The Golden Gloom - POOR free porn video

THE GOLDEN GLOOM - POOR By Emma Finn A stand-alone sequel of sorts to The Golden Gloom - RICH. A LIFE OF WEALTH 1 BARBARA "I seem to have mislaid my keys," said Charles, holding up his trousers and feeling through both pockets. "Where?" "I don't know. I had them when we parked the BMW at the airport, obviously. They've gone missing since then." "Oh dear." I smiled at him and shrugged. "They can't have gone far. Look around." Charles started to search and I watched him for a moment before turning back to my Good Housekeeping magazine. We'd been married for twenty years and there weren't many surprises anymore but he was a good man and one whom I appreciated. He was tall and distinguished, sitting the right side of fifty; six years older than I was. His hair was receding and he was rather portly but he was the head of his company and we were extremely wealthy. And I couldn't talk. At forty two I was rather overweight myself but I was happy and comfortable with it. While Charles hunted round in a short sleeved shirt and underpants looking slightly comical, I reclined against the headboard of our magnificent bed in the hotel, enjoy the sultry Cretan heat dressed in a strappy top and shorts. Yes, I was rather on the chubby side but at my age with two children at university I didn't have anything to prove. My life involved little more than chatting to friends, swimming in our outdoor pool and doing my hobbies. "They aren't here," said Charles, calling off the search and getting dressed for dinner instead. "They're gone. Perhaps my pocket was picked." "Well they aren't going to do anyone any good here in Crete," I replied. "Don't worry about it. What's the worst that could happen? We can call Joanne, our cleaner to have another set cut for the house and let us in when we get back." "That'll still leave the issue of the car but there are spare keys at home. We'll just have to get a taxi from the airport." "We can afford it." Charles grumbled, doing up his shoes, making me giggle a little. For such an eminent businessman he could be awfully petulant if he chose to be; though he also had a wonderful confidence and strength about him. That was why I loved him more than anything. We made our way out to the lift. We had the penthouse suite, which was rather breathtakingly expensive, but it kept us in the clouds and well above the riffraff. It was the most expensive hotel in the resort but there was still an... undesirable element on the lower levels. Charles and I spent a fair amount of our time travelling. We'd been to most of the exotic locales around the world. His being the CEO of such a profitable business meant he could take breaks whenever he wished and he tended to work while we were away anyway, leaving me to enjoy myself by the pool sipping cocktails and sunning myself. We'd booked a table at the best restaurant in the resort. We walked to it and took our seats overlooking the sea with a view of the sun setting into the ocean We ordered our appetisers and some wine and watched the lowering light; the changing tones in the sky. It was lovely to just sit and chat about our day. Charles was still worried about his keys but I assured him it would be fine. Even if we had lost them back home the police had been asked to keep an eye on the property and we were perfectly safe. Nothing that happened back home could ruin our holiday here. A dark-skinned waitress came to refresh our drinks after we'd sat for a while and I watched her for a moment as she carefully and humbly did her job. She was far slimmer than I was and had beautiful olive skin. I wondered for a minute what it would be like to do her job. Would I enjoy meeting people from all round the world and enjoying this luscious weather without and end in sight? As I sat imagining this, the light dimmed a little then dimmed some more, taking on a succulent golden quality. I turned round, perplexed, to see the source of it but it was nothing mysterious: just a scant cloud passing in front of the setting sun on the otherwise clear evening. It was lovely being here and I gripped Charles's hand under the table, enjoying his quiet company as the waitress went away. We had such a good life together. There wasn't anything about it that I would have changed. I certainly wouldn't have preferred to be her. 2 CHARLES I sat back in my chair at the end of my meal and patted my portly belly happily. Barbara was chattering away about her latest embroidery project and I zoned out, nodding from time to time. I'd learned from long experience that she didn't need me to engage in what she was saying; she just wanted a sounding board. I was thinking about some reports that needed going over and considering going back to the hotel room for a while to work on them. Such was the downside of running a corporation but I did enjoy it. I liked the feeling of power and control and I enjoyed the challenge of keeping all the disparate elements working together smoothly. I was respected throughout the community and had received numerous business awards. It was a good life that I'd lived. I'd done well for myself. And considering I'd grown up on the narrow streets of Barton I'd gone a long way! There was a saying in Barton that once you were in then you'd never get out - it would always suck you back - but the reality wasn't quite as cut and dried. Some of the brighter children were able to pull away and build a life for themselves away from the factory drudge and the blackened buildings. Our mansion was in Chalfont, the nicest suburb of town and as far from Barton as it was possible to get... socially speaking. I poured Barbara another glass of wine as she rounded up the plans for her next big hobby project and gave her a warm smile. "What would you like to do tomorrow darling?" "Well..." Her eyes lit up. "I think we should hire a yacht and go out to the islands. I've heard there are dolphins out there. We can get the hotel to make up a picnic for us with some champagne and just spend some quality time together, away from your laptop." I flashed my eyebrows. "Is that a complaint I detect?" "From me? Never. But it would be nice to see a little more of you sometimes." "Well you don't get the riches if you don't put in the work," I said. "You might not be quite so keen to spend time with me if it meant giving up the house and the cars and the holidays." She fell quiet and I looked beyond her at the street. There was a young woman with a baby on the side of the road; a local trying to sell corn on the cob from a little wagon. She looked worn and desperate but she doubtless had a simpler life than I did. She was pretty and very young but her clothes were worn and threadbare. As I observed her, the light shifted until she appeared almost to be glowing with a creamy golden light. I went on watching for several moments, fascinated by her slender arms and legs, her pretty face and her long curly hair as the glow became brighter around her. It was an odd and perplexing effect, but it was only a trick of the setting sun. She held up her arm to shield her eyes from it and I turned away, forgetting her. The ordinary people were interesting to look at from time to time but their lives were a far cry from ours. They were the bees and I was the beekeeper. And the honey they produced really was delicious. PEOPLE WATCHING 3 BARBARA Charles excused himself to go back up to the hotel room to do his work but I decided to stay down at the restaurant and do a bit of people watching. I didn't resent him too much. He was the one that kept a grand roof over our heads and took us on these fabulous holidays. Being a work widow was a small price to pay for that... at least that was how I rationalised it. I moved closer to the narrow street alongside the restaurant and gave my glasses a clean to make sure I had a good view. Without them I was literally as blind as a bat; the lenses were several feet thick. The evening was cooler than the day but I was still very warm, even with my arms, shoulders and chest exposed. The street was very busy, filled with tourists, many of whom were somewhat on the chavy side. Sadly the resort wasn't as exclusive as we would have liked but at least the prices in the restaurant where I was kept the bulk of them out. Still, they were fun to watch, so many different types of people from fat sunburned dads to whining toothless children, pretty girls and loud young men on stag holidays. I watched a particular group of girls exit a shop and loiter outside. They were laughing, clearly drunk or even high and they were the worst examples of slutty young slags I'd seen in a long time. They were Essex girls; I could tell that about them without even being able to quite make out the awful accents, and they were young and pretty, but too lewd, showing too much flesh. Some were bone slim, others softer and rounder but none of them were as chubby as me. They all wore stilettos and short skirts, tank tops or boob tubes, their legs, arms, cleavage and midriffs on show to anyone with eyes. I found myself sneering a little but they were fascinating to watch, trying on hats and sunglasses and laughing and joking. They didn't have a care in the world. And they were so young. It made me think of my own younger days. I hadn't been the type to parade round like that, getting drunk and chasing boys. I'd been fairly attractive in my early twenties/late teens before I'd started wearing glasses and started living the comfortable life that piled the pounds on. Though I was more the type to stay at home and study... for an education I never got use from being just a housewife. And if I hadn't been studying I'd been sewing or making birthday cards for my family out of hobby materials. Sometimes I wondered if... I smiled and shook my head at myself, being so silly then took another sip of wine. The string of yellow electric lanterns running round the perimeter of the restaurant garden dimmed a little and then returned to their normal pleasant glow. I glanced at them, distracted, then went back to watching the gaggle of girls. A group of boys emerged from the same shop - their boyfriends by the look of them - and started talking with the girls, laughing and poking fun at them. The slags gave as good as they got, not caring when a display stand got knocked over with their tomfoolery. They walked off, laughing all the more, thinking it was hilarious that the shop owner had to come out and clear up. I shook my head again. I'd never understood how people could be so blas? to their impact on others like that. I was always fussing round, making sure I didn't offend anybody. It must have been nice not to have to worry about it. The lanterns dimmed again and I looked up at them. They weren't flickering, just growing fainter, and around each one was a hazy golden glow, almost as though a mist was in the air, catching the light, though there was no such thing. It made me feel a little drowsy actually and I settled further down into my seat, folding my arms under my breasts after I'd taken another draught of wine. Folding them made me more aware of the chubbiness of my arms and stomach, making me frown. Looking at those young things, all slim and pretty with their lives ahead of them emphasized how much I'd let myself go. I frowned, crossing my legs in the gathering gloom as the lanterns dimmed still further. The noise from the street and the other diners became filtered in my drowsiness as I watched the young group stop again in front of a bar, chatting about whether to go inside or not. One boy and girl kissed one another passionately. The boy rocked the girl back in his lithe young arms, exposing his gaunt but muscular chest and stomach. There wasn't the slightest bit of fat on him and it made me think of my Charles, again comparing this nasty-looking Adonis with my portly middle-aged husband. What would it feel like to be with someone like that? Would I like it if he was rough with me? Would it make it better? I licked my lips, smiling, feeling suddenly resentful: at Charles; at my parents; at the... at the waste of time I'd made of those years of my life. It was silly and negative, but I wondered if I would have been happier not bothering with education; just going out like these youths did; living life passionately like that; living life to the full. There was clearly something faulty with the string of lanterns - they were growing dimmer by the second - but I paid no mind to it anymore. I was feeling more and more drowsy, imagining what it would have been like to spend my late teens living life like that, being a slutty girl like that. A warm breeze played across my bare skin as I stared at them, caressing my arms and legs, stroking my face and running through my hair. I couldn't keep my eyes off the pale six pack of the young gigolo, at the way he thrust his tongue visibly between the lips of his trashy young girlfriend. Drowsier and drowsier I became, staring at the couple, at the smooth supple limbs of this girl, her bottle-blond hair, the shameless clothes. The corner of the restaurant where I was sitting was almost black now, as though the light was being devoured hungrily by some mythical beast. My pulse was slowing, pounding, filling my ears with the impact of it, over and over and over again. And all I saw was the girl and her surly-looking lover. Until suddenly the light rose, almost blindingly, knocking me from the moment entirely. I sat forward and squinted up, shielding my eyes from it with the back of my hand. All the lanterns were lit now with full power, overcharged if anything and the entire restaurant garden was fully illuminated. Someone cleared their throat. It was the waitress from earlier. I glanced at her then back at the street, trying to spot the people I'd been watching, but they were gone now, out of sight. I sighed, wishing the light wasn't so bright. The waitress cleared her throat again. She was standing at attention, right beside the table, looking at me expectantly with slight hostility in her expression. "Excuse me miss," she said. "Can you tell me what happened to the woman who was sitting here?" "What?" "The woman with the glasses. She was sitting at this table. She left without paying her bill." "What are you talking about?" I replied, then paused, touching my throat with a furrowed my brow. "There was a lady and her husband," said the waitress. "The husband left and the woman moved over here. Middle-aged couple, both fairly overweight. The woman had long dark hair and glasses. Did you see her?" I peered at her quizzically, not understanding what she was going on about. She was talking about me. Why was she so confused? I was right here. Then I realised I wasn't wearing my glasses anymore. I reached up to my face. They were gone, but I could see fine. My vision should have been a total blur but it wasn't. I could see everything! The waitress was getting impatient but I ignored her, looking round the restaurant garden in wonder. I could see perfectly! The bushes, the chairs, the tables: it was incredible! I raised my hand to look at it. Then gasped, my heart almost coming to a stop. It wasn't my hand. It wasn't my hand at all! And my legs! They were slim! I gripped the smooth perfect skin of my thighs, panicking. My shorts and sandals were gone! I was wearing a short skirt and stilettos! "Fuck me," I whispered and looked up at the waitress, but she had already turned away, was already complaining to one of the other waiting staff about "the fat middle-aged woman" who had run off without paying her bill. I stared at her then gaped again at my hands and body. I had been that middle-aged woman. But I wasn't anymore! I was somebody else! A NEW FACE 4 BARBARA I scrambled for my handbag, looking for a hand mirror but it wasn't there; it was gone! I'd left it on the chair beside mine but it was nowhere to be seen. I just wanted to see what I looked like now but the loss of my bag was another concern. I checked the floor and other chairs but it wasn't there. Bending down, I got distracted by the flexibility of my body now. I no longer had the pear-shaped mid-section. My exposed midriff wasn't skinny by any means but it was far slimmer than it had been. I lifted my torso upright again delightfully easily, with stronger back muscles and less weight, and tightly curled long blond hair swung into my field of view. I took it in my hands, holding it up to see, disbelieving it. But this wasn't a dream. I was wide awake. I felt tipsy but not drunk. Not drugged. This was real hair. It was my real hair! My fingernails were varnished a bright fuchsia, chipped in places but artfully done. They drew my eyes and I turned my hands and arms back and forth, staring. They weren't the arms of a woman in her forties. They looked twenty years younger. Maybe more! I just couldn't believe it! I lowered them and that's when I saw the little fuchsia handbag on the table next to my drink. There was no one else around whose bag it could be. I scanned left and right, then reached for it, breaking the seal. Inside was some make-up of a cheaper brand than I normally used, a compact, a hotel key, some bubble gum and a small pink sequined purse. I snatched out the compact and flicked it open, gazing in awe at the image I saw staring back at me in its tiny mirror. I was young! I was a young woman, barely more than a girl! The features were completely different from my own: thinner lips, a more turned up nose, heavier lids on eyes that were deeper set. The first thing the reflection made me think of was the girls I'd been watching. I didn't look like any of them; not exactly; but it was close. I looked like I could have been part of their group; like I was the same age as them. I was breathing heavily, almost panting, heart rate elevated. I lowered the mirror, staring into space, trying to come to terms with this, then lifted it again, turning my head and adjusting the glass to get a better look. All trace of my double chin was gone. I had visible cheekbones for the first time in almost ten years! The face wasn't... beautiful but it was pretty enough. When I'd been young I'd had quite cute features. This new face wasn't like that. It was... There was a certain type of face that you saw on street corners, hanging around outside off-licences, or sitting on the front steps of council houses. It was a horrid generalisation, and one I hated to make, but there were some people you could tell were blue collar before they opened their mouths. There was nothing wrong with this face but there were traits of that in it, a slight hardness to the features. It was weird to be looking back at it, into eyes that were a different colour: green instead of brown. I bared my teeth, feeling them with my tongue and fingertips then smiled at myself. Then frowned. Then grimaced. Then I giggled. "Hello," I said, glancing to see if anyone was watching me talk to myself. Nobody was. Most of the restaurant garden was empty now. "Hello. What are you looking at?" I giggled again, covering my mouth with curled fingers, watching the crinkle round my eyes, the skin pulling taught over smiling cheeks. The voice was totally different from mine, slightly more pointed and there was a trace of an accent of all things, but one I didn't recognise. I didn't know how that was possible. "Hello. I'm twenty years old." It was really odd. I looked back in the little shoulder bag and tipped out the contents; unfolded the wallet. There was a bit of local currency, a five pound note, no credit cards and some photo ID. The photo ID looked blank, almost black, but as I looked at it, the shadows resolved themselves into a square photograph and some words. I looked at the lanterns again. It hadn't been real shadow. This thing had actually been formed as I looked at it. Almost as if... As if it was being created right now. A gave a little shudder, a shiver running through me and looked again at this strange new body, feeling slightly more insecure than I had a moment earlier. The picture was of this face. I touched my cheek as though the photo were a mirror, feeling the same taut skin there as in the picture, the small mouth. Then I looked at the name. Lorraine Parker. My lips mouthed the words as I read the date of birth; as I calculated the age of this girl. Nineteen. I was nineteen years old. "Fucking hell," I whispered. "This is really fucked up." Was I stuck this way? Had I swapped bodies with the real Lorraine Parker? Or was there no real Lorraine? I thought about the ID emerging from the gloom, the same off-kilter shadows that had surrounded me when I changed. I looked in every direction, trying to see if anyone was watching me. Had someone done this to me? Cast a spell on me? Why had it happened? Why me? I felt my smooth bare legs and grinned, amazed, loving being young again, but then I thought about Charles. I couldn't just turn into a nineteen year old girl. What would Charles say? What could I do? I wouldn't be able to get home to England; even get back into the hotel! Charles wouldn't even know me! My breathing became laboured again as I started to get more and more anxious. I didn't want this. I didn't want to turn into this girl. I wanted to be myself again. And as I thought this there was a slight prickling on my shoulders and down the backs of my arms and the lanterns dimmed. I looked up at them, watching the illumination immediately increase again as soon as I broke my train of thought, returning to normal. I frowned, thinking about what I'd been doing before the change came. I'd been... I'd been imagining how nice it would be to be young again... "Yeah..." I'd been imagining what it would be like to be as carefree as one of those girls and then... then I'd changed into one of them. And the light... the light had lowered. It had been the shadows that had - I looked at the lanterns again - the shadows that had changed me. "Oh my God," I whispered. That had to be it. The question was, could they change me back? I felt my lovely slim arms and legs. And did I really want them to? 5 CHARLES There was a table and chair in our suite and I had my laptop and a bottle of beer out in front of me. The air conditioning was on but it was still hot. I'd stripped down to my underpants and vest. In former days I'd have brought piles of paper reports and figures to work with. Now, everything was computerised. I hated paper and pushed all my staff to go paperless whenever possible. My laptop was top of the range with a lovely big monitor. It enabled me to compare figures across multiple documents while keeping abreast of developments by email and through social media. The upper and middle management were financially encouraged to keep up work into the evenings and over the weekends so things were always moving forward. It meant that I too had to give up my free time to propagate things but it also kept our profits high. I tapped out a quick email to request that one of our departments be shut down. It would mean forty three redundancies but that was simple maths: the weight of continued revenue drop against the short term payout of severance. The department was making a profit but it was a marginal one. It had to go. I gave the instructions, glanced back over what I'd typed and then pressed SEND before taking a swig of beer and moving on. The light dimmed in the room slightly, then dimmed again. I looked up at the overhead bulb. It was still shining at the same intensity but... it was odd. The light wasn't filling the room in the same way. The upper corners of the suite were in shadow, the shadows under the bed swelling across the floor. I frowned, half turning back to my laptop. The screen was as bright as ever so there wasn't an electrical problem, and the desk lamp was fine. But no. That too started to dim, the light from it altering slightly, becoming less pure white, taking on a beige tint. I tapped the conical shade round the bulb but it dimmed further. It was one of the strangest things I'd ever seen. The whole room was getting darker and darker, but both lights were still shining. They didn't seem to have dimmed at all. I couldn't explain it. A creeping sensation ran up my back beneath my vest like sweat prickles and I looked at my arm as it slid down there. The fine hairs were standing up as though there was an electrical charge. Then my ears popped, the pressure building up in there like it would if I'd suddenly climbed hundreds of feet in altitude. I recognised the feeling because I'd felt it that morning on the plane ride over: exactly the same. The gloom faltered, brightening then dipping sharply and a sensation started in my stomach, creeping up into my throat. My limbs felt heavy. My eyelids drooped. I was having some kind of stroke, I had to be. This wasn't normal. I needed to call for help. But the phone was over by the bed and I couldn't force myself to stand. The gloom was closing in on me. I was struggling, trying to push up on the desk. The beer bottle fell on its side, the liquid inside frothing out onto the table. A pain was building up inside my temple. Then from the back of my mind I felt a sudden surge of resentment about my life, a despondency; a need to get away from it; but these were alien thoughts that didn't fit in my mind. I wasn't the type to think that way and my instinct pushed them away. Immediately I felt a further push of depression, making me feel that I needed to escape. I looked at the screen in front of me, at the profit margin figures and wanted nothing more than to have a simpler life without all that pressure. I gripped the sides of my head, closing my eyes. I didn't know why I was feeling this way. It wasn't me. This wasn't what I was like. I had to get up; call for the doctor; call Barbara to come back to the room. I willed myself to do it, driving my resolve into my sluggish limbs. The room was almost in total darkness. I could barely make out the laptop now. Then with a cry of determination I pushed myself up, staggering away from the table, the chair falling behind me on its back. And instantly the gloom vanished. The feeling of pressure and discomfort disappeared. I stumbled, spinning round to look about me. The room was entirely normal. There was nothing wrong with it at all. I checked my body, feeling my portly stomach; the back of my head; my arms. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing at all. It was as though I'd just woken from a light dream-filled sleep. I frowned, checking the room again, then shook my head, chuckling. That was all it had to have been. Surely. I looked at the laptop, the lamp, the overhead bulb. Everything was as it should have been. Except for the beer bottle. That was on its side, exactly as I'd seen. I quickly righted it and mopped up the spillage. There was no real damage. I held the bottle in my hand, replaying the incident through my memory. It certainly felt like a dream now. What I saw and felt was completely unnatural. It couldn't have actually happened. But then there was the bottle... I placed two fingers on the bald area at the top of my high forehead, gently stroking back and forth as I thought it through. I felt tired now. Very tired. I sank down onto the bed, tempted to close my eyes for half an hour. If it had been a stroke or something I would have still felt bad now but I didn't. I felt perfectly normal; just weary. I picked up my mobile phone and dialled Barbara's number but it went straight to voicemail. "Hmmm." It didn't matter. She'd be back soon enough. I just needed to rest. That was all. I lay back, feeling the tension release throughout my back and shoulders. My vision was a little blurry. I rubbed my eyes, closing them. When I reopened them a second later the room had dimmed again. I lifted my head immediately but it had just been a trick of my eyes. Everything was fine, the light normal. It was just the stress of the journey and finally getting away from work. That was all. I needed to sleep. I closed my eyes again and this time I didn't reopen them, letting myself drift into sleep. And my dreams were filled with strange images of other lives, filtered through a golden gloom; other people's faces staring back at me in horror from cracked and dirty mirrors amid squalor and filth. 6 BARBARA I left the restaurant, walking out onto the pavement, feeling exposed and vulnerable - like I was wearing a gaudy revealing outfit that would be horribly embarrassing if I was seen in it. But it wasn't an outfit; it was someone else's body! I had actually become an entirely different person! As far as all the passersby could tell, I was this young nineteen year old: Lorraine Parker. No one was looking at me strangely. No one saw this as a magical transformation. If there had been one - and there had - then it was over now. This was really me. A man in his thirties walked by, eyes dropping to my chest and legs, my midriff, briefly on my face, then he was gone. Now that was weird. I hadn't been 'checked out' so blatantly since... ever really. That was why I'd fantasised about being a girl like this: because I'd missed out on that entire segment of life. It felt... nice. While I was standing there thinking about it, I got leers from two other men, one of them quite dark skinned and tasty. It was actually kind of nice. I started walking through the milling crowds, just feeling what it was like to be young again but in this new and exciting way: to be checked out by man after man, feeling more confident and sexy by the minute. I wondered what it would be like to be with one of them, to kiss them and feel them take me in their arms, enjoying the fantasy. What if I went in a bar and got some guy to buy me some drinks? What if I went clubbing and found some tasty young gigolo to... To fuck me? "God." I slipped off the main thoroughfare and cupped my face in my hands. I stayed like that for a minute, just trying to digest all this then swept them back up and through my hair, linking my fingers finally behind my neck. I was this girl, Lorraine. I had really become her. It was exciting but it was also entirely terrifying. The tension in my upper back was creeping tighter around my shoulders and arms. I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all. In the alley was the entrance to a seedy-looking hotel called Brits Abroad. An Asian man and woman emerged and I had to step out of the way. As I did so I saw the name of the establishment and got another jolt in my stomach of tension cramps. I fumbled for the key from the little pink handbag, holding it up; matching the tag to the words there. It was a key for a room in that hotel: this squalid dump with peeling paint and overflowing dustbins. It was too real. It wasn't just a fantasy or a game. It was entirely real and it was wrong and I hated it. I just wanted to be back in my own body - safe with Charles - back in my own room at my own hotel. I didn't want to be young again. I just wanted to be me! And as the panic overcame me, as tears came down my cheeks, the darkness intensified in the alley, dyeing everything a dimming hazy gold. I span, looking desperately about me, all the more horrified, gripping the sides of my face as the gloom swelled further, closing in on me; swallowing me. I cried for help from the passersby on the street but no one reacted, the noise from my throat muted by the gloom. I strained, screaming, reaching out for them, trying to stagger that way, but I fell forward onto my knees as the darkness snapped over me, blacking out my vision, muffling every physical sensation apart from the concrete under my hands and knees which quivered as though the very earth were quaking. Then in a burst of restored illumination it was gone. I was on my hands and knees in the alley outside the Brits Abroad, trying to catch my breath. And I was myself again. My arms were chubby again, my breasts pendulous, my stomach round and soft. I touched the glasses on my face, the straight dark hair, my fringe. It was all back and I tilted upright, sitting back on my heels, smiling out of relief, the tears still running down my cheeks. "Thank God," I said. "Oh thank God." I climbed up with difficulty and shambled to the mouth of the alley, squinting into the bright shop lights, seeing all the oblivious people. Back in the alley the gloom had departed completely. But I could still feel it. It was near. I could feel it like a warm chill on the backs of my arms and behind my knees. Something unnatural. I touched myself all over, so relieved that it was over, but disappointed too that I wasn't slim and young again. There were so many carefree girls on the street. I watched them walking and laughing, holding hands with their men... and I wondered... I wondered if I hadn't just made a terrible mistake. If I hadn't just wasted a unique opportunity. A faint tingling played across my back, running down to my waist. Whatever had done it was still around, still coaxing me, telling me it wasn't too late, but I shook my head to clear it. I didn't want that. It wasn't worth it. I didn't want to be young again if it meant I'd have to be poor. 7 BARBARA The Brits Abroad Hotel was a dive but I had absolutely no doubt that it was cheap. There had been a time, years ago, when travelling abroad was the exclusive right of the wealthy, but with the days of cheap flats and LastMinute.com anyone now had the potential to explore the world. As long as the world they explored was filled with alcohol, swimming pools, party drugs and gaudy souvenirs. This was the kind of establishment that catered for that lower end of the market, a place to flop after a hard night's drinking and dancing; no frills. I fingered the ends of my hair, wondering if I should go inside. The reception desk was unmanned. Behind it on the wall was pinned a faded Union Jack. On the side wall was a big poster of two grinning football hooligans, their faces painted red and white with the English flag, thumbs up. The bright red lettering said "LET'S GET PISSED!!!!" That said it all really. But I had to know, so I pushed back the door and went in. There was a bell on the counter. I rang it and waited. Three laughing young men piled down the stairs, singing some kind of overloud anthem, voices full of mirth and inebriation. I tried not to look at their bare chests and muscular stomachs, painfully aware of how out of place I looked. A sweating overweight Greek came to the reception desk and murmured something unintelligible, flashing his eyes. I cleared my throat tersely. "Good evening. I'm sorry to bother you. My... niece is going to be staying here and I was wondering if she'd checked in yet. Her name is Lorraine. Lorraine Parker." I smiled, feeling transparently fraudulent. Nevertheless, the man checked his book, shaking his head no. "Lorraine Parker," I repeated. "Are you sure?" "No Lorraine Parker. No." He shook his head again, even more violently. I stepped back, turned, remembered my manners and looked back to say "Thank you," then left the building, my mind casting about, trying to make sense of all this. But there were no answers. Only more questions. 8 BARBARA I wandered back toward mine and Charles's hotel, my mind so detached from my surroundings that I barely avoided knocking into people. I must have looked a real sight: the matronly woman in the glasses walking in a daze. The odd feeling was still with me. I could feel it crawling on my skin in the darker recesses, gathering there, waiting, stroking at my thoughts, nudging at me, keeping me drowsy. It was faintly disturbing, but also comforting; warming; slightly electric, almost erotic. Whatever it was, it hadn't finished with me. But that didn't fill me with fear. For some reason it made me... content; secure. It felt like it could make me happier, that a simpler life was in reach, that all I had to do was wish for it and that life could be mine. My thoughts were sluggish, dropping from one concept to another only slowly, trying to understand this thing, contain it within a framework of rules. But it eluded that, contradicting any sense I'd ever known, making me feel as though there was no reasoning it or understanding it; that this thing that was happening now to me was unique. A unique relationship between me and... whatever it was. I kept thinking about Lorraine Parker; about the ID resolving itself from the gloom; about the hotel key; about the dazed look on the hotel proprietor's face when I said that name. He hadn't known her. She wasn't a guest there. But she'd had the key. I'd had the key. The only thing that came close to making sense to me was that when I had become Lorraine I had been a guest there. If I'd asked him then he would have known me. When I changed back she ceased to exist. But none of this made sense, not in any real way. This kind of thing didn't happen. I stopped at the side of the road, only belatedly realising I was at my proper hotel already. Did this mean that I could change into that body again whenever I wanted? I felt a sudden longing to and the street darkened slightly but I gripped the sides of my face, forcing myself to put it out of my mind. Yes. It meant I could still invoke it. Still change. Just by thinking it. I had to get back inside. I had to discuss this with Charles. It was too big to keep to myself. Checking for traffic I hurried across the street and in through the front doors to the lobby then I made my way to the lifts. 9 BARBARA Charles was fast asleep when I got back to the penthouse... which was disappointing. I sighed over-loudly, hoping he'd wake up then slipped into the en-suite bathroom when he didn't. The sight of my usual reflection was slightly jarring after looking at myself as that girl. I didn't like seeing my ordinary features and turned away... then looked again: at my round face, my thick specs, my double chin, me pear shaped body and thick thighs, my round arms. The bathroom was beautiful, really high quality; the best that money could buy. But was it that great, really? Was it worth being old for? Or overweight? Was it worth having bad eyesight to keep hold of it? Were any of these trappings worth it? Was the mansion back home? I could still remember how the taut skin on my arms and thighs had felt. I closed my eyes, remembering, the sides of my mouth turning up, and the room darkened, the gloom closing in on me, just nudging me a little further in those thoughts. I remembered the hard mouth I'd had, the heavier brow. I imagined what it would be like to be a teenager again, to not worry about what people thought about me, to be free to act without doubt or guilt. To just do whatever I wanted. Be with whomever I wanted. The chills started on the backs of my calves and pattered up my legs around my buttocks and into my back. I put my hands to my stomach but it was already slimming beneath my fingers and my turned-up mouth became an actual smile and then a grin. I wanted to open my eyes to the darkness but I was afraid to break the spell, lose the fantasy, let that fantasy become real. All I could think about was being that girl again; being young again. It was everything I wanted. Every other care I had was subsumed by that, consumed in the darkness what was closing around me. I stretched my arms out to the sides, my head dropping back as the preternatural wind caught my hair: letting it do its work; letting it change me, turning me into Lorraine again, wiping away all trace of the frumpy middle-aged woman I'd been. The power twirled around me, reshaping my limbs, stripping the unwanted meat from my bones, recasting my face. And then in a flicker and a flash of restored light it was over and I was gasping, reaching for the edge of the sink to keep me from falling, trying to catch my breath as I stared once more into the reflection of the nineteen year old hellion in the mirror. Lorraine Parker. The new me. THE BOY 10 BARBARA I took stock of this new form as I had originally done: by touch; running the slender fingers of my smaller hands up the backs of my slim arms, across the slightly rounded midriff, the smooth legs, this new face. The compact mirror hadn't done it justice: the experience of looking into the glass and seeing an entirely different identity looking back at me. In this big expansive reflection I could see every detail within its proper context. I'd never before felt myself sidestepped from my normal reality like this; shunted so completely from the sensations I was used to. But most profound of these changes wasn't the physicality of it, the encompassing reality of being twenty five years younger; it was that I didn't recognise myself in this young woman's face. That wasn't my expression staring back at me, half smiling in wonder. It was a stranger's. "Shit me," I whispered. "This is really whacked." The bathroom door was closed but it occurred to me that I might have cried out when I changed; might have woken my husband; however there was no peep from in there. I opened the door a crack. His body hadn't moved, lying on his stomach diagonally on top of the covers of the double bed, head resting on his folded arms. I closed the door silently and sat on the closed toilet, only belatedly noticing that it was something I normally wouldn't do. That didn't matter now. All the old rules didn't matter. I was jittery with excitement. This felt so unreal and so entirely real at the same time. The tickling gloom was still present, holding back; waiting. I could feel it. I could still change back whenever I wanted to. That was good. "That's a big frikkin relief." It had been rash to change again without knowing that would be the case but I'd lost myself in it. I'd wanted it from the core of my being. Now it had happened I was presented with waves of glee and waves of panic but I couldn't feel anything but glad that I'd done it. I wanted to experience this now while I had the chance. I knew that I could get trapped in this form but I couldn't make myself care. I was on such a high, like I knew I might regret it later but couldn't be concerned with that now. I wanted to get out there, pretend to really be Lorraine Parker. Really be her. I wanted to knock back a bunch of shorts and get pissed then go dancing. I wanted to snog a few guys, maybe shag one at the end of the night; see how it went. "Oh God." I put my head in my hands. "What's happening to me?" This wasn't who I was. I wasn't like that. But it felt so enticing, so nice. I wanted to give in and be like that. I wanted it with all my soul. The little pink handbag had appeared on the edge of the sink. I got up and popped it over my shoulder, holding it back in place with my hand as I opened the door again by a crack. Charles hadn't moved. He was deeply asleep. I stepped out fully into the bedroom and studied him with my new eyes, my free hand resting limply on my hip. He looked... old. Fat. Kind of gross. An... adult. But he was also Charles; my husband; the man I'd spent my life with; brought up children with... twins the same age as I was now. I put my fingers to my forehead, stepping away from the bed, starting to lose it again. This wasn't right. None of this was right. I shouldn't be wanting this. I needed my children. I needed to get back to them. The light shone on Charles's balding head, on the glistening sweat on his thick bare arms, his hairy legs. My lip curled to look at it, an immediate contrast forming with the boys I'd seen, the ones with the girls I'd spotted with their six packs and chiselled features, their brazen attitudes. And as I thought of that, the corners of the room darkened. I looked at the gloom gathering there and then back at Charles and realised in a whitewash of understanding what it meant; what it was lurking for. The Gloom: it didn't just want me. It wanted Charles as well! 11 BARBARA My husband was asleep. Utterly defenceless. And this power that had had its way with me, enticing me to let it in, was goading me again now with the vibration I could feel with my teeth, the pressure building up under my fingernails; telling me that I had power over it now; power over Charles. I could change him too if I wanted to, to be anything I wanted. It was my choice. He wouldn't even feel it happening. I could tell it what to do, how to transform him and it would do my bidding; do exactly what I asked of it; perfect him; give him a better life; a simpler life. Make him match me as I was now so I wouldn't be alone. All I had to do was desire it and my dreams would change reality. They would change him; remake him in the image of my dearest fantasy. And he would like it; surely he would. He'd welcome it. Why wouldn't he? He'd be young again. Free again. He'd be the perfect match for me. I sat on the seat at the desk, head once again in my hands, pressing hard on my temples, pushing into my eyes, then got up, paced to the door, paced back, sat again, then stood. The darkness had withdrawn to the high corners, back under the bed, but it was there, whispering to me soundlessly, urging me on, letting me know how good it would be. I looked at Charles again, still sleeping; at his portly body, the wrinkles on his face, his receding hair. Who would choose to look like that if they didn't have to? Even if they were rich? And riches could always be regained for a man like him. Charles had such a wonderful intelligence. He could reclaim our riches any time he wanted, especially with decades more of youth ahead of him. It was obvious. It had to be done. I had to do it. And in anticipation the gloom started to gather again, closing in from the corners of the room, billowing up behind me like a dark cape, creeping into the fronds of my hair, running down my arms to curl around my fingers. I didn't want Charles to be old. I wanted him to be young. I wanted the fat to wither, his hair to grow back. I wanted the wiry frame and hard muscles of a young man to wrap around me. I wanted the passion and will of a boy the same age as me. I didn't want a middle-aged husband to trap us in our gilded cage anymore. I wanted someone with fire inside him, with power over me; a boy who knew what he wanted and took it, who didn't worry about sobriety or propriety. And as I thought these things, as I pictured this dark Adonis, the light took on a golden cast, the shadows seeping toward his sleeping form like hungry tentacles, slithering over his helpless body, stroking back his hair, penetrating his flesh and clinging to it, obscuring him from me. I wanted this boy I was picturing. I wanted a young man to take me and fuck me and show me a good time. I wanted a real man, not this flaccid middle-aged fool. I needed this. I needed it now. And the golden gloom did its work, constricting around him, lifting him from the bed, consuming his face in blackness. And suddenly Charles wasn't sleeping anymore, he was fighting it, struggling, reaching out, clawing at his face, his moans stifled; suffocated. The game was broken. The trance I'd been under snapped. Suddenly I didn't want it. I didn't want any of it. It had been tricking me. All of this was wrong! But it was too late! The transformation was occurring now and nothing I did would stop it! Charles cried out for help but I could barely hear him anymore. His entire body was covered in the shadows as he kicked and tore at them, and then there came the flicker of blackness and the explosion of it and I threw up my arms to protect me as the light crashed back in with an audible twang and Charles plummeted back down onto the bed, crying out in alarm. Except it wasn't Charles. Not anymore. It was a nineteen year old boy! 12 CHARLES "What the fuck was that?" I blurted out the words, looking round me, seeing I was still in the hotel room, panting with exertion, even though I'd been asleep. And then I saw a girl at the foot of the bed. "Who are you?" She stared back at me, clutching her bosom, mouth hanging open. She was about the same age as our kids but nothing like them: a slutty little tramp in skimpy night club gear, hair a shower of yellow curls, cleavage straining her boob tube, long legs packed into stiletto heels. She didn't answer me; just went on staring. I jumped out of bed. "Who the fuck are you? What are you doing here? Did you break in?" She shook her head nervously. "Charles, I..." "Who are you? How the hell did you know my name?" "It's me," she said. "Barbara." "Barbara who?" "Your wife. Barbara. It's me. I've changed." I stuck my pointing finger out at her. "Give me a fucking break you stupid tart! How the hell did you get in here? Tell me!" "Just look!" she cried. "Look in the mirror Charles! Look at yourself!" "What?" "Look at your fucking body in the mirror!" I straightened, glanced toward the bathroom, kept my eye on her, backed toward it. "What is this? Why do I feel so weird? What did you do to me?" "Look in the mirror Charles," she said, her voice quavering. "You'll see. Just look." She went on pointing past me into the bathroom and I pushed back the door, stepping into the frame, not trusting her but feeling compelled to do it, growing suspicious, knowing that something was wrong with my voice, that I felt different somehow, really fucking different. And there it was. In the glass wasn't my man's face, my man's body. There was a kid - about the same age as the tart in the bedroom. I looked at her fearful expression then back into the bathroom mirror, seeing the reflected movement, knowing that this wasn't an illusion or a dream, knowing exactly what had happened now, even if I had no idea how it could have. "Is that me?" I said, touching my hard taut features. The girl who'd come into the reflection behind my right shoulder nodded, still looking shaken. I turned to face her and found her surprisingly close, her soft chest right below my chin, her eyes less than a foot from mine. "Barbara?" She nodded. "Barbara?" She nodded again. "This is bent. This is fucking butt-fucked." "I know. But listen..." I went back to the mirror, getting closer. I wasn't dressed as I had been when I went to sleep. I was in torn jeans with bare feet and chest. I was shorter, though still taller than she was and all my paunch had gone. The hair on my chest and arms was gone. I didn't have an ounce of fat anywhere, it was all just tight muscle - not like a body builder but like a... like some bad mother-fucker who didn't take no shit from anyone. My hair was shaved to the skin round the sides and back in a line but the dark hair above it flopped down in longer strands. I didn't look like a good boy. Not at all. "What's wrong with my voice?" I said. It was gritty and harsh, the syllables more pointed than normal. "You're in a different body. You've got a different voice." "No. The words I'm using you stupid cow. I don't talk like this. I don't say shit and fuck every third word. What the hell's going on here?" "I didn't do it on purpose." "What?" I swung to face her and she stepped back, gripping her shoulders. "I'm sorry Charles. I didn't think... I wasn't thinking straight." I narrowed my eyes, curling my fingers into fists. "You did this to us? What did you do?" "I'm sorry." "What the fuck did you do!?" I grabbed her by the neck, pinning her against the bathroom door then slammed my palm hard against the wood so that she gasped in fright. "Charles please!" "What did you do to me you fucked-up little bitch, eh?" "I'm sorry Charles. I didn't mean to. It just happened. The shadows did it. I don't know what it was. Some kind of magic. Like a ghost or something. But we can change back whenever we want. We can change back, I swear! I just wanted to be young. I wanted you to be young again. It just happened!" I glared at her helpless expression, curling my lip then tossed her to the side, stomping back through to the bathroom. I didn't know what was wrong with me. I wasn't like this. I didn't react this way. I was angry and scared but it was this body that was making me aggressive. I tried to calm myself, making a bipod of my arms on the edge of the sink, breathing raggedly again as I had when I'd woken up like this. The girl was on the edge of the bed, silent, just watching me. I ignored her, looking again at this young body. It felt... strange. But good. I felt healthy; strong. I hadn't ever looked like this, even when I was younger. It actually felt incredible. I flexed my fingers, watching the veins on my wiry arms, the flexing of my steely biceps. "Isn't it amazing?" said the girl. I didn't answer her. "We're young again. And we can stay like this as long as we want." "Are you sure about that?" "I already changed back once." "But how long does it last?" She didn't reply. I turned back to face her and left the bathroom. "Do we get stuck like this?" "I don't know. I don't think so. We can change back into ourselves." I thought for a minute, running the possibilities in my mind. Then I started to move. There were some odorous trainers discarded on the floor that hadn't been there earlier. I put them on then grabbed the short sleeved shirt that had also appeared, lying over one of the chairs, and put it on, leaving it unbuttoned. "Charles? What are we going to do?" I felt in my jeans pocket. There was a crumpled packet of fags. I pulled a less bent one out and shoved it between my lips, lighting it from the Zippo in my other pocket. "I want to go out like this. See what it's like. Come on." She got to her feet, looking relieved and a little excited.. "Okay." "But you better be fucking right about us switching back," I snapped. "If I get stuck like this then I'm gonna fucking twat you! Do you understand?" "Yes," she stammered. "You better," I snapped. "Cause I fucking mean it." A NIGHT OUT 13 BARBARA I tottered quickly after Charles to keep up as he strode through the hotel lobby, ignoring the suspicious glares of the doorman and receptionists. "'Ang on hun," I called. "I ain't as fast as you in these 'eels!" I caught up with him on the curb outside. The night had cooled somewhat but it was still very warm. I took hold of his arm with both hands, liking the feel of his muscles. "This is frikkin ace," he said, grinning at me. "I feel like a super hero or something; like I'm light as a feather." "I know! Isn't it great?" He touched my cheek. "You did good luv. You were right. I wouldn't've chosen to do this - I was such a fuckin pussy - but now I have it's frikkin supreme!" I giggled, beaming at him. "What shall we do first?" "Anything we want, how's that? Anything we frikkin want!" He pointed. "Let's start there." There was a bar with tables outside and disco lights flashing in the dark interior. Charles strode off again with me hobbling to catch up. The streets were even more crowded now with brightly dressed tourists. The shops and pubs were alive, even with the late hour. It wasn't like earlier now though. I didn't feel like I was wearing a costume. This body - these clothes - they just felt comfortable. Normal. My consciousness was altered. I was coasting on a shifted set of perceptions, a dozy feeling of semi-drunkeness, a hyper-charged confidence and willingness to just run with things. Charles took my hand and dragged me through the club's narrow entrance, forcing his way through the crowds toward the bar. The music was pounding out, vibrating so loudly I could feel it under my skin. Normally I'd have hated somewhere like that but not anymore. I loved it. I loved getting swept up in it. Charles was so strong, just forced his way through. I felt so proud of him. He caught the barman's eye and ordered four shots; little green things made from apple. He gave me a grin and flashed his eyebrows as he paid from a tatty leather wallet he got out his back pocket then we knocked the first one back together, laughed, then knocked back the second. The apple made it delicious but there was a bite too and just a slight blur of inebriation. I giggled, loving it, as Charles ordered four more, flipping open his new wallet to search through it. "Look!" he shouted, only just audible over the music. He held up an ID card with his new face on it. "Tommy Bennett!" I pulled mine out from my handbag and showed it too. "Lorraine Parker. Pleased to meet you." We laughed, shaking hands then he pulled me in close and snogged me, gripping my chin in his strong hand, holding me in place as he shoved his probing tongue into my mouth. I lost myself in it, in the swell of the music and the pulsing passion. I'd never felt so good or so light-headed. The barman put the next four shots down and we knocked them back too, racing one another. Charles ordered four more. I couldn't help laughing. The drink was starting to hit me, making me feel wonderful - just really relaxed. He took me in his arms, face close to mine. There was nothing of Charles in that face: in the eyes, in the set of the mouth; nothing. It was almost like I'd only just met this guy but I also knew he was my husband. "You're my girl Lorraine," he said. "My girlfriend." I felt scared when I giggled, replying, "Tommy. My boyfriend, Tommy Bennett." I was riding the wave here but it was going so fast and I didn't know where it would end or if I wanted it to. "Let's dance," he shouted, grabbing my wrist and dragging me through the press of people again before waiting for my reply, and as he pulled me I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar: a scared and drunken-looking teenage girl with too much flesh showing. Where was the woman I was meant to be? Where were the glasses and chubby arms? I felt so drunk suddenly. I didn't know what was happening to me. But at least I had Tommy with me. He'd keep me safe. He could be a right nasty fucker if he had to be; a real bad boy, but that was why I liked him. It was the reason why I'd shacked up with him last year; why I couldn't get enough of him. 14 CHARLES This was like nothing else: to dance with such abandon, to know I wasn't myself anymore, that I was this wiry kid now, that my inhibitions, already being stripped away by the drink, had hardly been there to begin with. I was Tommy Bennett, not Charles Hawthorne. I'd really become an entirely different person. I didn't feel like my normal self at all. Every sensation was telescoped, twisted, made all the more raw by these young man's senses and desires. And Barbara - Lorraine - looked horny as fuck, flashing her bare arms to the pulse of the music, hooking her pelvis back and forward, stroking my chest with her fingertips, smirking as she unbuttoned my shirt. I swatted back her hand, enjoying the pout she made. I loved that flirty girl child shit she did. I undid the next two buttons myself, holding her gaze without a blink. Some fucker jostled me while he was dancing, breaking the moment. I gave him a push back, hard, knocking his balance off enough so that his face knocked into his fat-cow girlfriend. He threw a glare back at me but backed off when he saw the look I gave him. Lorraine slid her hands snake-fashion under my shirt at my chest, stroking my rounded pecs, slipping her hands up to my neck then sweeping them outwards to push my shirt off my shoulders. We locked lips as the shirt fell to the floor. I kneaded her tits, sucking in a little on the open mouthed snog, drawing some breath out of her. Her eyes flapped open. Mine had never closed. The grins we both cracked into broke the seal of the kiss then we closed in again, ignoring the beat. I gripped her buttocks with one hand and shoved the other under her boob tube, popping out a tit, squeezing it in bunched fingers; put my lips to it, chewed on the nipple; grabbed her ass again and lifted her so she gave a shriek of surprise that bubbled into a laugh. Her legs went round my waist and I snogged her again, her tit still exposed. But what did it fucking matter? Nobody in the club gave a fuck. This was frikkin great. It was the best fucking night of my life. And it was far from over. We could go anywhere; do anything; and when we were done we could go back to our old lives with no repercussions. I wanted to do it all. I grabbed Lorraine's wrist. "Come with me." Before she could finish the word "Where?" I yanked her with me, forcing her to hurry to keep her feet. The dance floor was packed but I just rammed my way through, giving one bloke and nasty shove in his back who was right in my way - stupid twat. He went down hard but I didn't slow down to watch. He was in my fucking way; what did he fucking expect was going to happen? Cunt. "Where ya takin me?" yelled Lorraine, only just audible over the music. I stopped when we were clear and turned, gripping her chin in my right hand. "I wanna fuck you. I wanna fuck you right now." She frowned. "I'm not ready to go back to the hotel yet." "Not at the hotel." I gave her a nasty grin and pointed. "In there." "In the karsey?" "Why the hell not?" "It'll be dirty!" she whined. I gave her my seediest leer. "Exactly. It'll be better that way." She covered a chuckle with her smooth little curled fingers, her eyes lighting up. "You're filthy Tommy!" "Not yet I fuckin ain't. Get in there." She tottered toward the pair of doors. "Which one? Boys or girls?" "Boys," I said. "I ain't a fucking poofter." "Well wot about me?" I jabbed her in the shoulder, herding her into the door. "You'll get over it." I followed her inside the gents. It was just what I'd wanted. The tourists had left it looking like a shit hole. We both just stood there, looking at it and for a second I broke out of it, saw myself from my normal perceptions, realised what I was doing, how I was acting. This wasn't right. This was counter to every instinct from my proper life. But it felt so frikkin good. It felt incredible to not give a shit about nothing; to just do what I wanted. One of the cubicles opened and a bashful-looking nigger came out, staring at Lorraine and then at me. "What you fuckin lookin at you fuckin coon wankstain? Get the fuck out of here!" "Yeah you perv," said Lorraine. "Get lost or my boyfriend'll fuckin have ya for starin at me tits!" He hurried out and we laughed, snogging hard again. Then I pulled away, taking her wrist again. "Where we doin it?" she asked fearfully. I pointed into the other cubicle. "In there." 15 BARBARA I looked down the length of Tommy's pointing arm into the toilet cubicle, at the graffiti on the walls, the puddle of water around the base of the pedestal. It was gross but that wasn't stopping him. He looked positively excited as he pulled me toward it but I tried to resist. "What if someone comes in?" "We'll do it quietly. And what the fuck does it matter?" "But they'll know!" "The door'll be shut and who gives a shit anyway. Let em hear!" "Charles--" He stopped, glaring at me. "It's Tommy. For now. Alright Lorraine?" I shrugged. "I suppose." He became genial. "Come on legs, it'll be hot. We ain't never done this kind of stuff. We've missed out on all this kinda shit. It'll be a laugh." "I don't know..." "Quit fuckin whining and let's do it." He gripped my wrist tighter and pulled me into the cubicle, pulling me close so he could shut the door. "There's no lock Tommy." "No problem." He sat on the seat and stuck his foot against the door. "Hop on." He shuffled out of his jeans as far down as his buttocks and pulled me closer. It was gross and I felt under pressure but it was wrong in so many ways that it kind of felt right, especially with all the shots I'd had. And he did look sexy, f