Julian - Part 8 free porn video

"Wake up!" The voice was distant, almost ethereal. In the half world between asleep and awake I felt so relaxed and happy. I wasn't Julia. I wasn't a 26 year old man trapped in the world of a pre-teen girl, put to bed in a nightie with a teddy bear, blonde hair pulled into a functional ponytail. "I said wake up!" That voice again! This time it seemed a little more urgent, even angry. Was it Fran? I'd always loved the sound of her voice in the morning. I loved her voice nearly as much as I loved the way she would wrap her cold, bare legs around my own. I thought of it now until I could almost feel her touching me, her hands sliding playfully across my torso and up to my face....... A cold slap on the cheek brought my senses to find Bethany hovering over the bed menacingly, a growl spread across her face. Her hair was brushed down neatly, with a small metallic clip holding the fringe in place and she was wearing just a little make-up. The soft smell of cosmetics made me think of Fran once more, and the times I'd sit and watch her get ready for work. "I hate you so much," the girl spat, shaking her head, "everyone is going to laugh at me non stop today because of this." She pointed to the nose splint which she'd gamefully tried decorating with some pink marker pen, "and you get to lay around here while I have to go to school. It's not fair!" "I don't know what you want me to say Bethany," I began, immediately remembering how much I hated the sound of my new squeaky voice, "it doesn't look too bad." "Shut up," she went quiet for a moment, her 13 year old brain searching for a suitable insult, "you baby. You're starting to look more like an infant every day and you're supposed to be a man! You should be going to school too, especially after your little play time with the girlies yesterday," she laughed at this, in spite of her pain at having to go to school with such a drastic disfigurement, "except you'd probably be better going to pre-school like a toddler or something. I mean, look at you with that teddy bear. How pathetic." I turned sharply to see that the bear was still cuddled into me. To my shame I could vaguely remember pulling into me tightly in the night, desperate to feel some company in the bed. "You're just sore because that thing makes you even uglier than you were before," I replied, not quite knowing why I was being so mean, "and imagine what your nose is going to look like when the splint comes off. You'll end up looking like a rugby player or something." She stood still for a moment, eyes narrowing and face reddened. For a second I thought she was going to simply walk out, but instead she swooped toward the bed and pulled my covers off, yelling, "shut up! I hate this so much!" She grabbed at my wrist, yanking it so hard that I found myself half pulled out of the bed before I'd had a chance to react. "Hey! Stop that, you're hurting me!" I cried out, "it's not my fault you have to go to school." I was amazed at her strength, perhaps forgetting how she'd embarrassed me so royally during that fateful arm-wrestle. She felt even stronger now, leaving me wondering if I'd managed to become weaker than before in my little girl prison. I could see Bethany smile at her obvious superiority as she pulled at me again, causing me to tumble to the floor. "Say you're sorry for being a brat," she said coolly, holding my wrist tightly with her hand, "actually, tell Miss Bethany that you're sorry for being such a naughty baby girl." I thought about kicking out at her, but looking down at myself and seeing my feeble body dressed in a lace-trimmed nightie, skinny legs exposed to the thigh as it rode up toward my waist, drained any fight out of me, Instead I stared glumly at the hem of her black school trousers, as she loomed above. Bethany was enjoying herself now, "you better say it, or I'll twist your arm even more." As if to prove the point, she tugged just a little harder, causing me to wince. "I'm sorry, OK!" She shook her head, "no, say I'm sorry for being such a naughty baby girl Miss Bethany." "No!" I was trying to sound resilient, but knew I was failing. I squirmed pathetically on the floor, trying to ease her grip. She pulled harder again, "I won't let you go until you do." I looked up at the girl. It was hard to believe she was the same person that a not long ago had simply been my wife's friends" daughter. A silly teenager who inhabited a totally different world to mine. What was the use in making it worse? "Alright, I'm sorry Miss Bethany." "Say it all." I sighed, "I'm sorry Miss Bethany for being a naughty baby girl." "That's better," she grinned, releasing my hand, "see, you need to remember who is in charge around here. Little sisters need to behave for their big sister, understood?" I don't know why I did it, but I found myself nodding, face red from the sheer embarrassment of being so utterly dominated by a 13 year old. What would Fran make of it? "I bet even Ellie or Amy could beat you in an arm wrestle now," Bethany remarked, a nasty parting shot as she headed out the door. I didn't get up right away, instead finding strange comfort in laying on the soft carpet listening to the faint noises of Bethany leaving for school. She exchanged a couple of cross sounding words with Sara before the door closed, I could faintly hear talk of Friday night but not of the details. I was certain that Sara was glad to get rid her. It was another of those moments which left me considering just how incredible my fall from grace had been. Here I was flopped prostrate on the peach coloured carpet of a pre-teen girl's bedroom, feeling every inch the little sister after being bested in a battle of strength with a goddamn girl! I had spent the previous day playing with a group of soppy girls almost young enough to be my daughter, sitting around making daisy chains while they enthused about silly boy bands. I missed my wife. Missed how we'd snuggle up on a Sunday night to watch a film. We'd always take it in turns to chose the movie, a family sized chocolate bar and badly microwaved popcorn to hand. Funnily it was often Fran who'd choose the action film, while I preferred a clever comedy or even a good love story. Perhaps it was quite portentous. I missed being a man just as much. I wanted to read a newspaper again (and not just the kids" section, which Bethany loved to thrust at me), or to go for a walk in the country. I longed for a long, intelligent book or to play cards. I was tired of girls" clothes and being the smallest and weakest. I was sick of skirts and hair-clips and nail polish. These weren't things I was meant to know about. "Julia? What are doing down there?" I didn't want to look up at Sara, whose feet I could see in the doorway, "nothing," I sulked, "it doesn't matter." "What happened to your arm?" She pulled it closer, "why is it so red? Did Bethany do this?" "It doesn't matter," I repeated, truthfully. Who cared? "You girls should be fighting like that. You could get hurt." I hated the maternal tone in her voice. It was how a Mother spoke to a small, wounded child who'd cut her knee or hurt herself in some other innocuous way. "She started it," I grumbled. "It doesn't matter who started it. If she does that again just call for me and I'll put a stop to it," she pulled me up and onto the bed. "For crying out loud Sara, I'm not a total weakling. I can look after myself you know." "Don't get all excited, I just don't want anyone to get hurt," the woman stepped over to the wardrobe, where "my" clothes hung, pastel colours emanating and taunting me as she pulled the door open, "now c'mon, I need to get you dressed. We've got a busy day." It seemed that Sara really was intent on treating me more like a 8 or 9 year old, as she had warned the previous evening. It was ridiculous of course; not even the least observant of people could possibly think that I looked such an age, even taking into account the wretched cosmetic changes that I'd forced to endure at the salon. I hated how my skin looked and felt, honestly just like a infants, and that disgusting syrup made my voice so horribly high pitched, but there was still no way I could be mistaken for a 9 year old. My height was my savour if nothing else. Sara didn't seem to care much though. It's hard for a grown up to understand the difference between being treated like a 9 or 11 year old, it probably seems fairly inconsequential, but believe me it's very different. This first morning proved as much, as I once again found myself being washed as I sat in the bath, Sara paying no mind to my complaining about lack of privacy and smiling gently when I groaned about her being too rough as she scoured my neck. Neither of us said anything about the false sex that hid my penis so cruelly, but I can't even explain how shameful, confusing and embarrassing it was every time I glimpsed it in the mirror. I looked like Fran there now, which my mind couldn't possibly compute. Finding my newly scrubbed and moisturised body wrapped in a large red towel, Sara led me back into the bedroom, instructing me to sit at the vanity and handing me a hairbrush. "Brush your hair out while I get your clothes ready, good girl." She said, leaving me alone in the bedroom. I stared at the creature in the mirror as I began to brush the wooden comb through my extension-longed hair, trying to remember how Sara had taught me to do it so that I didn't get it in tangles. Another ghastly girl lesson that had been. Almost as bad as the one where Sara had taught me how to put on tights without creating a ladder, which I thought Bethany was going to pass out laughing as she watched. The woman breezed back in just as I finished, nodding happily at the job I'd done, "you're a fast learner," she enthused, "very neat. Bethany always used to scream the house down hen I'd brush her hair out. Tie it up while I lay your clothes out. Here, use this," she took a purple scrunchy band out of her own hair, "it's good for hair that hasn't quite dried yet." I watched with trepidation as Sara laid out two outfits on the bed. I wasn't really surprised at this, one of her favourite things to do was to let me choose what I wanted to wear, as though it made it seem like I done it willingly, but I had thought though that such things might have stopped, given my ever further regression. "These came this morning," she commented, motioning for me to stand next to her by the bed, "what would you prefer, these nice leggings or the skirt? The top will go with either I think." I looked down at the offending garments with a knot in my stomach. It should have been a no-brainer, even given that the leggings looked like they'd be quite tight and were adored with a bright pink floral pattern, it had to better than the purple skater style skirt that was the alternative. But then I started to think about the flatness down there, and how the leggings were sure to accentuate that far more, as well as highlight just how skinny my legs had become. I wasn't sure I could stand looking down at nothingness and tweeness all day. God, was I really about to ask to wear the skirt? Sara, perhaps sensing my dilemma, pretty much made the choice for me, "you know, it's a nice day out there, let's go for the skirt. It's very pretty." From there I suffered the ignominy of being dressed like a helpless child. She rolled a pair of white knickers with flowery print up my legs first, then slipped the t-shirt over my head before making me step into the skirt and pulling onto my waist. A pair of purple trainers and a purple hair band completed my torture. I looked at myself in the mirror. Only a stylish tweeny girl looked back, not helped by the t-shirt which boasted a dancing heart print across the front, which I hadn't seen until now. It was so horrible that I wanted to cry, but that was unlikely to help my situation. Oh, how I longed for a pair of jeans and a button up shirt, with a smart pair of brogues. Instead I looked like a clone of one of Ellie's friends from the party. It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility that Maggie owned a skirt like this, or that spoilt little Hayley. Sara looked delighted of course. We headed downstairs where I was left with a bowl of cereal while she got herself ready. There was no newspaper to read of course, only the portable TV left on in the dining room, which was tuned to some kids channel. Some perky presenter was talking too loudly and her squeaky voice tunnelled into my brain, giving me a headache to the point where I had to walk across the room to turn it off. The silence was much nicer. I could hear the birdsong from the garden, and for a moment I almost forgot my predicament as the lull of mid- morning soothed my jangled nerves. I wasn't even that worried about going outside any more, it was obvious that no-one was going to suspect anything, but the constant worrying of what was going to happen next was starting to wear me down. What did that awful policeman want, for example? He who had started to circle the close late at night. Was he just interested in Sara? Did he suspect something odd? Then there was Fran. Was she seeing someone behind my back? Amongst the quietness, Sara's voice began to permeate from the front room. It didn't take long for me to work out that she was on the phone to Anna, and they were clearly talking about the day before. Interested, I pushed my chair back so that it was closer to the door to gain a better sound. "I know, I couldn't believe it either," Sara was whispering, "no, honestly. No, look I can't say more right now. But what do you think?" A pause for a moment, "oh maybe. I haven't made my mind up yet." I leaned in closer still. "Really?" Sara continued, "oh don't worry about her. She's just being moody because of everything that's happened. It's not really my fault, is it?" I had no idea what she was talking about, but the tone of her voice had changed. It was no longer care-free, but instead slightly tense and angst ridden. A further pause before she went on, "she can do what she wants. Anyway, I'll call you later and let you know how we get on," the woman laughed loudly, "oh I know, I can't wait either. And you're sure about Friday night? He's coming to pick Bethany up after school and she's staying until Sunday, so it'd be a Godsend if Louise can come round. Oh OK, that's great." I quickly scurried back to the table as Sara re-entered the dining room. She was humming quietly as she strode toward the sink, the hem of her dark dress swirling around her knees. She looked very pretty for a moment as the sun hit her face, and I felt a pathetic little surge of excitement as she bent down in front of me to collect the cereal bowl, exposing the top of her breasts and her black bra. It was the first time for a while that I'd felt any sexual feelings and it made me realise how long it had been since I'd had any release. Not that it was likely now, given that I couldn't even see my penis. I turned my focus back to the phone call that I'd overheard, "why is Louise coming round this weekend? What's happening?" Sara's expression changed slightly for a split second, before she began to smile again, "were you listening in to Mummy's phone call? Naughty girl! Well, I don't suppose it hurts to tell you. Bethany is going to stay at her Dad's this weekend and I've," she stopped and fixed her eyes firmly on mine, as though considering how much to reveal, "well, I'm going out Friday. So you'll need looking after." "You've got to be kidding," I groaned, "I'm a grown man Sara. Surely you're not bringing that Louise round here......" "Stop being silly," Sara replied, sterner now, "you're not really a grown man any more, are you? What kind of grown man lets himself get dressed up in such a pretty skirt and top? Or spends a day playing with girls like you did yesterday. Did you forget about our chat yesterday? About how you seem to suit being treated like a 8 or 9 year old? I wouldn't have dreamed of letting Bethany stay at home on her own at that age." My face had gone red from a mixture of anger and embarrassment, "this is ridiculous." "Sssh up," she was standing in front of me now, softly brushing my hair with her hand, "it's not ridiculous at all. I love seeing you play with the other children. Anna thinks we should send you to Brownies tomorrow night with Ellie, what do you think?" My blood ran cold, "you've got to be joking." "Oh no, I think you'd fit in perfectly. You'd look great in the little uniform and I know you'd enjoy it really," she had that look in her eye again, that ambrosial far away glare that I'd come to dread, "I used to be a Brownie you know. I loved the arts and craft stuff especially, I remember we made cute little necklaces and learned how to make all other kinds of stuff, it's really very fun. Bethany never let me send her, she said it was silly." "Sara, please don't make me go. This is crazy." She stood up, her stare returning to normal, "well, we'll see. Perhaps it depends on how well you behave for me. It would definitely help if you remembered to call me Mummy. I've asked you so many times and you still don't." I winced. That was the one thing I hadn't been able to bring myself to do, given that if felt so infantile and ridiculous. I thought about those little girls yesterday calling out for their Mums in their excitable high pitched squeals and shuddered at the idea of doing the same. "I'll try to remember," was all I could whisper. I didn't know what Sara had planned for the day as we climbed into her 4x4 and I didn't have the heart to ask. I found myself looking glumly down at myself as she drove, hating having to sit in the back and how Sara kept stealing covert little glances in my direction in her rear view mirror. "Don't forget that skirt is quite billowy sweetie," she said on one occasion, "remember to sit like a big girl now." I pushed my knees together tightly, face burning. It was the kind of admonishment that still felt so alien to my male brain and one that was so horribly girlie that it almost made me dizzy. The heat wasn't helping either. It was really quite stifling in the car even with the windows open and I didn't like the way my legs stuck together in the heat, or how the lace trim on the t-shirt suddenly felt so much more prominent. We stopped at the newsagent but Sara went in alone, leaving me to ponder my uncomfortable state. On her return, she thrust a colourful looking magazine and a carton of drink onto my lap. The magazine was simply called Girl!, its exclamation mark feeling very appropriate, but I was glad of the orange juice and consumed it greedily. Mindful of the threat of Brownies, I tried my best to read the magazine as we drove on but it was so terrible that it made me want to claw my eyes out. Every page was filled with bright colours and enthusiastic stories about boy bands and gaudy style tips. It made me pine for a copy of The Independent, or even The Sun. "Anything good in there sweetie?" Sara asked, turning round to look at me through her sunglasses when we stopped at a red light. I sighed, "it's all silly. Is that what people give to their daughters to read? No wonder the country is going to the dogs." Sara shook her head, "that's not a nice thing to say after I bought it for you. Perhaps you're not trying hard enough," the light changed to green but we didn't move, much to the annoyance of the car behind, "you know what, before we stop again I want you to lean forward and read me something out that you think is fun, OK? And I want to hear the M word, understood?" "But I don't......." I didn't bother to finish my remonstration, because Sara had turned around again. God, how could I feign interest in something so insipid? I looked again at the mish-mash of articles and tried to think what Ellie or one her friends would find interesting but it was so hard. A story about "fab" nail polishes perhaps, or how to tell if a boy likes you? Eventually, fearing that I was running out of time, I settled on an innocuous style tip page and steeled myself to sound ridiculous. I leant forward, "Mummy, look at top this girl is wearing. They've sowed sequins onto the arms." Sara glanced round briefly, "very pretty. Maybe we could take one of your old tops and try it later, hey? Remind me to pick up some sequins at the supermarket." I relaxed back into the chair, feeling every inch a soppy girl. How had it come to this I wondered, as I stared out of the window. I glimpsed myself in the reflection of a car window, and shuddered at the blonde haired little princess that looked back. Perhaps Bethany was right. Perhaps someone as weak willed and pathetic as I was deserved to be treated like a 9 year old girl. Perhaps I belonged in sequinned tops and purple skirts, reading stories from Girl! Magazine. It was as I stared at the world going by, pondering my misfortune and wishing I was anywhere else, that I noticed the surrounding were becoming very familiar. "Sara, this is my street," I said with a start, blood running cold at the thought of being so near my old house. It wasn't far from Sara's in reality, Fran and I had walked to her house on that fateful night which had proved my last as a man, but it seemed a million miles away now. "What are we doing here?" We pulled up outside my house, Sara remaining wordless. "Sara, what are you doing?" But Sara didn't reply, instead she stared at the house with a strange look on her face, brushing a lock of her black hair from her eyes and giving the smallest of sighs. At least it sounded like she sighed, my heart was beating so quickly that it was obscuring most over sounds. "Sara for God's sake! What are you up to?" I could tell Fran wasn't home, it was a work day after all and her car was gone from the driveway, so I just couldn't understand it. "Are you doing this to torture me? What if a neighbour comes out and sees me? Sara...." "Stop calling me that!" She snapped, turning round to face me, "how many times do I have to tell you?" Her voice was different again. Gone was the friendly, slightly sensuous Sara. Back was my torturer. "Well tell me why you're here? What is it with you and Fran? Why can't any one tell me the truth? Are you a lesbian or what?" This was the wrong thing to say. "What did you say?" She was steaming now, I could almost see the fury in her eyes from behind her sunglasses, "how dare you ask me something like that. You know what, Anna was right. I am being too nice to you." "Nice! Look at me!" "No, Anna was right. You need to be spending more time with other girls to learn your place." She turned and started the car, "I wasn't sure whether to do this, but I can see it's right now." "Do what? You're not going to make me go to Brownies are you?" "Just be quiet, not another word." We drove home in silence, Sara driving with even more reckless abandon than before. When we got back to the house she grabbed me by the arm and almost threw me into my room. "Sit there quietly while I make a phone call." I was afraid now. I didn't like the look in her eyes, "what's going on? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to annoy you like this." But Sara was gone. I looked down at the carpet where Bethany had pinned me down that morning and almost wanted to cry. The silence in the room was terrible, punctuated only by the ticking of the pink clock on the wall which told me in was still only eleven o'clock. What a long day it had been. Sara stormed back in and terror washed through me. "No," I whispered, "you can't possibly....." "Oh, we're doing this young lady," she replied, "Anna suggested it to me this morning. It's all arranged now." I froze in horror as Sara placed a grey pleated skirt on the bed. "What do you mean? It's not possible!" The woman was in no mood to listen to my arguments. In a flash, she'd pulled me off the bed and pulled off my trainers and skirt, "lift your arms up so we can take that top off." "No!" I raged, "I won't do this....." "Too late," she replied, "you're doing it whether you like it or not. That is, unless you want to tell everyone at the school that you're really a man? I'd like to see the look on their faces." She pulled my arms up and lifted the top over my head, leaving me naked but for the flower print knickers, which now seemed so appropriate. I didn't know what to do as Sara slipped the white blouse on me. This was crazy, surely she couldn't expect me to go to school again? I was 26 years old for crying out loud! Yet she continued to button up the blouse, which I noted to my horror had two little white flowers on the ends of the short sleeves, which further accentuated my skinny arms. "Mr. Lindegaard had to pull some strings for me, so you'd better behave yourself," Sara warned, taking a pair of white socks and slipping them on me. The socks had a red frill going around them, but I soon forgot about that as she stood me up and pulled the skirt up my waist, tucking the blouse carefully into the elasticated waist. It finished a couple of inches above my knee and was deep pleated the whole way around. "This skirt is lovely," Sara said, diligently running her hand around the hem to make sure it hadn't turned up, "it really suits you. I love how your little legs look, so pretty." "This is madness," I cried, suddenly very mindful that she really was about to send me to school, "they'll know I'm not a girl. I can't act like one for a start, and...." "You'll be fine. No-one suspected a thing yesterday, did they? I'd probably use your left hand to write though. Now, it's too hot for tights so we'll leave you bare legged." She made me sit down again on the bed while she put a pair of flat, black buckle up shoes on me, before pulling me over to the vanity where by hair was quickly pulled into a pony-tail and held in place with a red scrunchy band, which matched the red jumper that completed my misery. "Awh, you look so pretty," Sara enthused, "Bethany always hated wearing a skirt to school, even when she was very young. Now, let's see if we can find an old school bag." She led me into my "older" sisters bedroom. Where she found a pink rucksack buried underneath a pile of old books, "you'll get given your books and everything when you get there. I think Bethany's old pencil case in still in there though." She opened the bag and showed me the purple pencil case, decorated with purple stars. "You're really serious about this, aren't you? But you said it yourself the other day. You need ID to join a school, paperwork that kind of thing. How on earth have you done this?" "It was easy really," Sara replied, ushering me downstairs quickly, "I just told Greg, sorry Mr. Lindegaard to you, that you were my sisters kid and that I was having to look after you, and that I couldn't afford to send you to your old school because it was too far away. I had to plead with him to take you, but I'm very persuasive." She gave a coquettish smile, which sent shivers through me. My mind raced with possibilities as I was once again led to the 4 by 4 and put in the back seat. The sound of the child locks clinking into place made it all seem very real, and I suddenly considered the possibility that in a few minutes I find myself sitting in a classroom with a bunch of giggling 11 year old girls. What on earth was I doing? What if someone realised?! "Now remember, every one thinks that you're 11 years old, so don't use really big words or be too clever," Sara warned as she began to drive, "and try to seem interested in what the other girls are interested in. You're pretty much one of them now, so there's no point acting all aloof and thinking you're still a big man." "I am a man," I said quietly, shaking my head ever so slightly. My mind raced at 100 miles per hour as we neared the school. I wondered why I was still putting up with this. Did I really think that Fran was going to take me back after everything that had happened? How could I possibly be so ineffectual that I couldn't even bring myself to escape the situation even now, as we hurtled toward my latest degradation. "And you need to remember that you're wearing a skirt," Sara continued, "little girls don't have to worry about decorum quite as much, but people will think you're a bit odd if you sit with legs astride," she turned to look at me, "plus, the other girls might start to make fun of you." There was no part of that last sentence that didn't fill me with terror. I hadn't really considered how tough going to school really was, as it's the kind of thing that you forget about as you get older. The silly little groups, the strict hierarchy, the unwritten rules that you have to obey. I'd only ever experienced it as a boy too, I'd heard that it was far worse for girls. Suddenly images flooded my head from my own school days. Girls being picked on for wearing the wrong type of trousers or trainers. Groups of popular girls swanning around the playground looking down on the others. I didn't want to be involved in that! "Please Sara, I'll do anything. Don't make me do this. What can I do to stop this, just tell me? I'm really sorry that I asked if you were a lesbian earlier. I'm sorry that I hit Bethany. I'm sorry......" I couldn't stop it. I couldn't stop the tears as they began their inexorable march, but it only served to make me look even more like a silly little girl. Sara ignored it totally, in the way a Mother pays no attention to an overly emotional child. I put my head in my hands and wished as I hard as I could that the world could just stop. I wish I could adequately convey to you just how humiliating the next few hours were, but I fear it's just not possible to put it into words. Just try to imagine the worst possible scenario that you can think of and times it by a million, and I bet it's nowhere near as bad. Don't you dare accuse me of being hyperbolic either. Sara led me into the reception area by the hand, where we were greeted by that horrible receptionist who had dragged me back to Sara the last time I had tried to run away, thinking I was a nervous girl who didn't want to go to school. Now, as I stood in front of her in my skirt and blouse, holding Sara's hand harder than I needed to, I realised that she probably wasn't far wrong. The first thing that hit me was the smell of the place, which was instantly recognisable from my own school days. The faint smell of floor polish and pencils and pens, the unmistakable smell of old plastic from the chairs, the whiff of cut grass from the playgrounds. It is a scent like no other. Then there was the realisation that everything looked so small. It was like being in Gulliver's travels. Tiny chairs sat on either side of the hallway, waiting for a naughty child to sit in them while waiting to be called in the headmaster's office. We took a seat in one of these chairs while we waited for Mr Lindegaard to finish the meeting he was in. It was obviously still lunchtime, judging by the excitable din drifting in from the playground . The sound of girls yelling at each other made the knot in my stomach even tighter. I felt so alien, if the reflection in the window opposite of a little blonde girl in her school uniform told me otherwise. "He won't be long now," Sara whispered, "and stop worrying. You're going to fit in just fine. I think you're probably going to enjoy it actually. Lots of playing and learning." She fiddled with her handbag as she spoke, taking out her phone to send a text. It was Sara alone that went into Mr. Lindegaard's office. He offered me a polite hello, but it was clear that he only wanted to talk to Sara. This left me sitting in the long corridor, until a familiar face wondered down and sat beside me. "I remember you," the girl said, cheerfully, "you were at Ellie's party." I turned to find Ruby, the bossy blonde girl that had clearly been the leader of the group amongst Ellie's friends the day before, "oh hi," I managed weakly. "Are you going to this school now," the girl asked, inspecting me carefully. "Errm, I guess." "What was your name again? Julia?" I nodded meekily. God, was this what it had come to? Having conversations with silly girls? "Are you in trouble too?" Ruby continued, picking at her black trousers, "I got in trouble for pushing someone over, but I didn't mean to." Thankfully the door opened at this point, sparing me further discussion with the girl. "Would you like to come in, Julia," Mr Lindegaard said not unkindly, before turning his attention to Ruby, who I noted had dropped some of her bravado when he had appeared, and was sitting much straighter now, "Miss Tennyson, why am I not surprised to see you here again? What is it this time?" "It wasn't anything Sir, Megan ran into me and tripped over my foot," she protested, nervously playing with her shoulder length hair as she spoke. "I very much doubt that you'd be sent to me for nothing, young lady. I'll deal with you in a minute though." He turned to back to me and motioned me through the door, where I took a seat next to Sara. Their eyes met as he sat down, as it wasn't hard to notice that they shared a almost loving glance. "Now, Sara here tells me that you're a very well behaved girl, is that right Julia?" I found it hard to divert my glaze from the floor. This was all so ridiculous! "Yes sir," I whispered. "That's good. I certainly hope you're better behaved than Ruby out there. This is the third time in the last week that she's been sent to see me." I nodded without really thinking about it, as though acting on autopilot or remembering the expected responses from my own school days. The air in the office was so hot, and I was desperate to get out of there, a feeling not helped by my hair sticking to my forehead and my bare legs feeling like they were about to melt against the little red plastic chair that I'd been given to sit in. "Now, we wouldn't normally take children for such a short space of time, but Sara has explained your situation and seeing as you're well behaved, I think we can make an exception." He looked at Sara again, the hint of a smile forming, "and I think it might be better, given that the children in year 6 are busy preparing for their SATs exams, if you joined Miss Bradley's class with some of your friends. Would you prefer that?" I was confused. What friends? Surely he wasn't suggesting that I join Ellie's class? "We'll give you appropriate work to do, I appreciate that you'll be at a higher standard than the others, but I also think it would be a better environment for you. The other girls don't have to know that you're older than them." I didn't know how to respond. I'd just assumed that I'd join the top year. I'd never considered for a moment that these crazy people would lump me in with, well, what would they be? Year 4? Jesus! "Miss Bradley is lovely, I think you'll really like it," he continued, making eyes at Sara that suggested it was time for me to leave, "plus you know Ellie and Amy, don't you? I bet they'll be delighted to see you." I wanted to die as Sara took me by the hand and led me from the office. We sat in the chairs in the hallway again with the promise that Miss Bradley would be along shortly to "collect" me. The knot in my stomach grew tenfold as I watched Ruby be called into his office and the stark realisation hit that she'd be in my class! Not only was I being forced to go to a girl's junior school, I'd have to do it as one of the younger children! There'd be a whole two years of girls above me! I had to make one last attempt to stop it, "please Sara. I can't go in a class with 8 and 9 year olds, they'll know I'm not one of them." "I'm not sure," Sara responded, brushing a strand of hair from my eyes, "kids aren't all that observant. They'll probably just see you as one of them pretty quickly." "But I'm too tall!" "Well, you'll probably be the tallest, but look at Ruby there. She's not a whole lot shorter than you. And Ellie's clothes fitted you yesterday, so she can't be much smaller." With a horrible feeling in my stomach I realised that Sara was probably right. Children are much taller now. Was five foot really that much bigger than the average? But then there were other things. My teeth for example. Any one who really wanted to pay attention could tell that they were adult teeth. Or what if Sara's concealing tricks failed and every one could see my adam's apple? "You're getting all worked up again," Sara whispered, leaning closer, "you're going to need to relax, unless you want people to realise the truth? Let me tell you, being another girl in the class is going to be much better than people realising that you're a man. Just remember not to use big words or say things that a child obviously wouldn't know." Ruby re-emerged from the office looking suitably chastened and red faced. "Change of plan Julia, seeing as Ruby is in your class she is going to take you down there. Miss Bradley knows you're coming." I stood up, head spinning. This was really it. I could barely stand straight as Sara wished me goodbye and kissed my forehead gently, at which Ruby sniggered ever so softly. And then she was gone, and I found myself following the girl down to the classroom. Lunchtime was clearly over, and we passed seven or eight classrooms of girls as we headed down the hallway. Ruby walked in front, and perhaps annoyed by her telling off, didn't say much. I shuddered at the drawings on the wall of badly inked maps and sunny scenes drawn by childish hands. Everything looked so small, so girlish and silly. I thought I was going to pass out as we reached the classroom and Ruby opened the white door to reveal 25 or so girls, all hunched down over their books. I spotted Ellie and Amy straight away, and also Hayley, Maggie and Sanjula from the day before. They all looked up with excitement as they saw me and a light chatter filled the room. "Girls, quiet," Miss Bradley warned, and hush prevailed once more. The teacher stood in front of me as Ruby took her place at the back of the room, "you must be Julia," she said quietly, "the girls are doing their reading hour at the moment. Why don't you take a seat?" The room was made up of eight or so tables, around each four girls sat. Miss Bradley found me a space around a table with Maggie and a girl I didn't know right at the front. I took a place nervously, sitting on one of the infeasibly small red chairs and taking the book that was handed to me. My hands were shaking as I tried to open the book. All I could sense were 25 or so sets of eyes trained firmly on me, and I wondered what on earth they all thought of the tall blonde girl who'd just been thrusted upon them. I could hear very faint whispers wondering who the new girl was as I tried to read, but the words all jumbled into one another. "Hi," Maggie whispered to me after a few moments, to which I replied which a cursory nod. The other girl at the table, a slightly sour faced brown haired girl, paid me no regard though, which almost made me feel a bit better. I took a chance to look around, noting with some horror that vast majority of the girls were wearing trousers. It was hard to tell, but I couldn't see any one wearing a pleated skirt like mine, which made me immediately uncomfortable. A couple of girls, including Maggie, were wearing red gingham summer dresses, the kind that Bethany and Sara had so cruelly dressed me on the first morning of my punishment, but I definitely seemed to be the only one in a skirt. It was with a similar mixture of embarrassment and relief that I noticed how a couple of the girls seemed to be around the same height as I was. It was hard to tell of course, given that everyone was sitting, but judging by position in the chair I could count at least two girls who might have been at eye level with me. This was a very strange feeling, that someone who was only nine years old could be my height. Some of these kids were giants! I managed to make it through "reading hour" without incident though, my heart rate even starting to slow somewhat as the hour passed. It raised quickly though when the bell went for afternoon break and I realised with no little horror that I'd have to go out and "play'. Thankfully Miss Bradley stopped me in my tracks, as I hesitantly joined the throng of girls heading out of the door. She stopped Maggie also. "Did you like reading hour Julia," she asked me, as I stood in front of her desk. "Yes Miss." "That's good. I know it's not easy joining a new class, but just let me know if you have any problems," she leant over so Maggie couldn't hear, "or if the work is too easy. I know you're older than the others, so it might be a bit basic." I knew my face had gone bright red, but I hoped the woman would take this as simply the response of a nervous girl. It was at this point that I realised how pretty Miss Bradley was. She was probably about my age, maybe even a little younger, and had starkly blonde hair which fell gently to her shoulders. Her eyes were a quite striking blue, and she was quite petite and softly spoken. I cursed myself as I felt a spring of arousal. What on earth was the point in that? "Maggie here is very friendly," Miss Bradley continued, blissfully unaware that the "little girl" in front of her had just eyed up her breasts, "and I'm sure she'll be happy to show you were everything is, won't you Maggie." "Oh yes Miss," the girl replied happily, "I know Julia already Miss." We were waved out to playtime, but Maggie took the opportunity first to show me where the toilets were (I hadn't even considered that I'd have to use girl's toilets) and where to hang your coat. She was a bubblier girl when no adults were around, and she prattled on excitedly about how happy she was that I was in her class and how Miss Bradley was really nice. Heading into the playground was bit like being a British solider at Rourke's Drift. Literally hundreds of girls swarmed around the place and I felt bewildered by the noise and pace of it all. There were younger girls playing tag and skipping rope, groups of older girls sitting around passing magazines between themselves, shy groups of girls sitting on the grass and chatting. I was relieved to see that at least some, albeit mostly younger girls, were wearing skirts like mine, although I admonished myself for pleased by something so ridiculous. "Shall we go and find Ellie and Amy?" Maggie asked rhetorically as made our way through the bustling throngs of children. No-one even gave me a second glance, which was embarrassing enough by itself. I was also shocked to realise that quite a few of the year 6 girls were taller than me and a lot looked much older. This was ridiculous! We found Ellie and Amy playing by themselves in a corner of the playground. They were making some chalkings on the ground, just like the day before, but stopped when they saw me and started to ask a thousand questions. Why was I going to their school now? Why was I in their year? Why was I wearing a skirt, didn't I know that nobody wore the grey skirts any more? I tried to answer as many as possible, but was glad to hear the bell ring that summoned us back to class. Last session was spent on Maths, a subject I've never been too hot at. I was stunned to find that Maggie flew through some of the multiplication questions quicker than I could, but then she'd been learning them day in day out at school. How often in real, adult life do you do long multiplication? Just get a calculator! Miss Bradley quickly acknowledged that I might not be as "advanced" as she'd thought, and quickly replaced the slight more difficult quiz sheet with the same one as the other girls were doing. Another victory for my manhood. Still, I was doing OK until Ruby threw a balled up piece of paper at me while Miss Bradley's back was turned. This elicited quiet giggles from her popular table, which also contained Hayley, the bossy girl from the barbeque, and two very grown up looking girls who might even have been wearing make-up. "Don't worry about them," Maggie whispered. "Yeah, they're mean," the other girl at our table, Rose, chimed in, "I used to sit with them last year." There was far away look in her eyes that suggested she wished she still did. Clearly she had been demoted from the popular table down to the dreaded table at the front for some terrible infraction of the playground laws. I felt sorry for her as she rummaged through her boy-band adorned pencil case. I was beyond happy when the bell rang for the end of the day. In the last fifteen minutes or so I'd resolved to sit down with Sara tonight and plead for my release from all this, hoping that this ultimate degradation would make her show me mercy. I would explain to her how I'd thoroughly learned my lesson, about how I'd never dream of hitting a girl again, about how it couldn't go on forever. My confidence dissipated when I spotted Sara standing in the car park to pick me up, a wide grin on her face. No doubt she was delighted to see me trudging out of school with all the girls, mixing into their number like the most natural thing in the world. She made me tell her all about it on the way home, listening in rapt anticipation of my next story. By the time we'd got in, I realised that she was having way too much fun to let me go. Speaking of fun, I thought Bethany was going to die of laughter when she found out that I gone to school, especially when she realised I'd been put in Ellie's class, "you mean you're really in a year 4 class! That's too awesome. You're like 5 years below me!" The idea of treating me like her 9 year old sister was one that she couldn't resist, and she was quick to make sure I spent time after dinner playing with her old dolls. "Look after them though little sister," she mocked. There are a lot of things in life I never thought I'd do. One of these was pleading to be let wear a gingham dress to school, "None of the girls wear these skirts," I complained, holding the offending garment the next morning, "it makes me stand out. Can't I wear trousers?" "Sorry sweetie," Sara replied, "I haven't got any trousers that'd fit you." "Well even that red dress would be better," I sighed, knowing how sad this sounded. "Sorry, that's in the wash. Look, no-one is going to make fun of you for wearing a skirt, I promise. Just wear it again today and I'll find something else for you tomorrow." My second day as a schoolgirl was worse than the first, as I started to realise that I was really in this now, and that it wasn't simply a one off. Little things started to really drive this home, like having to queue up with the other girls before being allowed into the classroom, or being gently admonished by Miss Bradley for accidentally knocking my pencil case on the floor. Then there was playtime. Maggie dragged me around with her enthusiastically, clearly happy to have a new play mate. This was how I found myself learning to skip rope, feeling such an idiot as my skirt and hair bounced wildly while trying to keep time. It was also how I found myself taking part in a humiliating attempt to copy some girl band's dance routine at lunchtime with Ellie, Amy and Maggie. Perhaps the worst part was how I found myself not standing out academically. We did some science work where I found myself asking Rose for help, and then a history lesson where Miss Bradley looked surprised that I didn't know much about the Tudors. The girls all had a head start on me because they'd been learning this stuff. Me, I hadn't been in a classroom since my degree finished, and my degree was in journalism, which hardly ever touched on the history of the monarch or chemical symbols. I got the feeling that Miss Bradley, who was looking lovely incidentally in a lavender skirt and white blouse, had decided my previous school must have been very poor. The horrible thought crossed my mind that they might decide I wasn't advanced enough even for year four, and that I'd find myself placed below even Ellie and her friends, cast down with the infants and learning how to colour within the lines. Sara wasn't helping. She set up a "play date" with Maggie behind my back that involved me going round to her house after school where she made me listen to her terrible music. At one point her Dad came in to tell her turn it down. He was a big man, with arms that suggested he worked on a building site, and I wondered what he thought of the small girl sitting on the floor with his daughter. No doubt he thought I was simply another silly little friend. Another nuisance. The next few days followed a similar path. Sara came through on her promise of finding me something other than the skirt to wear, although the gingham dress seemed small consolation when I actually had to put in on and looked at myself in the mirror, or when I joined the breakfast table wearing it much to Bethany's delight. "I can't believe you're really going to wear that to school," she scoffed, "how pathetic." It certainly felt pathetic, as I watched her go off to school in her trousers and blazer on the bus, while I had to clamber into the back of Sara's car and be driven. The worst thing that happened that week was on Thursday. For some reason I hadn't considered that we'd have to do P.E. Lessons, but it became a stark reality that morning when Sara handed me my PE kit. "But I can't do it," I complained, "how will I get dressed in front of the others? What if they see something?" Sara looked confused, "there's nothing to see petal. Besides, no-one will pay you a second glance." I didn't know if she'd be right, so I sat for the whole morning petrified of what was to come. I pestered Maggie with questions at morning break, trying to find out what the lessons might entail. "Oh it will probably be dance in the main hall or something," she replied, not fully sensing my unease, "we sometimes play netball but we haven't done that for a while." The dreaded time came after that morning break. Miss Bradley instructed everyone to get changed, and I was surprised to find that this took place at our desks, rather than in any separate changing rooms. I pulled out my PE bag and then changed as quickly as possible into the red gym skirt and white t-shirt. The skirt wrapped around the waist and to my shame I couldn't work out how to fasten it, causing some of the girls to laugh when they saw Miss Bradley come over to help me out. So if you want something totally emasculating, I'd suggest playing netball with a bunch of 8 and 9 year old girls as the way to go. Worse still, my adult brain and reactions finally used this platform to come to the fore and I quickly started to draw praise for my play. Miss Bradley probably thought that it was because I was two years older, "perhaps you could try out for the school team," she had said to me during a break from play, before her eyes narrowed slightly as I picked up a ball, "it's strange that you throw and catch right handed Julia but write with your left. Did you know you do that?" I felt my face go red, "no Miss." "Well, you're very talented," she replied, her kind stare burning into me. I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the side windows during the lesson, and I could scarcely believe that one of the girls running around was me. I remember how girls" P.E. Lessons were somewhat of a mystery to us a boys while I was at school, but now I found myself experiencing it first hand. It was simply awful. The only small saving grace was getting to look at Miss Bradley every day, who I was starting to become a little infatuated with. I loved how caring she was, how sweetly she wish every a good morning and the genuine concern on her face when someone had a problem. The way she nibbled at her pen without realising it when taking the register. The pretty pastel coloured knee length skirts that she wore. Despite this, I was delighted when Friday afternoon rolled out and I climbed into Sara's car with something approaching enthusiasm, delighted to have got the week out of the way without major disaster and without anyone working out who I really was. Things got even better when Sara reminded me that Bethany was going straight to her Dad's after school, so I wouldn't even have to put up with her for a few days. "Louise is coming round at about 7', Sara also reminded me. I'd forgotten all about Sara's date night. My raised spirits quickly bombed as I considered the idea of being babysat by that horrible girl, "does she really have to? I can look after myself, honestly." "We've already had this discussion," Sara stopped to wave at Maggie and her Mum, and looked pleased to see me wave at Maggie also, which I did without thinking, "can you imagine Maggie's Mum leaving her alone for the night?" "Well that's different," I argued, watching Maggie climb into the back of her Mum's car. Sara had been looking at the same, "is it different? Really?" I dreamed of Miss Bradley that night. We were driving somewhere, that is to say Miss Bradley was driving and I was sitting in the front passenger seat, and I found myself glancing over at her bare legs and feeling a rush of excitement as she released the clutch pedal, causing her skirt to ride up just a little further. Best of all, a quick glimpse in the mirror told me that I was Julian again. My head, free from the blonde locks, felt light and cool. I was wearing a smart pair of jeans. I could smell the aftershave that I'd always used and my skin had returned to its normal state, rather than the peachy pink it became due to the awful lotion Sara lathered me in daily. "You look very pretty today," I told her. My voice! A man's voice again, "you know it's silly, but I don't think I know your first name." She didn't take her eyes off the road, "that is silly. You can't keep calling me Miss Bradley, can you? You'd be like one of the girls in my class!" Suddenly her hand was on my knee and I basked in the sweet surge of arousal, "well, what is your name then?" Her voice had taken on a dreamy state, which for a second reminded me of Sara, "sshh now," she continued, her hand moving closer to the top of my leg, "perhaps you should call me Miss. I am driving the car after all." "But I said that I'd drive if you wanted!" "Don't be silly," she replied sweetly, "you can't drive, remember?" She was looking at me now, her large blue eyes fixed on mine, rather than on the road. Then, tenderly and without word, she unbuttoned my flies and slipped her hand inside. "Err, shouldn't you be looking at the road?" I tried to sound composed, but my voice was uneven and excitable. "Don't worry," she laughed, "we'll be fine." She moved in closer, so close that I could smell her pretty perfume that she always wore and see the tiny freckles under her eyes. I took my right hand and placed it gently on her cheek, which caused her to laugh again, "you use your right hand for that too. How strange!" I was too flushed to respond. Slowly, but with absolute certainty, a feeling of ecstasy washed through me as she tenderly brought me to climax. Even in my dreams, I remembered closing my eyes to maximise the feeling as the moment came. It was the first time since the odd incident with Sara in the bathroom that I'd had any relief and it felt divine. Then, suddenly and without warning, it all changed. "Make sure you pick up all your belongings girls," it was Miss Bradley's voice again, but we were back in the classroom. I looked around in despair at the hand-drawn maps on the wall and then down on myself. I was in the gingham school dress again. I was surrounded by my blonde hair again. "Julia, are you not going to break time with the other girls?" She was standing above me, arms crossed against her chest and wearing the same black skirt that she had been in the car. I wanted to get up and run out, but I knew I was still wet down there and that she and the other girls would be able to see it. "I'm sorry Miss," was the only reply I could muster. I was back to my girl voice now, and it stang. "Sorry for what sweetie?" It wasn't Miss Bradley there now, but Sara. "I'm sorry Sara," I cried, "I didn't mean it." "Julia? What's wrong?" Strangely, the voice sounded different. More loud. More real. "Julia, c'mon, you're dreaming." It was the word dreaming that caused me to wake with a start. I looked up to find Sara looming over the bed in her nightgown, looking at me strangely. I was sweating so much it felt like I'd been running. Tresses of hair stuck clammily to my forehead and I felt almost drenched in the mid-section. Oh God. "You must have been having a really vivid dream," Sara said, running her hand on my forehead and clearing away the hair, "I could hear you from my room." The woman opened the curtains, letting the bright morning sun crash into the darkness. The heat made the wetness feel immediately worse. What the hell was Sara going to say if she found out that I'd ejaculated in my bed? If my punishment for asking if she was a lesbian was being cast back to school, just what would the punishment be for something this heinous? "Well you might as well get up now," Sara continued, "I thought we could go into town this morning, would you like that?" "Err, I don't mind," I replied quietly, trying to work out how to get out of this. When I was a teenager, I'd always sneak downstairs first and wash the sheets before my Mum got up. I was sure she knew though. What other reason would a teenage boy have to wash his own sheets?" Sara was looking at my funnily now, her maternal instinct clearly telling her that something was wrong. Her eyes narrowed, "what's the matter?" "Nothing, I'm fine." But I stupidly glanced down at the centre of the bed as I said this, suddenly wondering if it was visible through the quilt. Sara clocked my furtive glance straight away, "have you had an accident?" "No! It's just......" "Well what is it then?" Before I could move, she'd torn away the quilt. "I'm sorry," I whimpered pathetically, "I was dreaming, I didn't mean to." She stood silently for a moment apparently computing the situation, before to my amazement a small smile appeared, "that's OK. Little girls are prone to accidents in bed." "What? I didn't wet the bed Sara." "Oh you didn't? Well, why are you so wet then?" I was silent. I could tell it was no use arguing. It was clear what the wetness was due to. I knew it and she knew it. "Don't worry about it, Mummy will get you cleaned up," she took me by the hand and I climbed out of bed and followed her, head bowed. She bathed me and washed my hair as I sat naked in the tub, feeling about two inches tall, thoughts of Miss Bradley swirling unhelpfully around my befuddled mind. Sara was in an exceptionally good mood, even humming a little tune as she took the hairdryer to my sodden hair. When finished, she carefully clipped in a piece of sheer royal blue fabric atop my head, leaving strands of hair falling below it. It was exceptionally feminine to behold. "I thought you might ask me if I had a good time last night?" She asked, cheerily. I was angry about the frothy hair clip, "why on earth would I ask that?" "Oh I don't know. Girls like asking their Mums stuff like that. Not that Bethany was ever interested of course," she walked over to the wardrobe and took out a floaty looking blue dress. Never willing to miss a chance to make my humiliation incrementally more excruciating, she held the dress clearly in front of the mirror so I could see the "pretty" bird pattern that adorned it, "and I thought you might be interested after you helped me get ready. That was fun, right?" The woman was correct that I'd helped her get ready, but it hadn't been the least bit fun. Sara had been annoyed by Bethany's Dad, who hadn't even bothered to come to the door to pick his daughter up, instead sounding the horn of his gleaming black BMW, "he's so arrogant," she spat, "he can't even be bothered to walk ten feet to the door." Personally I was delighted he hadn't come in. How on earth would I be explained? But it had bothered Sara and it seemed her only appeasement was to have me help her get prepare for her date. I brushed her hair while she did her make up, forced to listen to her constant chat about which eye shadow would best match her outfit or whether to wear tights or not. Then she had me put one of my ghastly "girl" lessons to good use as I painted her toe nails in a dark blue. "You've got such a light touch," she enthused, inspecting my handiwork, "there are not many girls that would do such a good job." If I thought that was embarrassing, it was nothing compared to helping her into her dress. The way she had discarded her bathrobe without modesty astounded me and I had to do all I could not to look too hard at her soft, enticing body, naked but for her underwear. She didn't want her make-up smudged so I had to lift the hem of the dress carefully over her head and then I helped her slide it down past her waist until it sat a few inches above the knee. There had been a time when Fran would wear such a thing when we'd go to a nice restaurant or a party. It pained me to think of it as I looked down on the gingham school dress that I hadn't changed out of. It pained me even further as the roles reversed now, Sara slipping the bird print dress over my outstretched arms. It still felt ridiculously strange to wear such a thing, the fabric so soft and the cut so different to anything a man would wear. Sara decided that, despite the heat, the dress would look "nicer" with tights, so she found a pair of opaque tights and slipped them onto me. "I want to show you something," she said suddenly, leaving me briefly alone in the room to stare at the blonde girl in the dress. I particularly hated the cutesy white belt that came with the outfit. It looked so girlie. When Sara returned, she had a piece of paper in her hand, "Greg gave me this last night. Isn't it amazing?" I took the paper from her. I shuddered at the idea that the man writing this was technically now my head teacher, especially as I beheld the awful six line poem that he'd written for her. At the bottom he'd signed it "GL" and dated it, almost as though he was some kind of master painter. I'd never seen such a pathetic attempt at getting sex on the first date, and I wondered if Sara had fallen for it. She'd certainly come home late. "Isn't it romantic," she said dreamily, looking every inch a silly teenager in love rather than a 30 something woman, "he said he just had to put down on paper how he felt about me. I just melted." "It's very nice," I lied. I was amazed that Sara could be so easily won over. She seemed too wary, too shrewd, to fall for a slick lothario. We had an unexpected visitor that evening. I was laying on the floor when the knock at the door came, reading one of the books that Sara had let me take out at the library that afternoon. The library, Sara had told me happily, was a treat for my good behaviour and while I had to suffer the indignity of getting a junior's membership card (in pink of course, Sara made sure of that) I was secretly glad of the chance to read. Even if I had to choose the books from the 7-12 section, the adult and even young adult sections being cruelly out of bounds. I had picked out three books. The first one, which I read quietly while Sara sat on the couch drinking a glass of red wine and watching moribund Saturday night television, was about a girl (Sara had made sure my selections were firmly from the girls" section of course) who was trying to start a band with her friends. It was surprisingly well written and I found myself mildly engrossed, for want of anything better to do. "Will you get that honey?" Sara asked. She sounded tired. I rose with a sigh, "do you know who it is? I thought you said no one was coming round tonight?" "I have no idea who it is sweetie, go and find out. Use the peep hole to check first." The front door opened out into the living room, meaning that Sara could watch me go to the d