from people that conveyed approval. He was keenly sensitive to any signs of negative attitudes or criticism. He was particularly aware of dreading any criticism of his looks. And yet there was something very odd today about his sense of his physical self-image. Whenever he caught sight of his reflection in a mirror or a window, or even looked at parts of his body like his hands or legs, he felt an odd sense of detachment. For a long time now he had been depressed about being middle aged and no longer fit and attractive. But that wasn't how he was feeling today. When he saw himself in a reflection or thought about his appearance, he didn't feel low self-esteem or depression. He felt nothing at all. It was as though he were looking at someone else, with whom he had little connection and no right to criticise or judge. If he felt anything, it was a kind of detached fondness, such as one might feel for an elderly relative. One just accepts them and their infirmities and tries to be nice to them because they are not going to be around for much longer. I'm not feeling myself, he thought, realising that this was literally true. He was thinking he was beginning to be unsure who he was. YET despite all these anxieties and concerns bubbling away just below his conscious thoughts, he felt quite light-hearted and positive, ready to be amused or diverted. He may not be having a great time at work, but he certainly wasn't having a bad time. There were seven junior partners in Derek's practice, two women and five men, as well as four senior partners (of whom he was one). There were also three other solicitors who worked for the firm but who were not yet partners. A group of lawyers, mostly the younger ones, and other staff (mainly the one's without spouses and partners) were going somewhere for a drink after work and they invited Derek to come along. That wasn't unusual, but he rarely went to drinks parties after work. They usually made him feel more depressed than ever. He felt happy to go tonight however, and felt drawn to be with other people. Nevertheless, he stayed for just two drinks, both of them Pimm's and lemonade, before saying good-bye and heading off. He needed to do some shopping on the way home. He bought some groceries and a few household items, and he still had some time to do some browsing. He was noticing the dress shops and trend shops and he went into several, as well as the young women's departments of a couple of department stores and examined what they had. Several shop assistants asked him if he needed help, but he was only browsing. He was too absorbed to feel self-conscious. Clothes for women were much more interesting he realised, and they could get away with so much more variety, and could make statements about themselves which were very nuanced, even within very limiting conventions. Fashion, he realised, was like a language of self-expression. Then he found himself telling himself, By the way, you could do with a few new things--you know, freshen up your image. He answered himself with a sceptical look on his face. Go on, just see what they have. He agreed to go along with himself. He bought a few business shirts in darker colours than his usual, and some ties which were not his usual taste but seemed to go well with the shirts. He got a new pair of shoes which he assured himself looked very snappy, and a few casual shirts he felt very doubtful about. All the while he was alternately bullying and kidding himself along to get these things. Whenever he considered his body or appearance it was like he was dealing with someone else. The sense of detachment from his physical self which he had been feeling during the day was beginning to feel normal. He bought a bottle of perfume because he just couldn't resist it after smelling a sample, and headed home. THE bottle of white wine was already half drunk as Derek enjoyed himself putting together a very pleasant dinner of warm Thai beef salad to be followed by strawberries and sliced mangoes dressed in cointreau. He drank the remainder of the wine as he ate his meal, listening to music (Eighties and Nineties Pop mostly) and occasionally joining in the songs, while reading a fashion magazine he had bought. He cleared up the kitchen quickly and poured himself a rum and coke, and taking it and a box of chocolates he headed into the study. He checked his e-mails and replied to a few, then opened the file yourwishcometrue. He wasn't going to spend all night gazing at his ideal girl as he had for the last two nights. He was awake to what was happening, he decided. He had become obsessed with this girl and was beginning to live his life through her eyes. It was all quite clear to him. It was probably because he was a sad and lonely middle-aged git. Well, he would give it a rest for a while. It probably wasn't healthy. Instead, he decided to explore all the other things in the folder, the music, movies and internet sites. He saw no irony in this decision. It had nothing to do with the girl in the picture. He just knew it would be fun and interesting. He had formed this decision quite early in the day, deliberately intending to put it off for as long as possible so that he could really savour it. He was now almost beside himself with anticipation. For two hours he immersed himself in teenage culture, angst and issues about school, teachers, parents, boyfriends, girlfriends, love and crushes, music, fashions, hair and makeup tips, what was hot, what was not, the coolest phones, the coolest looks, the coolest people, movies, gossip, advice, celebrities, how to be popular. There was a lot about sex. A second or two on each page of the files or internet sites was all he needed to feel he had absorbed its contents quite thoroughly. He didn't need to linger over anything, because with each new item it seemed like he already knew it. It was as though he had been suffering from amnesia, and his memory was coming back in huge floods. He was starting to feel connected again to the world, he considered. Finally he was done. Something seemed to have set up residence in his consciousness and he was beginning to see everything just a bit differently. It all seemed clearer somehow. He felt as though in some sense the penny had dropped. But when he tried to define to himself what he now understood better, things seemed to become misty. What was he thinking about again? He forgot. He'd just check on the picture and then go to bed. He still had to get up for work in the morning. He double-clicked Your Ideal!. The picture he knew so well began to load. He leaned back expectantly. Suddenly he leaned forward again. He couldn't believe his eyes. There she was, as beautiful and desirable as ever, but it was not the same picture. She had a different expression. Her eyes were now closed, and she had tilted her head back as if basking in the sunshine. The smile was still entrancing, but it was a quiet, satisfied smile. She wasn't smiling at him (or at the camera at any rate) anymore. She was smiling to herself. He looked at the picture for a while and tried to get his mind around the miraculous change. Was she alive somehow, in his computer? Was it a trick? Was he indeed caught up in some kind of magic? He felt a little afraid. Her face was even more beautiful than he remembered. He thought to himself that she was perhaps the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Then he gave a laugh. How stupid he was! Of course! The file was a slideshow. The picture hadn't changed. It was just that he was seeing the next picture in the sequence. And it was another beautiful picture, different it's true to the previous one, but still extraordinary. Did it have the same detail at high magnification? He zoomed in, right down to what he now automatically regarded as her DNA. Yes, there it was just like the previous picture. He began to check for some means to bring back the first image, but there seemed to be no way of going back. He felt a sense of loss at being unable to see the first picture and compare it with this one. But if it is some sort of slideshow there should be another picture soon, he reasoned. He couldn't wait to see it. Late. Time for bed. He was about to close the picture and shut down the computer when he noticed a smudge. Just above the bikini bottom near the left hip on the girl's abdomen was a smudge. He felt a little cheated. Being able to see such detail in both pictures at high magnification had led him to expect a kind of perfection from them. He zoomed in. No, it definitely wasn't a smudge, it was something on her skin. It was a very feint mark of some kind. He could tell it wasn't a smudge because he could still see the extraordinary detail of the skin's surface. He zoomed in further, but that made it too big to make anything out. It just seemed to be part of her skin, but a little darker. She probably spilt something on herself, he thought, and they didn't notice when they were taking the picture. A skin discolouration of some sort. A birthmark. He closed the picture, shut down the computer, put on the dishwasher, tossed the empty chocolate box into the rubbish and went to bed. THE kiss was on his lips--soft and fluttering kisses that hovered and teased. His lover's lips were half-parted, and were moving sensuously across his own lips, lightly, the merest pressure. Harder! Kiss me harder! Bring your tongue onto mine! Push! But no, the lips were on his eyes, all over his face. Kisses so soft he could hardly feel them, and yet they were driving him wild. Don't stop! For god's sake don't stop! Was he Derek? Was he Dianne? There seemed to be no difference and yet (as so often is in dreams) there appeared to be nothing odd about it. They were on his ears, soft and fluttering, nuzzling and stroking. Then his lover's tongue was in his ear, searching, licking, then biting the lobes of his ear. Then on his neck, kissing, licking, biting. Now the kisses were on his breasts, teasingly light, then past the breasts on his abdomen. His body tensed, suspended between agony and ecstasy as the tongue played on the sensitive skin. He almost laughed as it tickled, but then it wasn't a tickle and he groaned. Then it was tickling again, the sensitive skin twitching, resisting--then yielding. The mouth was going further down. The kisses were on his hip, his thigh, his inner thighs, the sensitive flesh reacting at once and warmth spreading through him. Now his thighs were spreading themselves, offering themselves. Kisses, and now caresses, gentle, soft, agonising, were all over his thighs and moving towards his groin. Getting closer. He could feel the soft breath on his organ, softly blowing, the sensitive hairs alert to the gentle feathery mistral. Then a fire deep inside was coursing down through his body. Melting warmth oozing, spreading, filling the air with a sickly muskiness. He arched his back, his pelvis moving back and forth, back and forth; then back-forth, back-forth, back-forth, faster, faster, harder. Now! Do it now! I can't feel it. Put it in so I can feel it in me, feel me round it! Heart pounding furiously, he was wide-awake. The images began fading immediately but his arousal remained. He moved his hands down to the hard penis and rubbed it up and down. Wow! These dreams were getting amazing! He tried to picture Dianne in his mind, waiting, wanting him. The image was receding and his erection began to fade. He imagined himself as Dianne. He imagined someone, himself was it? touching his nipples. A surge of heat coursed through his body and his erection was back, insistent and hard. He imagined the fingers moving down, stroking, parting the lips, then feeling inside, rubbing, probing; in, out, feeling all around, brushing the lips with the backs of the fingers, then in again, swirling in circles getting faster and faster. He spread his legs. He imagined himself open, surrendering. He tried not to think of his penis, but to imagine the pleasure as a woman would feel it, all over (so they say). White hot intensity, his muscles tightening in every part of his body. A gasp, a yell. It was a scream of pleasure. Exhausted sleep. THURSDAY morning. The fifteenth of March. He was once again up bright and early and determined to get organised and do his job without any embarrassing slip-ups. He had some matters going to court soon, and it required all his concentration to get his part of the case ready for the barrister he was briefing. The barrister was a successful advocate, but an intimidating man and very demanding and exacting of his briefing counsel, with a tendency to blame them for his own shortcomings if the legal preparation was not thorough. It took up much of the day, with just two meetings and an interview to break up his workload. After work he joined the group going for drinks again, and again excused himself to do a bit of browsing and shopping. Tonight he was going to learn to make chocolate souffl?s. THEY were a great success, he felt, as he staggered into the study to check his e-mails after dinner. He had planned the souffl?s to come after some grilled lemon sole with a rocket salad and a proper French dressing. But the batch he made was enough for eight souffl?s, so he made eight and then ate them all with a little clotted cream on the side. "I ate all eight," he giggled as he took with him the last glass from the bottle of verdello he had been drinking with his meal. It had gone well with the food, he thought, but he felt he would need something sweet and fizzy before he went to bed. He did a bit of surfing of the internet after checking his e-mails, researching ear and body piercing. He even watched some pretty funny but gruesome video clips of people getting nose and navel piercings. He downloaded some music and just wanted to check the picture before bed. No change. She had the same look of private satisfaction as she leaned back allowing the sun to warm her closed eyelids. The darkish smudgy birthmark was still there, quite evident. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it in the first picture, but now there was no way of checking how prominent it had looked. He gave a yawn and going to the fridge drank some Coca Cola thirstily from the bottle, picked at and ate a few last crumbs from the souffl? dishes in the sink which he would not bother to wash tonight, and went to bed. HE was sitting at the dressing table in a singlet or camisole, brushing his hair. Beginning at the bottom and brushing upwards. Long smooth strokes. His eyes looked back at him from the reflection in the mirror, steady and clear, never turning away, holding him with his gaze. He wasn't Dianne, he was someone else. Someone much younger. Dark haired, sultry, generous breasts moving up and down with each long deep breath. Then his hand was on his breast, holding it, then massaging, then squeezing. Brushing the nipple into hardness with the tips of his fingers. A little squeeze. Deep slow waves of melting pleasure coming from somewhere inside. Is this how it feels? he wondered. He stood up and freed his shoulders of the straps of the top, leaving it to gather round his waist. He looked at the figure in the reflection. Beautiful, dark passion smouldered in the figure's eyes. The lips parted as one hand went down to the groin and the other continued to rub the breast in a slow circular caress. The hand drew closer to the moist entrance and a finger moved with deliberation, poised to go in. It hovered on the edge, then moved to delve the yielding . . . What? He felt hardness, not softness. Confused, he was awake, his breathing rapid and his body perspiring. One hand was on his penis and the other on his chest touching the nipple. Another dream. He tied to recapture the misty memory but it was gone. He rubbed himself to orgasm while imagining two women making love to each other. HE knew himself to be awake before the radio alarm went off. Without opening his eyes he snuggled down into the softness of the bed and began to feel his body coming out of sleep. What a difference a good night's sleep makes! Mmm. So cosy! He gave a yawn and a stretch the exact moment the alarm went off. He lay in bed listening to the news. A new computer game from makers of The Sims franchise of simulation games called ?Spore? was about to be released which enabled players to "play God" and create new life forms and manipulate or change their genetic make up. There was more about war in Iraq and troops in Afghanistan. The trial of a terrorist mastermind was about to begin. "Depressing" he said suddenly and got out of bed. He changed the station to some music, finding a hip-hop song that sounded good. Much better, he thought as he felt the strong pounding bass of the song reverberate inside him. He turned up the volume. Moving to the beat and occasionally joining in the words of the song he went to the bathroom, put some toothpaste on his toothbrush, and came back into the bedroom, brushing his teeth as he stood swaying his body very slightly to the music. He let the song finish, then switched off the radio and finished rinsing his teeth. Shaving was difficult, as though he had got out of practice and was unsure how to do it. He had to concentrate. He was still feeling that sense of detachment from his physical self. He felt solicitous towards his image in the mirror, and seemed to be asking himself if he was doing it okay, and from somewhere inside he was coaching himself and being encouraging. He dressed quickly, putting on one of the new darker shirts, as he had the previous day, and a new tie. Another bun from the bakery, the train ride in, and time to organise himself. Again he felt the same lack of confidence and desire for approval. But he was also feeling vaguely resentful. It wasn't really much fun, was it? He was hoping to have lunch with Brian, and was thrilled when he asked him if he were free. They went to their usual wine bar and found a seat at once. "You seem quiet today, Derek," he remarked while studying the menu. "Anything wrong?" ?Well,? he said thoughtfully. "I was wondering if I should be doing something else." "Well one has to eat, you know. Can't always be working." Brian looked as though he was looking forward to a big lunch himself. "No, I mean the Law. Work. I wonder if I should be looking at doing something else." "Such as?" said Brian, glancing up. "I could do psychology. Or something that involves travel. I might open a restaurant. Marketing." "Marketing!?" Brian looked at him incredulously. After a few moments he smiled and said, "You're seeing someone, aren't you." "What? Why do you say that?" "That tie for a start!" "Is there something wrong with it?" asked Derek. "Actually, no. Not in itself. But you're obviously trying to jazz yourself up. You've lost weight, I see, and everyone's saying how bloody agreeable you've become all of a sudden. And you have too. Miss Fanshaw thinks you're in love with her, but I didn't agree. Are You?" "With Penny? No! Though she is rather sweet." answered Derek. "Have you been talking to Penny Fanshaw?" Derek's face had begun to feel hot when Brian said he was agreeable. "Everyone talks to Miss Fanshaw. Not in love with her then, eh? I said you weren't. Mid-life crisis then." Brian pronounced. "I thought I'd already been through that." said Derek. "Must be another one then." Brian said. "Or the same one, still." Derek thought for a while. "Actually, I have been a little off balance recently. Dianne's leaving me took its toll. But lately I've been feeling much better, as though that no longer got to me. The only thing is, I'm finding that the job has got really boring." "Of course it's boring," said Bran. "It's the Law. We do it for the money, old boy. Nobody takes on the Finance Act for a hobby. Although you might, sitting in your office looking things up all the time, swatting up like a bloody first year law student. You're showing us all up, you know. And you're taking all the Parliamentary Acts and casebooks into your office and not putting them back. No wonder you're finding it wearing. You're trying too hard." It was nice of Brian to be so interested, but he was sure he didn't understand how he was feeling. He wasn't sure he understood himself. "It doesn't feel like a hobby at all, it feels like a stupid great chore. Like having to be at school again, but wanting to get into the real world." Brian said. "You can't blame work for your personal life. A new job won't solve things. And you must see yourself that it's a bit unrealistic to change careers at your age." Derek thought for a bit. He supposed Brian had a point about him being unrealistic, in more ways than Brian knew, but he was beginning to regret sharing his feelings with him. "I actually feel quite good about life at the moment. Some things have been a bit confusing lately, but I feel quite happy." He paused for a moment. "Like, I feel a bit more connected and stuff. No, I'm sure it's the job." "What's this ?stuff'??" blustered Brian. "You sound like my children. The glorious English language at your disposal, the language of Shakespeare and Dickens and the Authorised Bible, Wordsworth and Keats and Tennyson, and people these days go on about ?stuff?. They feel ?stuff?. They go through ?stuff?. There's ?stuff? happening in their lives. I'm surprised at you Derek. I thought you were made of sterner stuff!" Brian smiled at his own wit. Derek was beginning to think Brian was full of himself after all. He was sullenly quiet for a while. Brian frowned. "Are you feeling all right, Derek?" he asked. "I think I'll get back to the office." He stood up left the wine bar, Brian staring after him. He didn't go straight back to the office. He thought he had probably embarrassed himself and was being ridiculously oversensitive, but he was too angry with Brian to care. He hugged himself for a moment and felt a bit steadier. He was standing outside a jewellery shop. We got you something yesterday. How about we take a look in here today? he said to himself. It was a fairly cheap sort of jewellery shop, but he quite liked some of their stock. He was actually trying to imagine how a lot of the items would look on his ?ideal girl? in the picture. He remembered the little piercings on the girl, and in his mind he proceeded to select jewellery he thought would suit them, two big silver hoops, four more smaller silver earrings, a silver nose ring, and a heart-shaped navel stud. Then he saw some turquoise drops like the ones Penny had been wearing the other day, and thought: they would look nice on her. He decided she'd need a nose stud as well sometimes instead of the ring. A silver one with a tiny diamond. And of course, she'd need some acrylic retainers for when she didn't want to wear the nose ring. Then some silver ear studs with diamonds that went with the nose stud. How about a set in gold as well? Could be handy. He asked to examine the things he had been looking at. He lined them all up and was satisfied that they would all be just right. No, one more! A set of big pink, red and orange heart-shaped earrings caught his eye. He asked to examine them. Very funky! A toe ring. Cool! He asked to see some silver bracelets. Then some more big chunky bracelets. A necklace with a big silver heart-shaped locket. Also one with a cross. He saw some really beautiful long earrings made >from fine silver chain meshed in intricate patterns and ending in fine dangling chains. They came in gold and silver. "Will there be anything else, Sir?" the jet-black haired and black fingernailed Goth shop girl asked. He got a shock. He hadn't actually been going to buy anything. (She looks great with her pale skin, he thought.) A voice inside him seemed to be very excited. (Oh please! Can we get them?). "Yes, fine. Thank you, we'll just take these. No!" he said suddenly, "there, we'll have that too." He pointed out a silver chain ankle bracelet. "That is so cute!" Carrying his new purchases he headed back to the office in a buoyant mood, his conversation with Brian forgotten. He hadn't actually had lunch, so he bought a chocolate ?clair and ate it on his way. "Derek!" Brian called out in the lobby as he reached the lift doors. He turned around as Brian caught up with him. "My apologies, old boy. I think I must have offended you." Derek's anger softened and then disappeared. "Oh, I'm sorry Brian. It was stupid of me walk out,? he paused, ?but I had some stuff to do." he said with just slight emphasis. He smiled at Brian, who was looking at him closely. They both laughed together and headed into the lift. DEREK stayed out a bit longer with the crowd from the office. After a couple of hours the party broke up and some went on to a film while others made arrangements to have dinner. Both groups said he could join them, but Derek wanted to get home. He was feeling a bit excited about his purchases from the jewellery shop. Once home he went straight into the bedroom and unwrapped his packages. He laid the jewellery out on the bed and examined them again with unselfconscious pleasure. Then he wrapped them up in handkerchiefs and put them away in a drawer. He had just begun to wonder what on earth he was going to do with them. He certainly wasn't going to wear them himself. It would look completely ridiculous. Not for the first time during this strange week he wondered whether he was losing his sanity. Perhaps I should make an appointment to see a therapist, he thought. DINNER of soup and bread rolls. Not in the mood to cook tonight, Derek decided. He ate his meal watching the television. More suicide bombings in Iraq. French presidential elections. The Blair government facing further scandal over some appointments to the House of Lords. He finished his soup and rolls and headed into the study. He forgot to check his e-mails, and went straight to the Picture. Another astonishing sight met his eyes. He stared in disbelief, which was becoming a routine with this pursuit that was obsessing him. And yet why wasn't he entirely surprised at what he saw? Still, the sight amazed and scared him. His girl was wearing the jewellery. Or some of it at any rate. The jewellery he had just bought. Of course he knew deep down that he had bought it for her, but the idea seemed so absurd that he had pushed it away. The silver nose ring looked terrific. The navel ring was put in. Her ears had the two silver rings higher up and the dangly silver chain earrings came right down to her shoulders. The ankle bracelet was on, but it was impossible to see whether she was wearing the toe ring. She had several of the bracelets on both wrists. She looked wonderful. Really sexy! The jewellery didn't distract from her beauty at all, but gave her a completely new character, especially the nose ring. She looked exotic and somehow wild. She no longer had her head back with her eyes closed. She was looking straight at him, her eyes and mouth beaming with pleasure. There was a slight questioning, a seeking for approval, or his opinion. An eyebrow slightly raised, was it? Do you like me with these? she seemed to be saying. He looked at her for some time, wondering what to think of this bizarre development. Then he couldn't help himself. He was looking so intently at her joyful smile that he smiled himself. He did approve. He loved it. And yet he admitted to himself in a passing thought that a few days ago he would have thought it a bit uncouth. But how could he be buying things for a girl in a photograph on his computer? A thought suddenly occurred to him. He got up to check the jewellery he had put away, unsure of what he expected to find. It was all there, wrapped up just as he left it. He gave his head a shake. Somehow he had suspected that it could have vanished, that it had somehow transferred itself onto the girl in the computer. He must have watched too much television in his life, he thought. Well if it hadn't disappeared through the Twilight Zone, how did she have the jewellery? He went back to the computer. Once again he began to doubt the state of his sanity. The answer was absurdly obvious. He had become so obsessed with the picture of the girl that he had somehow subconsciously blocked out the memory of seeing this picture (which must be the next one in the slideshow) at some stage over the last few nights, but his unconscious mind had somehow remembered all the items of jewellery and he had bought them while acting on some subconscious urge or suggestion. Or maybe the jewellery had always been there in the previous pictures, and he had somehow just imagined that they were only piercings without the jewellery before. There was no way of going back and checking. These seemed like the most rational explanations, but they all involved him having to doubt the evidence of his perceptions or memories, so they gave him more anxiety than comfort. Maybe he should stop looking at the picture. This all started the other night when he downloaded it, and it was taking over his life. What life? You had no life. You've actually started to get a life now and get interested in things and feel something. He recognised the voice as authentically his own real feelings. It had been a bizarre and confusing week, and he was feeling bewildered and self-doubting, but he did feel alive. He even felt a sense of excitement at the prospect of more bizarre things happening. He knew that he would continue to study the picture, and that its real secret was yet to be revealed. What was happening was scaring him, but it was really cool! HE was looking at Penny, admiring her, enjoying her candid interest in the lives of others and her friendliness. Then he seemed to have become Penny. He was in the office in the secretarial alcove outside the partners" offices, not far from his own. His face smiled up at his lover. His lover brought his lips close. A few playful kisses, short and hungry. Then their mouths were devouring each other, tongues entwined, then duelling with each other, then feasting passionately and then slowing down and savouring. His lover's lips felt hard and strong. His lover's body pushed against his (that is, Penny's) body and he felt his lover's hardness. The face kissing him was Brian's. Brian kissed him again, at the top of his breast, slowly bringing his mouth down to his nipple, having freed his blouse and undone the bra >from the back. Derek/Penny arched himself back, offering the soft breast. Brian's hands were kneading his buttocks, pulling him closer, pressing him against himself. The sensation was excruciating, setting off something deep inside, which gathered in intensity and started to engulf him. The hands were in front now, exploring, looking for a spot. His pelvis was beginning to jerk back and forth. He'll find it soon and come inside me with his fingers, he thought. Nearly there. Brian was getting on his knees, his face moving into Penny's groin. Loud uncontrolled moans and shudders were coming from her. He can't seem to find it. The sense of frustration was driving her mad. Derek was half awake. His body was tense with the sense of frustration he had experienced in the dream. He touched his penis, which was hard and ready, but he was looking for something else. He felt around for it, sliding his hand between his legs. He found his anus, felt up the perineum, found his scrotum, then penis, and then there was just his abdomen. Strange, he thought. Then he was wide awake. He had been dreaming something was wrong with him. He felt his pulse: fast but not irregular. He touched his face. He ran his hands down his body to his penis to feel a fading erection. His legs seemed OK. He turned on the light and got out of bed. Everything seemed to be normal. Or rather, nothing seemed to be wrong. In fact nothing seemed really to be normal either. His body felt strange to him. Not strange as in peculiar, but strange as in unfamiliar. SATURDAY morning. He slept late and even when he awoke he stayed in bed, relaxing. He had stayed up very late watching music videos on MTV till the early hours after he woke up in the night and couldn't get back to sleep. Then he fell asleep again and dreamed. Wild dreams that left him wrung out. He turned the TV on now from his bed and lay back surfing the channels. He got up to relieve himself and made some hot chocolate and grabbed some cereal to eat in bed for breakfast. He switched to an adult cable station and masturbated for a while. He drifted off back to sleep. Derek was awoken by the doorbell. It took a while to penetrate his consciousness, but eventually he realised that there was someone at the door, and they weren't going to go away. The ringing had turned to banging. Now it was ringing again. He threw on some tracksuit pants and went to the front door. "Where have you been, Dad?" It was Emma and Peter. They looked at him in his tracksuit pants, rather surprised, then barged straight past him into the house. "Did you forget you're taking us out to lunch?" said Emma, as she went into the kitchen and began to help herself to his fruit. "Lunch! Of course! Sorry, I did forget." He stood there looking at them. They waited. "Well, are you taking us or not?" "Oh--yes. I'll just get ready." His two children exchanged looks. Derek raced back to the bedroom, tidied a few things up hastily, quickly showered and threw on some casual clothes. "There's a really nice looking Italian place on Queen's Gate I've been wanting to try," he said as he came back into the room. "Or do you want to have something different?" "Sounds good," said Peter, glad that they weren't going anywhere too formal. LUNCH was fun with lots of talking and laughing. Emma and Peter noticed that Derek was more relaxed than usual with them, and more interested in talking about movies and music and clothes and shopping than about Peter's school or Emma's university studies. At first this new side of their father made them rather uncomfortable and confused about how to relate to him. Peter and Emma communicated their sense of strangeness with significant looks when Derek couldn't see. But Derek seemed so genuine in his enthusiastic chatter about these new subjects, and seemed to at least have some grasp of what he was saying, that Emma and Peter soon got swept up into the discussion, and after a while they were just going along with it quite naturally. This was not how things usually were. The truth was that although they loved their father dearly he had become a bit of a stranger to them. He had no part in their day to day lives, so time spent with him usually consisted of the same set of questions and answers, with not much evidence that their father had absorbed many of the answers from the previous visits. Today, however, Derek's children, after their initial uncertainty, had never felt so at ease with him. They had a leisurely lunch and then took a wander together looking at shops and market stalls, and Derek was more than happy for Emma to explore a few clothes shops. He kept urging her to get things she seemed to like, rather than gloomily asking if she could afford it, which is what he usually did on the rare occasions they had visited shops together. To his children's amazement Derek was actually very helpful to Emma when she couldn't decide about which top she should choose or what style of skirt would go with some other item. More helpful than her mother, thought Emma, and more knowledgeable about fashion than she or many of her friends. It was a bit weird, but fun. She had never seen her father like this. It was rather disturbing, but they were enjoying themselves. When they had left home earlier to go to see their father they were certainly not anticipating having any fun. They usually left him feeling almost as depressed as he was. So they weren't about to complain, or examine the situation too much. They got back to Derek's house loaded with packages. Derek put on some music and got them some drinks, putting out some bread and olive oil and cheese, then going back for some chocolates, and then he sat down with them, grabbing some food and eating it silently. They sat together, one or other of them making some remark now and then, or looking at a magazine while still occasionally chatting, or suddenly leading off on a topic with great animation with everyone joining in. Usually Derek was nervously asking something along the lines of "What did they want to do now?" without any obvious options. Now they just seemed to be hanging out together, as they would have done with their friends. If they had things to do, they seemed to have forgotten them. They played a board game together, Scrabble, which they hadn't done with their father since they were children. Since before their parents" divorce. Derek used to be extremely good at it, but he seemed to have got seriously out of practice. Emma had gone to the bathroom, and was taking her time. Eventually she came back with a look of having made a discovery. "Dad, tell us about your new girlfriend," she said as she sat down next to Peter, looking as though she thought she was very clever. "What? What are you talking about?" Derek seemed confused. "In the bathroom, Dad. Ladies perfume. There's Addictive and Princess and Desert Beauty. And some cosmetics. And all these fashion mags. You're seeing someone. And she must be quite a bit younger than you, I think, judging by the colours. And you can't deny that you're different. I want you to know I'm really happy that you're happy. So's Peter." Peter was still trying to make sense of this revelation. Derek was taken by surprise. Yes he'd bought those things, but it just seemed that he needed them at the time. He felt a little flustered. He couldn't say they were his, they'd think he was going queer or something. And he certainly wasn't going to use them. And he could hardly tell his children he'd bought them for a girl in a picture on his computer. He racked his brains for an explanation. "Oh, those." he said. "They just got left behind. No, not by a girlfriend. My niece. I've had my niece staying here for a few days." "Which niece?" asked Emma. "Caroline? Hanna? Why would they be staying here?" Blast! thought Derek. Of course his children knew all his nieces. They were their cousins after all. And all on their mother's side. Strictly speaking, therefore, he actually had no nieces. So why indeed would any of them stay with him? "Well, it's a niece you haven't met yet," he said. "How can we have a cousin we don't know about?" asked Emma. Derek was beginning to organise his thoughts. "No, not a cousin, a second cousin. When I say niece, it's only because she's very young. She's the daughter of an uncle I never knew. My uncle Bill. Mother's long lost brother. Bill Vere (Vere was his mother's maiden name). He had a daughter." "So what's her name?" asked Emma, looking unconvinced. "Her name?" Derek was floundering again. "Her name is--" he racked his brains for a girl's name. He said the first name that came into his mind. "Randi." "Randi?" spluttered Emma. "We're related to someone called Randi? What sort of a name is Randi?" "Lots of girls are called Randi," Derek answered. He didn't know anyone called Randi. "It's--it's short for Miranda. Some people in the family call her Mandy." "Well it's better than Randi," said Emma. And where does Miranda or Randi or Mandy, live. And why has she been staying with you if you don't even know her?" "That's easy. Her uncle, I mean my uncle, her father, Uncle Bill, asked me to put her up for a couple of days while she visited London. She's looking at courses for next year. She's gone now. Gone home. I didn't see that much of her." "Home being--?" "In the country. In Kent. Somewhere near Canterbury. I dunno." Emma sat looking at her father suspiciously. He was being very evasive for some reason. And he had been putting on a funny accent all afternoon (not really cockney, sort of Estuary pronunciation) in contrast to his more usual rather clipped upper middle class tones. Was he having a go at them for some reason? Had their own accents lapsed a bit from watching too much ?Eastenders?, and he was trying to imitate them sarcastically? It was the sort of offensive thing he'd do, but to Emma she and Peter sounded pretty normal. No, it was definitely Dad that was sounding a bit strange. But it was Peter who spoke up. "You should have let us know, Dad. We could at least have met her. Is she good looking?" "I suppose she's okay. She was only here for a short while, and was very busy. There was no time to introduce her to the rest of the family." "You haven't said why you were putting her up." said Emma suddenly. "I offered. I only recently found out about Uncle Bill and we were finding out about his side of the family, and he mentioned Randi had to come up to London and so I offered to put her up." "Why do you call her your niece if you never met her before and she's really your cousin?" asked Emma, renewing her interrogation. "She started it. She called me Uncle Derek. Don't ask me why," answered Derek. "It was probably out of respect," he added with an accusing look in Emma's direction. "And if he's your mother's brother, how come his daughter is so much younger than you? Still at school I gather. And why did she bring expensive perfume and then leave it behind? They're Prada and Vera Wang. They're designer labels, Dad." "I'm quite aware what Prada and Vera Wang are." Derek said in a tone that implied I'm not completely stchoopid you know. Then he went on, "Uncle Bill was much younger than my mother, and Randi's mother is much younger than he is. It's his second marriage." Derek hoped he was getting all this straight. He was getting himself confused and was finding it hard to keep track of the story he was improvising. Again, Peter spoke up, "What's wrong with you, Emma? I don't see why you're going on about it. When can we meet her, Dad?" "I don't know when we'll see her again, if ever. I only recently found out about this side of the family," he avoided looking at Emma, "and I don't know whether we'll have much to do with them." Emma was still looking at him, weighing up what to say next, when Peter got up. "I hope we meet her. Everyone on Mum's side are boring. Well, we'd better be going. Thanks for a great time, Dad." He gave his father a hug. Emma got up as well, taking her cue from Peter. It was much later than they had expected to leave and she was going out with friends. She thanked her father as well, giving him an affectionate kiss as they said good-bye. DEREK'S hastily concocted story about a niece had been pathetically weak. Yet what was it he feared being exposed? Some perfume and cosmetics, which weren't really his, was all he was embarrassed about. He should have just told Emma to mind her own business, and think what she liked. But if the perfume wasn't his, whose was it? Of course, it was hers, the girl in the Picture. Mandy, he thought to himself. He went to the computer to check the names on the internet. He found a baby naming web site. "Miranda: Latin name; she who must be admired. Mandy: Latin name; she who must be loved." He checked ?Randi?. "American name; a wild dog." Best stick with Mandy, he thought, short for Miranda. Mandy Vere. What about a middle name? He began searching the web site. He found one that struck him straight away. ?Aisha.? "Arabic name; alive, she who is." If only she could be alive, he thought, as he had thought many times this last week. Yet she was seeming more alive to him than anyone. More real than himself sometimes. He was glad she had a name. He checked the Picture. She seemed to approve. Miranda Aisha Vere. Mandy. THEY were sitting on the seashore. It was sunset, and they sat side by side looking out to sea in the fading light. It wasn't cold, but they sat close, cuddled up. Her head rested on his shoulder, his head resting slightly on hers. They snuggled closer. She felt excited, full of anticipation. He kissed her hair, and then brought his face round closer to hers. "Oh, Mandy!" he said, and she turned to face him, looking into his eyes. They turned themselves to face each other, their bodies touching as they embraced and held each other tight. Their faces touched, cheek to cheek. They moved together, knowing now was the moment, bringing their lips together. Their tongues met, gently, as if introducing themselves, and after a few sweet moments of tasting each other, they drew apart. Each looked into the other's eyes and found the reassurance they sought. Then their lips were together again, hungry this time, their tongues entwined, feeding off each other's passion. Finally their lips parted and she let her head rest again on his shoulder. "Oh, Cam!" she said, and sighed. DEREK was awake with a start. Another dream, he realised as he tried to recall the vanishing images. It was another of those erotic fantasies he had been having where he was female. This one had left him with a strange feeling of both longing and contentment. He turned over on his front and began to rub his erection against the bed. He could still just remember a wonderful kiss (he reached his orgasm as he fantasised with the memory), but whom had he been kissing? An image came into his head, vaguely familiar, which suddenly seemed clear. Cameron Walters, a school friend of his son's. The idea was very disturbing. He checked the time. Only three twenty-three. He got up and made himself a hot chocolate and went to the computer. He began looking up references to transsexualism and sexual dreams. It was beginning to worry him how all his sexual fantasies were increasingly involving him being a woman. He spent a long time reading the stories of men who identified as women, and women who identified as men, stories of men who dressed as women, transgender men and women, including men who had had surgical gender reassignment. There were moving stories and sad stories. They all seemed to have a lot of courage and honesty but it was freaking him out. Many of the men he read about had tried to suppress their identification as female for many years. Quite a few had very macho jobs such as motor mechanic or serving in the armed forces. They were not necessarily gay, and many had been married to women and were the fathers of children. Derek was trying to get his head round this. Was this what he was happening to him? Had he somehow suppressed a latent desire to be a woman? And yet in all the stories he read the common factor seemed to be a feeling of being in the wrong gendered body from an early age. Derek could never remember feeling that way in his life, until lately, and only sort of. Even now, he didn't feel as though he were really a woman inside. And he wasn't really wanting to change into a woman. It was just that more and more he was seeing life through the eyes of Mandy, the fantasy he had created. And anyway, he wasn't identifying as female in a general way, but with a teenaged girl, barely or only just an adult. He admitted to himself he was in love with her. But there was something more to his feelings. He was beginning to want her life. The life she would be having if she was real. It was really weird.