Joyce Stories - How I Met My Mother free porn video

When Joyce was in high school, she looked much different. She never wore a skirt, a bra, or heels. She had short hair and a bad complexion. At that period in time, Joyce did not shave her legs or her underarms, and no one she knew saw it as at all unusual. This is not to say that Joyce was a slob; as a matter of fact, she often showered at least three times a day. Once in the morning before school, once after football practice, and once after her evening workout. Yes, Joyce played football, and not the powder-puff variety. Although she was a running back on the Varsity team, Joyce was not on the vanguard of women's rights. Her biggest interaction with a woman's group came when she tried to date a cheerleader. Joyce was not a lesbian in high school. Joyce was not a she in high school; she was a guy named Josh. Josh was not the 'big man on campus'; he was a regular guy. He only got off the bench when his team was winning by a large margin. His name was misspelled in his senior yearbook. He was well enough liked, with a few close friends, but he was not overly popular. Near the end of his senior year, Josh was still unsure of his prospects for college. Many of his classmates talked of full rides to Harvard or Princeton. His parents couldn't afford to pay tuition, and despite good grades and athletics, he had failed to secure any scholarships. At a time when he should have been mostly carefree, Josh was dismal. Then, over spring break, something happened to raise his spirits. Josh went down south with his friends Fernando and Kevin to the beach for the week. They were a year behind him in school, but he found he had more in common with them than with anyone who was actually in his class. They had all been looking forward to this getaway for months. The sun and the sand did not disappoint. The first afternoon, while they were catching the rays and trying not to be too obvious about checking out all the girls in bikinis, Josh was approached by a tremendously beautiful woman. She wore a blue and white striped one-piece bathing suit which dipped at the bust to show generous cleavage and was cut high at the hips to make the most of her long and well-shaped legs. She had on a pair of large- framed, dark sunglasses beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat. Straight brown hair in a fashionable cut fell in a perfect fan across her shoulders. It was obvious from the way she carried herself that she was no teenager, but her body and what could be seen of her face gave no clues as to how old she might be. She had a towel draped over one arm and held a bottle of lotion and a paperback novel. Her voice, when she spoke, held a hint of a southern accent, with an undertone of old money. "Young man," She asked, clearly indicating Josh, "Would you be so kind as to help me with my sunscreen?" She spread her towel out on the sand beside him. Her plump red lips curled into a smile as she turned her head towards Fernando and Kevin. "I must borrow your friend for a moment, boys. You don't mind, do you?" They both got to their feet at once, as if prodded, and spoke in unison, "No, ma'am, I'm sure it's alright." Fernando gave Josh a surreptitious thumbs-up. Kevin said, "I think we were just going to get something to drink. We'll see you in a bit." The woman watched for a moment as they walked away across the sand, then sat down on her towel and turned to Josh, extending her hand. "Victoria Andrews - Ms. Andrews to your friends, Vickie to mine. I'd like you to call me Vickie." Josh was mesmerized by the woman and amazingly, she seemed attracted to him. They spent most of the week together and Josh even stayed behind with her in her hotel room when his friends went south of the border to Mexico. Sunday night, as Josh was helping Fernando and Kevin pack up the car to go home, Vickie took him aside to say goodbye. "Thank you for a lovely time this week, Josh. I hope I was able to distract you from your college troubles. Don't be discouraged; you're a special young man and I'm sure something will turn up. If it doesn't, well, I'm sure we'll meet again. When we do, if you still need some help, I can give it." She wrapped him in an embrace and kissed him, then turned and walked away. Josh spent the ride home in a pensive mood, considering Vickie's last words to him. He went to sleep remembering the sensation of her arms around him and her lips on his. Waking up on Monday morning, memories of the previous week faded like a dream. The last two months of school flew by in a blur and soon graduation was only days away. Josh was graduating Magna Cum Laude, but he still had no scholarship and no colleges had yet accepted him. His parents again made it clear that he would have to pay his own way, wherever he ended up going. His dad suggested that high school graduates living at home might be expected to pay rent. A few days later, with the ceremony and celebration over and with high school behind him, Josh went to look for a job so that he could at least afford to go live at home while he waited for his prospects to improve. His first stop was the grocery store; fast food had no appeal, and he hadn't yet reached the level of desperation that would necessary for him to consider enlisting in the Army. He filled out and turned in an application and was surprised when he was immediately asked to go to the back office for an interview. "Hello, Josh," Vickie said pleasantly, standing up from behind the desk, as Josh entered the room, "I did tell you we'd meet again." She smiled brightly and gestured to a chair facing her as she sat on a corner of the desk. Today she was wearing a white blouse with a mid-length grey skirt and a matching jacket. She crossed her stocking-clad legs deliberately at the knee; she wore patent-leather heels in a dark red. "I never would have expected it to be here," Josh replied, as his eyes ran up and down her body. "To be honest, I'd almost convinced myself that I'd imagined you." "You'd need a very vivid, very wicked imagination," she told him with a grin. Her face sobered. "I'm sorry this reunion took so long. I have some news for you, but I had to make certain before I shared it. I'm pregnant!" "...And I'm the father?" Josh asked haltingly. He felt a rush of emotions ranging from pride to blind panic. He gripped the arms of his chair awaiting her answer. "Of course you are," she said in a tone which implied that he'd questioned her virtue. "I'm so happy! I told you that you were special." Vickie leaned forward and placed a gentle hand on Josh's shoulder. "I've been trying for years. My two ex-husbands couldn't manage it, but somehow, when I saw you, I knew you'd be the one." "I'd like to do the honorable thing..." Josh began, but Vickie cut him off. "I'm not looking to get married again. Besides, I'm old enough to be your mother. Along those lines, I have an offer for you, a bond stronger than matrimony." "What are you getting at?" Josh asked, perplexed. "I want you to be able to go to college, and if you allow me to become your mother, I'd gladly send you." "Are you talking adoption or something?" he asked, slightly bewildered, and just beginning to consider the implications in light of their relationship to date. "Not adoption, exactly," Vickie replied, taking a moment to choose her next words carefully. "I'm the heir to a Power which, among other things, would permit me to transform you into my flesh and blood. There is one catch: According to the Laws of Transmutation, I'd have to alter your nature in some significant way. Gender is the easiest. You'd become my daughter." This remark would have been the breaking point for Josh, had Vickie's powers not been real. She had a definite hold over him, however, and he found himself agreeing to let her transform him into a young woman, on the condition that she would send him to college. He still had a few reservations and looked for reassurance. "What if I really can't stand it and want to change back?" A look of pain crossed Vickie's face as she answered, "It's potentially possible to return you to your original physical state, but your mind would never be quite the same. It's inadvisable to even attempt it." "What will my...original...parents think? My friends? How will they react to all this?" "When the transformation reaches a certain stage, your current form will cease to exist. Everyone will remember things you've done, they'll recognize your face in pictures, recall your voice. But no one will wonder at your absence, or be concerned that you're not there. Going forward, your new form will replace the old in their thinking of you and your relationships with everyone will be altered with respect to your new circumstances." The last part of her answer led Josh to other questions, but he didn't give voice to them; instead he asked "How long will it take?" "The change will not occur instantly, or even overnight," Vickie told him, "But it will begin soon and proceed quickly." Josh woke up the next morning in a cold sweat. His meeting with Vickie the day before was strong in his mind as he took inventory of his body. As far as he could tell, nothing was different from usual. All day long, he felt a strange tingling just under his skin. It had been most intense when he had shaved in the morning. About 10 AM, remembering that, he reached up and stroked his still smooth chin. Was it a little too smooth? Josh examined himself carefully in the mirror. He was sure something had changed, but he couldn't put his finger on it. The first change he could be sure of he noticed when he got ready to go swimming that afternoon. His chest hair was gone. There had never been much there, just a small patch of dark curls at the base of his neck. Looking to the mirror again, close up he could see there was still hair there now, but it was short, light, and fine. It seemed to be an isolated instance; his arms and legs were still covered in coarse dark strands. At least that was the case until he got out of the pool an hour or so later and found his arms had received the same treatment. The transformation was progressing more slowly than Josh had expected. He decided that if he quit checking every few minutes, he might see more differences the next time he looked. To distract himself, he tried to sit down and read for a while, but he couldn't concentrate, so he went and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels until he found a movie with enough special effects and explosions that he didn't have to think about the story. Looking in the mirror that night before he went to bed, the image he saw was halfway a stranger. Josh noticed that his face was loosing its sternness; the features were softening. His neanderthaloid brow was less pronounced and his deep-set eyes were shallower in their sockets. His nose was thinner and smaller. His face could now almost be called pretty. His arms, too, had changed; they looked less like the arms of a football player and more like those of a ballet dancer. His hands were smaller, too. He had to tighten his watch-band to keep it from slipping off his wrist. His fingers now had a less bony, more elegant look to them. Elsewhere, his nipples might have been a little larger, the areolae a smidge darker. His pecs looked less muscular, more rounded. He grabbed one and kneaded the soft flesh with his fingers. He heard a knock on the front door; putting on a shirt, he went to see who it was. Looking through the peephole, he saw it was Vickie and he let her in the house. "I've come to take you home," she said, and Josh went with her to her car, a large, dark Mercedes-Benz. He took nothing with him except the clothes he was wearing. They left the apartment complex and drove for several minutes, ending up in the ritzy part of town, and stopped in front of a huge house on a hill overlooking the city. "You've got the third floor to yourself," Vickie told him, as they walked in the front door. "The bed's made, and I've put some things out that you might want to wear. It's late and we should try to get some sleep. We'll talk more in the morning." Josh was tired by the time he had climbed the two flights of stairs to his new bedroom. He was impressed when he got there. Now he had a king- sized bed and his own bathroom. A pair of French doors opened onto a balcony with a view of the city lights. Undressing, Josh yawned and looked down at the nightgown laid across his bed. It was sleeveless and made of blue silk, with a lace edging around the bottom and the neckline. Shrugging, he told himself, "I might as well get used to it." Just looking at it had caused him to have an erection which only intensified as he slipped it over his head and let the soft fabric slide down his chest. He put on the matching panties that had been lying next to it, but they were uncomfortable and looked ridiculous with the bulge in front and the tip of his penis sticking out of the waistband, so he took them off again and wore only the nightie. Slipping under the covers, he went straight to sleep. The change which had been slowly occurring since the interview increased its pace while he was unconscious. Josh hadn't been tall before and he didn't lose any height as his bone structure altered, but his spinal column gained a bit of extra curvature, his rib cage contracted slightly, and his shoulders narrowed, along with his waist. The major difference was in his pelvis, which widened significantly, spreading out his legs, and rotated forward, thrusting out his butt. His Adam's apple melted away as his vocal cords shrank. His breasts grew from boyishly flat, through the mosquito-bite phase, to ample, finally stopping at a size which could best be described as 'quite large'. His bottom rounded out and his thighs thickened. Meanwhile, his penis and testicles melted into his crotch, until only the head of the penis remained. It slipped into the cleft which formed between his legs, tender labia arising to mark the entrance of a soft pink tunnel leading to a fertile womb. In the midst of all the upheaval, his urinary tract re-routed itself and assumed a position between his legs. To top it all off, the hair on his head grew long and shaggy. By morning the alterations were complete and he was not a he. "You'll want to shower and shave before you come down to breakfast," her mother called up to her from somewhere downstairs, "I didn't know how you'd want your hair done, so I just made it long and got an appointment for you at the salon for this morning." Josh, for that was still how she thought of herself, was disoriented as she woke in a strange bedroom; it took her a moment to recall where she was and how she'd gotten there. She slid the covers down, her hands brushing against her nightgown as she did. Sitting up, she felt the odd sensation of her breasts settling into place; she reached a hand up to brush her hair back as it fell forward, obscuring her vision. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood, swaying precariously until she found her balance. Supporting herself against the wall, she took a few hesitant steps forward until she was sure her knees wouldn't buckle. Slipping into the bathroom, she closed the door behind her and fumbled for the light switch. Finding it, she flipped on the lights and turned to face her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Big blue eyes looked back at her beneath a mop of unruly dark reddish- brown hair which hung to her waist. The blue nightgown hugged the curves of her hips and the swell of her bosom. Below the lacy hem, her toned, tanned legs were still covered in hair. She raised her arms above her head and saw that there was also a thick thatch of curls in each armpit. She lowered her arms down again and grabbed the hem of the nightgown, pulling it off over her head, awkwardly disentangling it from her tresses in a burst of static cling. She let it fall to the floor as she returned to the examination of her now naked body. Her eyes darted to the view of her thick patch of pubic hair, and then up to the wide round areolae on her ripe breasts. She felt a warmth in her loins and realized that she was getting aroused by the girl she watched in the mirror. Aroused, but without the erection she was used to. She shook her head as if to clear it and turned her back to the mirror. Stepping into the tub, she pulled the shower curtain closed and turned on the water. There was a profusion of bottles arrayed around the periphery of the tub; shaving gel, shower gel, two different brands of shampoo, conditioner, and bubble bath. A pink-handled razor hung in a case suction-cupped to the wall. A poufy scrubbing implement hung on a cord hooked over the tap. Josh picked up the pouf and poured the shower gel on it, lathering up her body, starting with her chest. The rough fabric was exquisitely painful as she rubbed it over her large, dark nipples. She felt her pussy responding again, and moved on to the rest of her body with an effort of will. She wanted to deal with her arousal, but she didn't know how to masturbate with this set of genitals and she felt like she had to hurry to get ready so she wouldn't miss her hair appointment. Washing her hair was a chore which only increased her determination to get to the salon. She had to use what seemed to her an absurd amount of shampoo. Rinsing it out took forever, and that mass of wet hair was heavy. Finishing with that task, she looked at the bottle of conditioner with contempt and reached for the shaving cream and the razor. Carefully, she removed the hair from her underarms, and then moved on to her legs. The water was starting to lose its warmth now, and she hurried to finish before it got completely cold. Her breasts and hair got in the way as she bent to reach her ankles. Each leg took longer to shave than her face ever had and she ended up with a cut on the back of her left knee and another on her ankle. The water was ice cold by the time she finished rinsing and shut off the tap. Her nipples were rock hard, but her ardor had faded. She reached for a towel and wrapped herself up in it, vigorously rubbing herself dry. Grabbing a second towel, she wrapped her hair, guessing correctly that it was going to take a long time to dry. Stepping out of the tub onto the bathmat, Josh realized she needed to pee. She dropped her towel on the floor and lifted the lid. Sitting down, her ass hit the seat before she expected, due to the extra padding. She wondered idly what to do with her hands, since she didn't have a penis to hold. Looking down between her legs, she watched in fascination as the spray emanated from between her labia. When the stream stopped, a few golden drops hung in the curly hairs to either side of her pussy lips; she gathered some toilet paper and gingerly wiped up. Flushing the toilet, she stepped over to the sink to wash her hands. She wiped the mirror so she could get another look at her face. She thought there was still an indefinable hint of her old self in the features. Those blue eyes were still the same color, but rounder, and her lashes were much longer. It would be easy to get lost in those eyes. Her nose was completely different; smaller, shorter, and with a wider, straighter bridge, but the scar beneath it, which Josh had received as a baby, was still present. Below that, her mouth was wide and her lips were plump, where before they had been narrow and thin. She ran a finger over them, wondering what it would like to kiss those tender lips. All in all, it was a pretty face and Josh realized she was turning herself on again. Spying a hair dryer and brush on the counter, she undid the towel that was wrapped around her head and began to dry her hair. With none-too- gentle ministrations of the brush, she began to tug it into a semblance of order. Even so, her former hairstyle had never been intended to grow so long and there was only so much she could do. Turning off the hair dryer, she tucked a few strands of her still damp hair behind her ears. She uncapped a stick of deodorant and applied it to her underarms; it smelled like strawberries. Finished in the bathroom, she turned out the lights and headed back into her bedroom. Her clothes from the day before were in a pile on the floor beside the bed. Josh picked her briefs up off the top of the pile and considered them. Deciding they wouldn't do, she dropped them and picked up the pair of panties she'd rejected last night. The satiny fabric reacted with the silky smooth skin of Josh's freshly shaven legs, sending a chill up her spine. Settling them in place, she marveled at the smooth flatness where her cock and balls used to be. Knowing how much her body had changed, Josh realized that her old jeans wouldn't fit right anymore. In the corner of the room was a large bureau and a walk-in closet, both stocked with clothes. Looking through the drawers she found a bra she didn't think she'd mind wearing. Like the panties, it was blue, but it was made of soft cotton and it had a tiny bow between the cups. She put it on back-to-front and did the clasps underneath her breasts, then pulled her hair out from under the band and rotated the cups to the front. She'd seen her Vickie do it that way, during Spring Break. Dropping her boobs into the cups, she slipped her arms through the straps and pulled them up onto her shoulders. With a little adjustment, the bra fit perfectly; the support was a relief she hadn't known she needed. Looking through other drawers and through her closet, Josh picked out an outfit to wear. She put on a pair of white ankle socks, a sky blue polo, a pair of faded jeans, and some low-top sneakers. The jeans and the shirt both, were tighter than what Josh was used to wearing; they followed her curves from breasts to calves and made her a little self-conscious, but she told herself she'd have to get used to it. Finally ready, she went down to breakfast. From her room she could smell bacon cooking, and followed her nose to the kitchen, down on the first floor. Walking still felt odd, with her breasts going one way, still jiggling a little, despite the bra, and her butt going the other way, its swaying accentuated by her tight pants. Her mother was still in her housecoat and her face was pale, but it brightened when Josh walked into the room. Vickie met her halfway across the room and gave her a big hug then stood back and looked Josh up and down. "Now, then. You definitely need that hair cut," She said, "But otherwise, everything looks in order. I see your clothes fit. Only one step left: a new name, to seal the transformation. I name you Joyce Kathrine Andrews." And so Joyce was born, at the age of 18. "I like the sound of it. That wasn't that just a random choice, was it? Where did you come up with it?" Joyce asked, hearing her new voice for the first time. It was deep for a woman, but she felt that it suited her; her voice before had been deep for a man. "A little bit of vanity and a little bit of remembrance. Kathrine is my middle name. Joyce was your grandma, my mother," Vickie said, handing Joyce a plate of bacon and eggs. She picked up her coffee mug and began to take a drink, then set it back down with a grimace. "Are you feeling alright, mom?" Joyce asked, guessing, as she spoke that it was probably morning sickness. Vickie confirmed the guess and added, "Don't worry about me, Hon; I'll be fine. You eat your breakfast while I get dressed and then I can drive you to the salon." Joyce poured herself a glass of milk and drank it while she wolfed down her food. Apparently switching genders caused one to work up an appetite. She almost wiped her greasy fingers on her pants, but reconsidered. That's not the sort of thing a girl would do, she decided, using her napkin instead. She put her plate in the sink, threw her napkin away and headed back upstairs to brush her teeth. When she'd finished with that, she picked up her watch from her pile of yesterday's clothes and put it on. She pulled her wallet and phone out of the pockets of her old jeans and tried to put them in the pockets of the ones she was wearing. It was then that she discovered that her back pockets were sewn shut, and the front ones were too small to be of any practical use. "Are you ready to go, Joyce?" Vickie called up to her, "Don't forget to bring your purse. I think it's on your dresser. We might go out shopping after you get your hair done." Joyce found the purse just where her mother said it was, a brown leather satchel with single long shoulder strap. She stuffed her wallet and phone in the bag and hung it over her shoulder. "I'll be right down, mom," she said and headed down the stairs. She felt a little silly carrying a purse, but she told herself it was only a matter of time until it seemed like a normal thing to do. Joyce climbed into the right side of the car and buckled her seat belt, adjusting the shoulder harness for the comfort of her breasts and putting a little slack in her hair. She ran her fingers through the front of it and tried to decide what she wanted to do with it. She thought about getting it all cut off, but she'd always preferred long hair on girls. In the driver's seat, Vickie was looking more composed than she had at breakfast. Her makeup was done perfectly and she was dressed in a frilly white blouse with dark slacks tucked into a pair of shiny riding boots. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her big sunglasses were perched on her forehead. Shiny red painted nails tipped her fingers. Joyce was a little jealous of how easy Vickie made it all seem; her mother looked more presentable and had taken a lot less time getting ready than she had. Vickie seemed to be aware of her new daughter's thoughts. "You've got to crawl before you can walk, Joyce. I'm sure it's been quite a shock, all the changes you've gone through, and I'm proud of how well you seem to be adapting. I can only imagine how you must be feeling right now. If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know." "It's just...everything feels a little bit wrong. Everything about me reminds me that everything about me has changed. For some reason, I'm comfortably numb, but I worry that I'll start freaking out. I'm worried that everyone else can tell that I'm wrong; I just want to be normal and I don't know how." "If you had any scars before you changed, you may have noticed that they're still there. Like your scars, your memories, your life experiences, and your residual self-image exist unchanged. The core of your self is still the same; that was what I intended, but it's also responsible for your cognitive dissonance. All the same, if everything turned out the way I planned it, you identify as a woman now; you 'are' a woman, not a man trapped in a woman's body. Anything less would have been terribly unfair to you." "I don't want you to think I'm complaining," Joyce said, "I agreed to this; besides, I'm a really pretty girl. You did a good job with that part. But I've never understood girls; how am I supposed to act like one?" "Don't feel obligated to 'act like a girl'. I suspect that most of your expectations of what that entails are a little off the mark, anyhow. There are some things you will need to learn and I'll teach you about them as they come up, but don't feel like you have to change yourself to fit in, or conform to anyone's idea of what a 'girl' should be. There's a lot of social pressure out there...oh my gosh, I'm so sorry; I did it to you myself, without even thinking about it." "Well, that nightgown was pretty, and I like the way my legs look and feel when they're shaved, but maybe I can get some pants with bigger pockets? I'm not a big fan of the purse," Joyce said wryly. She appreciated the talk, but realized that she didn't really feel much better about her situation. Shortly, they arrived at the salon. Vickie pulled into a parking spot right in front of the door and stopped the engine. "I know what you just said about the purse, but you probably shouldn't leave it in the car," She said. "Oh, alright," Joyce said with a comically exaggerated sigh, hiking the purse strap over her shoulder. The glass fronted structure was two stories tall, the silver-tinted windows reflecting the light and heat of the summer sun into the parking lot. A chic sign declared this to be the Erik Toller Salon. Walking up to the entrance, Joyce held the door open for her mother and then followed her in. A waiting area in the front was separated by the front desk from a high ceilinged, brightly lit room lined with barber's chairs and hair- washing stations. The conditioned air was frosty and carried a m?lange of smells: sweet shampoo, acrid hair color, the nose-burning scent of rubbing alcohol. A Top 40 radio station emanating from speakers along the walls provided an undertone to the buzz of hair clippers, scissors, and conversation. A blonde-haired teenage girl sitting on one of the couches looked up from her magazine as Joyce and Vickie walked up to the counter. After a double-take she smiled at Joyce and waved. It was Rachel Tubbs, the reigning Prom Queen; Joyce waved back. Vickie smiled and gave her a go- talk-to-your-friend gesture then began speaking to the receptionist. Joyce walked over nervously and took the seat next to Rachel. The two knew each other from classes together; Joyce had had a crush on the girl, unrevealed and thus unrequited. Rachel was wearing a low-cut, floral print sundress with spaghetti straps and a tight fitting bodice. Joyce realized she was getting turned on again and had already moved her purse to hide her erection before she realized the futility of that gesture; she felt her ears go red. Luckily they were concealed by her hair. Rachel put her magazine down and gave Joyce another smile. "Hey there! I didn't know you got your hair cut here." "It's my first time," Joyce replied. "I usually go to Harvey's Barber shop." "Oh," Rachel said, nonplussed, "Hey, what happened to your hair, anyway. It wasn't nearly that long at graduation." "I was mowing the lawn yesterday and fell headfirst into a vat of Miracle-Grow," Joyce answered with a grin. Rachel giggled and patted Joyce's arm. Her touch was electric. "Oh, Joyce, you're such a kidder. Oh, hey, I really like your purse. Where did you get it?" Joyce was spared from having to answer as Rachel was called by her stylist. "It was nice to see you again, Joyce," She called out as she walked to the back. "She seems like a nice girl," Vickie said, from Joyce's other side. She had sat down unnoticed while Joyce was talking to Rachel. "I'm not sure she knew what to make of me. I don't know what to make of it. How did she know who I was? How did she even know my name? I didn't know it, myself, before this morning. And she was so friendly. Is that what you meant about my relationships with people being altered?" Vickie nodded and was about to speak when she was interrupted by the arrival of another woman. She was 20-something, tall and heavy set, dressed in a black tank top and tights with a pair of ballet flats. She was wearing a dark apron and she had on a pair of tortoise-shell colored, square-framed glasses. Her auburn hair was long, thick, and curly; her freckled upper arms were sleeved with tattoos. She had a small stud in her left nostril and rings on most of her fingers. "Joyce?" She asked, extending a hand, "Hi. I'm Sadie. If you'll come with me, we can get started." Joyce shook the offered hand and followed Sadie to the back. The big stylist talked continuously as they walked, Joyce answering with shakes and nods of her head, as appropriate, "Are we doing any color today? No? Did you want to get a shampoo? No? Just the cut then? Okay. It sure has been hot out lately, huh? Well here we are. Have a seat." Joyce sat down and dropped her purse in her lap. Sadie wrapped a smock around her, pinning it behind her neck and then spun the chair so that Joyce was facing the mirror. Sadie lifted some locks of Joyce's hair and ran it through her fingers contemplatively. "What were you thinking? Just a trim, or are you ready for a new style?" "Believe it or not, I want you to cut about half of it off. I want something easy to manage," Joyce answered, "I don't want bangs. Maybe you could thin it out a little, too." "You've got such beautiful, thick hair," Sadie said, "This will take a while; do you want a magazine?" She handed Joyce a stack of them and Joyce picked one at random. While Sadie worked with scissors, comb, hair dryer, and the occasional use of a spray bottle, rotating the chair this way and that, Joyce learned things she'd never cared to know about celebrities she'd barely heard of. The cloying scent of the perfumed pages was giving her a headache. At one point, she thought she heard the tone of an arriving text message on her phone. She decided it could wait; she needed to learn the '50 Ways to be Sexy This Summer'. After about an hour, Sadie put down her shears, turned the chair back to the mirror and said "Well, what do you think?" "I like it," Joyce said, admiring her reflection. It was still like looking at a stranger, but as opposed to this morning, the stranger now had cute, neatly trimmed and slightly wavy shoulder length hair, "I look like a whole different person." Satisfied, Sadie unpinned the smock while Joyce surveyed the scene of destruction on the floor below her chair. There was hair everywhere; Vickie really had gone overboard. Joyce gathered her purse and went up front; her head felt remarkably lighter. She showed off her new style to Vickie, who made appreciative noises. She went to the desk to pay and Joyce checked her phone. The message was from Fernando: "Dude! Come out to the movies with me and Kevin tonight". She typed a response: "I'd love to; let me know the details". She hit the send button, put away her phone and walked out to the car with her mother. "Do you mind if we go get some lunch? I know it's a little bit early, but I didn't get much breakfast this morning" Vickie asked as they got into the car. "I suppose I can have something light," Joyce answered, "I hope you're feeling better." After some discussion, they settled on Chili's. It was close by the salon and after a short drive, the two women found themselves at a table by a window. Vickie ordered a hamburger and french-fries, while Joyce asked for a bowl of soup. "Are you two sisters?" their waiter, Thomas, asked as he was collecting their menus after he took their order. "Actually," Joyce said, pointing to Vickie, "I'm her mother." "Today was the last day of school, so Mom's treating me to lunch," Vickie added with a laugh. After the waiter had left, Joyce said, "We really do look a lot alike; you are genetically my mother, now, aren't you? So who's my father?" "The same man as your little sister's, dear," Vickie replied, placing a hand on her tummy. "That's kind of freaky. Does that mean that my...former parents...are now my grandparents? And you know it's going to be a girl already?" "I don't know for certain about the baby. I just have a feeling about it," Vickie answered, "As for your other question: as a matter of genetics, yes, they're your grandparents, but I doubt they would accept you as their grandchild. Then again, you may well end up with a brother. My intuition isn't always right." The return of Thomas with their drinks forestalled further discussion of the subject. As the waiter walked away from the table, Joyce heard the tone of an incoming text on her phone. Fernando had replied with the theater location and time: The Embassy 14, at 7pm. She explained the situation to her mother, adding, "Can I borrow the car?" "I'm not sure that would be a good idea, Hon," Vickie said, "Have you looked at your driver's license lately? We'll have to get that fixed first." Joyce opened her purse and took out her wallet, flipping it open to look at the small plastic-coated card she had only recently obtained. It bore her old name, face, and gender. She returned it to her wallet, which she stuffed back into her purse. Looking back at Vickie, she said, "Well, then, can I get a ride? If you drop me off, I'm sure I can get Fernando or Kevin to take me home." "I'd be glad to give you a ride. This afternoon, I'll see what I can do about your license. In the meantime, I'll be your taxi," Vickie joked. When they had returned home, Joyce spent the afternoon in her room. She used most of the time assessing the extensive wardrobe her mother had compiled. Many of the items were not things she could picture herself ever wanting to wear, not just because of the colors, but also because of styling and practicality, or a lack thereof. It was a little embarrassing to know that her mother knew she owned some of the lingerie she found in her drawers. Worse still, Vickie must have picked them out. Joyce tried on several pieces of clothing, including a dress like the one Rachel had been wearing at the salon. She loved the way her body looked in it, and seriously considered wearing it to the movies, although it left her feeling exposed in a way shorts never had. She pulled the dress up over her body and hung it back on its hanger, but didn't put it back in the closet. Eventually, Joyce realized that the fashion show she'd been putting on for herself had worked her into a state of intense arousal. She didn't know quite how to deal with it, but she had time now to find out. Starting with the obvious, she unclasped her bra and let the shoulder straps slide down her arms before pulling the cups out from under her breasts. Dropping the bra to the floor, she took a breast in each hand; there was more than a handful. The delicate flesh was remarkably pliable beneath her fingers. Joyce fell back on her bed and rolled her boobs around on her chest, then squeezed them together. Pressing them against her chest with the palms of her hands, she rediscovered the sensitivity of her nipples. She pinched them to bring them erect and rolled them between finger and thumb. Although the things she was doing were pleasurable, Joyce's actions thus far had only gotten her hotter. The source of that heat seemed to be between her legs and she thought she knew what she had to do. She pulled her panties off and ran her fingers through her pubic hair, covering her vulva with her hand. Beneath her fingers the velvety folds of her labia were like rose petals amidst the curly thatch. Tenderly, she slipped a finger between those lips and into her vagina. Whatever her expectations, perhaps an explosion of pleasure, she was faintly disappointed. The sensation was nice, but hardly mind-blowing. She was so wet down there she could barely feel her finger inside her. Joyce plunged a second finger beside the first and began thrusting them in and out. By sheer luck, she pressed her thumb down on the hood of her clit as she was trying to gain leverage. After a great deal of trial and error, she discovered a small amount of what it took to satisfy her sexual desires. Once she felt a little more centered, she realized that she smelled strongly of the pussy juices with which her hands and inner thighs were sticky. She checked the time; she'd have to get dressed and head down to dinner soon, but she needed a shower first. Back in her room after cleaning up, Joyce had to decide what outfit to wear. Earlier, she'd found a nice, baggy pair of shorts with big pockets where she could put her wallet and phone. On the other hand, she looked good in the dress and she didn't dislike the purse as much as she'd let on in the morning. While she made up her mind, she did a smell check on her underwear. She decided on a clean pair of panties, but the bra was okay to wear again. She strapped herself into it and grabbed the dress. Vickie was working on her laptop in the living room when Joyce came downstairs. She shut the lid and set it on the coffee table as Joyce entered the room. "Did you want to go get some dinner before I drop you off?" she asked. "Sounds good to me," Joyce answered, pointing to the computer, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." "It was just some work e-mails. I can deal with those later," Vickie said, putting a hand on Joyce's shoulder, "I like the dress. Are you sure you're going to be comfortable wearing it all night?" Joyce nodded. "You have some sandals in your closet that I think would look really cute with it. The silvery ones." Joyce knew the pair and went back upstairs to get them. Taking off her socks and shoes, she slid on the sandals and buckled them at her ankles. By the time she was back downstairs, Vickie had her purse and was waiting by the door. They got some fast food, eating it at the restaurant, and then Vickie dropped Joyce at the theater. "Here's some cash for a ticket and snacks," she said, handing Joyce a pair of twenties, "And here's your key to the house. Don't be afraid to call if you end up needing a ride home." Joyce thanked her mother and stepped out of the car, closing the door behind her. She found Fernando and Kevin waiting by the box office, along with Kevin's girlfriend Sylvia, a friendly Hispanic girl with long, curly, dark hair and exotic brown eyes. She was wearing a striped, long- sleeved button-down shirt, tight straight-leg blue jeans with a big belt buckle, and cowboy boots. She flashed Joyce a smile. "When Kevin told me you were coming, I decided it would be fun to tag along. Besides, I didn't want you to be outnumbered." "Thanks, I'm glad you came," Joyce said. She'd never spent time with Sylvia outside of school and she didn't expect to feel 'outnumbered' in the company of her two best friends, but she felt it best to be polite. "What does everyone want to see?" As expected, this question brought four different answers. The drama 'An Immoral Offer' was Sylvia's suggestion. Kevin wanted to see 'Dinosaur Zoo'. Fernando proposed a foreign language film called 'Spices of Passion'. Joyce herself was in favor 'The Unpardoned', a Western. After much discussion, and in the spirit of compromise, they eventually decided on the latest action movie. There were only a few minutes left until the show started; in a division of labor, Kevin and Sylvia went to get snacks while Fernando and Joyce purchased tickets. "Four for the 7:30 showing of 'Maximum Peril'", Fernando said to the ticket seller as they reached the head of the line. "That'll be $50, please", She told him, printing out the tickets as he got out the money. Joyce offered him a twenty, but he waved it away. "I've got this", he said, handing her a ticket. "My treat." "Are you sure?" She asked, holding up the bill again, "I've got plenty." "Consider it a graduation present," He answered with a smile, holding the door for her as they went inside. They met up with Kevin and Sylvia and exchanged tickets and concessions for cash. Moving on, they got directions from the ticket taker and headed into their theater. Joyce took her customary seat about mid-way back from the screen and in line with the projector; Sylvia sat to her left and the boys bookended them. The previews had already started as they settled in. Sylvia leaned over and whispered in Joyce's ear, "You're sitting like a boy." "Yeah, well, you know..." Joyce answered in a low voice. "When you're wearing a skirt, it's best to keep your knees together." Joyce felt her ears go red and her cheeks flush as she crossed her legs. She was glad the lights were low. "Thanks," she murmured, taking a big swig of her soda. The previews ended and the movie began. The plot was highly contrived and the acting and dialogue were cheesy. The hero, an alpine ranger, was being forced to help a gang of thieves retrieve cases of money which had fallen onto a mountain range from an airplane during a botched robbery. The theater was less than half full; Joyce and Fernando felt no compunction about making whispered jokes throughout the film. Joyce looked over at Kevin and Sylvia. They had their heads together, Kevin's arm around her shoulder as they shared popcorn from a huge tub. Looking back to her right, Fernando yawned and stretched, putting his hands behind his head in the opening of the classic move. Joyce glared at him and the hands went back to his lap as he gave her a sheepish grin. As the credits began to roll, they got up to exit the theater. Joyce remembered to retrieve her purse from under her seat. She and Sylvia arranged to meet the guys at the front door and headed to the women's room. Joyce felt all 32 ounces of her Dr. Pepper as she waited for a stall to open up. When one finally did, she waddled awkwardly to it and shut and locked the door behind her. Hoisting her dress up and sliding her panties down, she sat, musing that she was practically half naked in public. She finished up, straightened herself out, washed her hands and left the restroom; Sylvia was waiting just outside. "I didn't mean to embarrass you, earlier," She said. "I won't say you didn't," Joyce answered frankly, "I need to know these things, though. No one else says anything, but I have to believe they're thinking it. I feel like everybody is staring at me." "Not everybody, and not exactly staring, but you are getting some looks," Sylvia responded, "Just guys looking at a pretty woman, though. I'd ignore them if I were you." Kevin and Fernando were in the middle of a discussion about the plausibility of one of the stunts in the movie as the girls approached them. Kevin broke off and turned to Joyce, "You need a ride home, don't you? 'Nando and I came in separate cars and I have to drop Sylvia off. Where do you live these days?" It turned out that Joyce and Sylvia lived in opposite directions from the theater, so she ended up riding with Fernando. He drove an old Ford Taurus that belonged to his grandmother. There was a pile of books and papers in the passenger seat that he had to clear away before Joyce could sit down. As they left the parking lot, Fernando turned on the radio. An Aerosmith song was playing which matched her current mood. "That was an awful movie," She said with a laugh, "Thanks for paying. I hope you don't feel like you wasted your money." "Nah, I had a good time." He paused, trying to pick his words carefully, "Sometimes it's hard to remember that you're not still..." "Not still what? One of the guys?" She snapped, pointing to the radio as the song reached its chorus, "Whatever I look like, it's still me inside. Don't forget that." She crossed her arms under her breasts and sighed. "I'm not angry, it's just...this has been the weirdest, most surreal day of my life and I expect tomorrow to be a close second." They travelled on in silence until the car pulled up in Joyce's driveway. She thanked her friend for the ride and got out of the car. Fernando waited until she'd unlocked and opened the door before he put the car in reverse and drove off. Joyce got up early the next morning to go running. She hadn't worked out properly in days and it would give her time to sort out her thoughts. She was very impressed with her mother's clothes selection. She found a full array of athletic gear in her drawers. She put on a tight blue sports bra and a pair of cotton panties underneath a loose white tank top and a pair of blue mesh shorts. She pulled her hair back in a loose ponytail and secured it with a scrunchie. Vickie wasn't up yet, so Joyce made her way downstairs quietly and locked the front door behind her, slipping the key into her pocket. It took a few minutes to find the proper rhythm and form for her new body. Once she did, she picked up the pace, tracking speed and distance with an app on her phone, which she had strapped on her upper arm. The sun was just rising over the hills to the east and it was still relatively cool. Joyce chose her outbound route to keep her back to the sun as often as she could. She saw others out jogging or running, women and men both; she greeted them with a smile or nod. As she passed the first mile, Joyce began to go over the past few days in her mind. Some logical inconsistencies and unresolved questions stood out as she considered events. Foremost among them, why had she ever agreed to the deal in the first place? She knew the surface reasons, remembered details of the conversation she'd had with Vickie at the grocery store, but she couldn't focus on the underlying argument which had finally convinced her to accept the offer. Nor why Vickie had made the offer in the first place; what was in it for her? On the face of it, Joyce was only an added financial burden for her. Josh's dad always used to say, "If it seems too good to be true, it probably is." Was Vickie just philanthropic, or was there some hidden catch? What exactly did she mean when she said Joyce was special? Should Joyce confront her mother about this? She felt the calm acceptance which had shrouded her since the interview begin to slip away. She increased her pace again. The delicious ache in her legs, the sweat dripping down her body, the strain of her lungs, all served as a buffer to the disturbing thoughts in her head. At the two mile mark, she turned for home, speeding up every time her ruminations threatened to overwhelm her. By the time she returned to her front door, she was practically sprinting. Breathing heavily and coated with a sheen of perspiration, she made her way inside. The air conditioner raised goose-bumps on her arms, but she could still feel heat radiating from the soles of her feet. She found Vickie in the kitchen, in a dressing gown again, and clutching a mug of coffee. She set it down on the counter and wrapped Joyce in an embrace, regardless of the sweat. For a moment, Joyce couldn't quite remember where she was. Then she felt a wave of dizziness pass over her. A vague sensation of nausea lingered, but soon she felt almost giddy; she remembered feeling anxiety during her run, but not the cause of it. Vickie was over by the counter again, her eyes regarding Joyce over her coffee as she took a sip. "Did you have a good run?" She asked as she lowered her mug. "It was great, but I could really use a shower." "Before you go up, I wanted to let you know that I got a call from work this morning. I have to go away on business for a few days. As always, call me if you need help. I'll be leaving in about an hour. I'm leaving the car for you to use; I'll get a cab to the airport. Your temporary license should arrive in the mail today and you can go to the DMV on Monday and get the permanent one. Feel free to have friends over if you want, but be responsible; no parties and no alcohol. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Joyce made a polite gesture of acknowledgment and hobbled upstairs. She took her time getting undressed and showering. By the time she was dressed and back downstairs, Vickie was waiting by the front door with her suitcase. She had a few last words of advice before she departed. "Don't feel like you need to be a homebody while I'm gone. There's a community pool and a gym a few blocks away. There's an access tag on my keychain," She said, handing the keys to Joyce. Outside, a horn honked. "I'll be back next Thursday," Vickie added, giving Joyce a hug before picking up her suitcase and heading out the door. "Have a safe trip," Joyce called after her. She ate a leisurely breakfast and spent the next several hours lounging on the couch in the living room. After a light lunch, she put on a one- piece swimsuit under her shorts and t-shirt and slipped on a pair of flip-flops. She took a towel and some sunscreen in a backpack and walked down to the pool. The water was crowded with children splashing and playing noisy games, but there were only a handful of parents and plenty of empty deck chairs. Choosing one at random, Joyce stripped off her shirt and shorts and slipped them into her bag, pulling out the sunblock at the same time. She applied it to her arms, legs, and upper chest before reclining in her seat to catch some sun. After a half hour or so, she took a dip in the pool. When she returned to her seat, the lifeguard came over and sat down next to her. He was tall, darkly tanned, with a head of short, sun-bleached blond curls. He was wearing a pair of mirrored sunglasses which he lowered to reveal green eyes as he spoke. "I don't think I've seen you around here before and I'm sure I'd remember. Are you visiting somebody, or did you just move to the area?" His tone was reminiscent of a policeman asking if you knew how fast you were going. Joyce held up the tag on her mom's keychain and replied, "I just moved in with my mom here a few days ago." "Welcome to the neighborhood. I'm Roy, by the way. Roy Fielding," he said, extending his hand. "Joyce Andrews. Nice to meet you. Your name sounds familiar. Did you play football for Marshall?" "Sure did. I was a cornerback on the Varsity team this year. Do you go there?" "No, I just graduated from Churchill, but I saw you play, once." "That must have been the 'Gucci Bowl' game. I got an interception in that one and almost took it to the house." He sighed wistfully, "Would have won the game for us, too." Joyce stifled a laugh; she'd played in that game, too. It was the annual matchup between the two richest schools in the two most affluent districts of the city. Roy had made the interception, certainly, but it was in the waning moments of a 63-17 beat down and he'd caught the ball at the 50 and gone about three yards downfield before she tackled him. She only remembered him because that play had been the highlight of both their high school careers. Still, she was in the mood to talk to somebody, so she gave a diplomatic response, never revealing her true knowledge of events. Talk of football led to a conversation that lasted for several hours, punctuated by Roy yelling at kids not to run, or to get out of the deep end, or to stop splashing so much. "Listen," he said, finally, "I get off shift in about 15 minutes; if you'd like, we can go get something to eat and maybe talk some more without so many interruptions." Joyce was enjoying Roy's company, so she agreed; she thought this could be the beginning of a new friendship. Besides, she knew that she'd be bored and lonely when she went home and she wasn't ready for that yet. She headed into the changing room to rinse the chlorine out of her hair. Joyce had just stepped out of the stall and wrapped her towel around her when she heard someone else enter. She cautiously picked up her bag and her suit and went into the locker area. A fit and tanned teenage girl, possibly Roy's relief, was slipping out of her shorts. Joyce caught a glimpse of pink panties with little purple hearts on them before she averted her eyes. Feeling self-conscious, embarrassed, and turned on at the same time, Joyce dressed quickly. She looked up as she stood and threw her bag over her shoulder, just in time to see the girl's bare breasts before she pulled the straps of her red swimsuit over her shoulders. Joyce looked away again and kept her head down as she walked out the door. Roy met her in the parking lot about 10 minutes later, having showered and changed, himself. He smelled strongly of Old Spice. He was wearing khaki shorts that looked almost white against his tanned legs, a pair of weathered loafers, and a striped Polo shirt. Joyce waved when she saw him, and he sketched a salute in reply, then led her to his car. "Is that a '79 Camaro?" She asked as they approached an immaculate lean black car with orange and red stripes along the bottom of the doors. "It sure is; you've got a good eye. My dad and I restored it together. He gave it to me for my 16th birthday. Here, let me get that for you, it sticks sometimes," he said, leaning over her to unlock and open the passenger side door. Roy got in on the other side and turned the key in the ignition; the engine started with a satisfying rumble. A Nine Inch Nails song blared out of the speakers. Roy reached over to turn the CD player off, but Joyce stopped him. "Sorry; I forgot I left that on," He said, lowering the volume. "It's okay. I like that one." Joyce thought about the girl from the changing room as she repeated the lyrics of the chorus in her head. "What do you say to Mexican?" Roy asked, interrupting her reverie. "I'm up for whatever," She replied with a smile, her mind still half occupied with her daydreams. Straightening up she added, "As long as you don't mean Taco Bell." Roy didn't, or else he had a plan B; they got a table for two at the Alamo Caf?. Joyce ordered a taco and a glass of iced tea, then proceeded to fill up on chips and salsa. They talked as they ate, discussing cars and movies. Joyce preferred Mustangs, but she admitted to a soft spot for the 2nd generation Camaro. Roy seemed surprised to learn that she was as big a Star Wars fan as him. Soon, talk turned to college. "Do you know where you're going yet?" Roy asked. "I haven't made up my mind. I'm thinking of Stanford, maybe," She answered. It wasn't a place she'd seriously thought of going, but it was the first name that came to mind. She needed to talk to Vickie about school. "What about you?" "Texas A&M, school of Business. I'll be a third generation Aggie. Do you know what you want to study?" "That I do know, for sure. I want to be an Aerospace Engineer." "It sounds like that would involve a lot of math. You must be pretty smart." "Well, it's not Rocket Science," she chuckled, repeating a joke she'd told before, "Actually, it totally is." With a lull in the conversation and having finished a third glass of tea, Joyce excused herself to visit the ladies' room. As she walked away from the table, she caught Roy watching her ass, and it dawned on her that he might be thinking of her as something other than just a friend. Further reasoning along those lines brought her to the conclusion that he probably thought they were out on a date. Interpersonal interactions had become confusing since the transformation. She recalled her conversation with Fernando on the ride home the previous night. Thinking further back, she discerned that Kevin had ignored her to the extent that politeness allowed to avoid making his girlfriend jealous. Sylvia, Joyce realized, had only accompanied him because she already was. Joyce was frustrated with the way people were acting towards her. She was angry with herself for not adjusting better. Screw learning to walk; she wanted to run. Looking at her face in the mirror as she washed her hands, Joyce determined that it was unfair to be annoyed with Roy. She expected more of her old friends, but she had to admit that even though they'd had an encounter before, Roy didn't remember her, and he probably wouldn't have even spoken to her today if not for her current appearance. Then again, maybe she was letting vanity influence her thoughts; it was conceivable that he was simply being friendly. She resolved to evaluate his actions going forward and see if she could figure out his expectations. Roy was definitely checking out her tits as she returned to the table. He smiled as Joyce took her seat and he kept his eyes on her when the waitress came to ask if they were ready for dessert. "Ugh, no. I ate too many tortilla chips," Joyce told her, then looked at Roy, "Did you want to get something?" "No, I'll take a pass on dessert tonight, too." "Well, I'll be your cashier when you're ready," the waitress said, leaving the check on the table. Joyce reached to take it, but Roy covered it with his hand. "Allow me," he said, smiling, as he took his wallet out, "It's been my pleasure." With that last comment, combined with the glances he was giving her, Joyce became convinced that Roy had romantic leanings towards her. Friendship was all she had to offer and all she wanted in return. She decided to be kind, and to give him the benefit of the doubt in future dealings, until he elected to make a move. Back in the car, Roy started the engine and made a show of examining the instruments. "Would you mind if we stopped by to get some gas before I drop you at your house? I'm running a little low." They pulled into a station a few blocks from the restaurant. It didn't take very long at all to fill the tank. Joyce looked at the meter on the pump when Roy went inside to pay; he'd only put 5 gallons in. When he came back, he had a bag in his hand, which he tossed in the trunk before returning to his seat. "Picked up some brake fluid," He said by way of explanation, "They felt a little soft on the way here." As they pulled into the driveway of Vickie's house, Joyce noticed that the front door was slightly ajar. She was certain that she had closed and locked it before going to the pool. Pointing it out to Roy, she asked, "Do you think you could come inside with me and help me make sure no one is in the house?" She was no expert, but Joyce didn't think the lock on the front door had been forced open; Roy agreed with her assessment. Together they searched cautiously from room to room. Joyce wasn't acquainted with the house yet, but there wasn't anything obviously missing on the first floor. The second floor looked untouched, save for a bedroom Joyce assumed was her mother's. It was unexpectedly messy, with drawers left open, and clothes and bedding strewn across the floor. Even with the short notice she'd had before her trip, that sort of disarray didn't seem like Vickie's style. Joyce's rooms on the third story were as she had left them, untidy, but not ransacked. Joyce dialed her mother's number, but the call went to voicemail. She left a message and sent a text for good measure. "I hate to ask," she said to Roy, "But would you mind sticking around for a while, at least until my mom calls back? I'm a little freaked out right now." "I totally understand. I'll stay for as long as you want me to." Joyce turned the lights on all over the house, inside and out. She double checked that all the exterior doors were closed and locked. Only then did she rest, sitting on the couch in the living room. She suppressed a jump with every noise the house made. To relieve the tension, she turned on the television. When Roy put his arm around her shoulder, she snuggled closer and put her arm around his waist. She awoke some time later, still on the couch; the TV had been turned off and the living room lights were out. Roy was still sleeping, his head resting on Joyce's shoulder. She thought she heard footsteps and attempted to disengage her arm from around Roy's waist; it had fallen asleep and got a bad case of pins and needles. He woke, still fuzzy headed, as she pulled away from him. He started to ask a question, but she gestured sharply for him to be silent. Joyce turned as she stood and saw a woman silhouetted in the doorway with a gun in her hand. "Stand still and stay silent, if you know what's good for you, girl," the woman said. "You, boy, turn on that lamp and then stand with her." Roy did as he was told, and Joyce got a good look at the threatening woman. She looked amazingly like Vickie, except that she was shorter and thicker. Perhaps it was the pistol in her hand, or something about the way she wore her clothes and make-up, but she seemed also to lack Vickie's refinement. "What are you doing here?" Joyce asked. The woman smiled at the question and replied, "That depends entirely on who and what you two are. Tell me your names." "I'm Joyce Andrews, and this is Roy Fielding. Now will you tell me what you're doing in my mother's house?" "Oh, you're Victoria's daughter, are you? I'm your Aunt Vivian, Joyce. I doubt she's mentioned me to you; she and I never got along well. I came here to get something our mother promised me I could have when she died; something Vickie took. I didn't find it, but I did find Vickie's records." She paused, pointing the gun at Roy, who was slowly trying to slip a hand into one of his pockets. "Young man, empty your pockets and put the contents on that end table, then keep your hands where I can see them." He took out wallet, keys, phone, and a handful of condoms. "Brake flui