The Parallel Universe Experiment
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An Unexpected Career, Chapter 6 - Parallel Universe 1 free porn video
AN UNEXPECTED CAREER
Parallel Universes'
I hope my readers are aware that each and every one of us exists in an
infinite number of parallel universes'. Every time we take a decision
the universe splits, with a parallel one coming into being that follows
a path commensurate with what would have happened had we taken the
opposite decision to the one we did.
Thus when I rang Gervase and told him what I had decided to do with my
life, alternative realities sprang into existence where I took one of
the other options.
Chapter 6
PARALLEL UNIVERSE 1:
The following morning I rang Gervase. Angela put me through. "Good
morning Gervase" I started, "I have come to a decision and what I am
going to do is go home and resume my studies. I'm sorry to let you down,
but when it comes to it I cannot bring myself to risk alienating all my
family."
The phone went quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry to hear that," said
Gervase "but I can't say I am totally surprised. You are a person of
integrity and I can understand what giving up all your previous life
would mean to you. I regret we will not be working together - and even
more that we won't now be coming lovers. I wish you well in your future
endeavours, but I think it best we do not meet again, and so, goodbye."
And the phone cut off.
I'll be honest; I cried - buckets! My decision may have been the
rational one but I was going to always regret what 'might have been'.
Having taken my decision, I now had to face up to the consequences. The
first priority was to get rid of all traces of femininity in my
demeanour - (or at least as many of them as I could!) I started by
making an appointment with my hairdresser - (fortunately they were able
to fit me in later that morning). I scrubbed off all my makeup; dressed
in the smallest of my male clothes - but still looked ridiculous; they
hung off me - and went for my salon appointment. Initially my stylist
didn't recognise me and was horrified when I told her I wanted her to
cut off my stylish long hair so that I would be left with a short,
brush-cut. "But Mademoiselle Angel, I cannot do that" she protested, "It
would be a sacrilege!" I insisted; "It is what I want, and from now on
my name is 'John" not 'Angel'. The stylist sobbed the whole time she was
cutting my hair and kept trying to convince me to let her cut my locks
into a shorter but still feminine style. However I was adamant and
eventually my reflection in the mirror returned an image of a gaunt,
effeminate man rather that the androgynous man/woman I had presented as
when I walked in.
Next I hurried off to Angelique's brothel. She didn't recognise me at
first and was horrified when she did. "Oh my God Angel, what have you
done to yourself?" she cried. I explained and, eventually, Angelique
accepted I meant what I was saying. "Well I think it is a terrible waste
my dear, but I can see you are in earnest, so let's kiss and part
friends." We hugged and embraced and both cried a bit. As we pulled
apart Angelique grinned mischievously; "If you are determined to revert
to being a boring, old man, you had better get rid of those earrings!"
My hands shot to my ears. Oh dear, in getting dressed this morning, old
habits had kicked in and I had automatically slipped a pair of sparkly
studs into my lobes. I quickly took them out and handed them to
Angelique. "You had better have these in case I am tempted to do it
again," I said. "Keep them as a keepsake of my time here. I have really
enjoyed it and you have been a great boss." One last hug and I hurried
out of the brothel. I didn't feel up to facing the other girls tonight.
Of course I would have to tell Yvette, Lisle, Stephanie and Marcie and
my other particular friends very soon, but tomorrow would be soon
enough.
My next stop was Le Carnation Vert. Gustav was cross rather than upset,
but accepted my resignation with bad grace. "I don't see why you have to
leave straight away," he grumbled. "You have told me you won't be going
back to England for another six weeks. Even if I have lost my best
waitress, there is no reason why you can't work here as one of my
'waiters' - after all, that is how you started!" Good point. If I
carried on working for Gustav, my domestic running cots would be covered
for the remainder of the time I still had in Paris and I wouldn't have
to dip into my nest egg. So I retracted my resignation and said I would
stay on until it was time for me to catch the train back to England.
(Gustav had to find me a new male uniform, as my old one was now much
too large!) My friend and colleague Paul was also pleased I had agreed
to stay on. "You may find some of our clientele prefer you as a boy
rather than when you were dressed as a girl!" he grinned. I joined in
with his laughter. After all if an attractive man propositioned me now,
I wasn't as priggish and prejudiced as I had been when I first arrived
in Paris. I had fucked and been fucked by so many men whilst playing the
part of 'Angel' that a few more now would be of little consequence!
My next port of call was a gymnasium. I desperately needed to rebuild my
body into a more masculine shape. I had a very useful discussion with a
helpful Instructor. I was totally frank with him about how I had been
living for the past months and why and what I now need to achieve. He
recommended a vigorous programme or weight training. I blanched slightly
at what I had to achieve in such a short time, but signed up to his
recommended regimen.
I then visited a cheap clothing shop and purchased a few items of male
clothing - just enough to see me through until I put some muscle back
on.
So that is how the next six weeks went. I spent the days in the gym
working with weights and fitness equipment, and nights in the
restaurant. As my physique filled out, I did indeed get propositioned a
few times and managed to supplement my salary with the occasional tip
for 'extra services rendered'!
It had proved hard telling my girlfriends what was happening and Yvette
in particular became very upset. Having been neighbours in the same
apartment block, we had become close friends. I promised her, and the
others, that we would remain friends and that I would come back to Paris
regularly to see them. But I guess we all knew this was really a bit of
a white lie.
So the time came to leave Paris and put all my adventures behind me.
From now on I would revert to being boring old 'John Campbell'. I would
work hard, get my first class degree, and join the Diplomatic Service.
It was what I had always wanted to do, but after this last year the
prospect lacked spice!
It was with a real sense of loss that I boarded the Eurostar train and
watched Paris recede into the distance as we pulled out of the Gard du
Nord station. Of course it had to be raining when I arrived into
London's St Pancras station. (The sun had been shining in Paris!) I took
the Underground across to Marylebone Station and caught the next train
to Leamington Spa.
As I walked up the path to our front door I once again rehearsed some of
the answers I had prepared to questions I would inevitably be asked by
my family. I unlatched the door and walked in; "Hi Mum and Dad, I'm home
at last!" I called out. Mum came scurrying into the hall and took me in
her arms for a long hug. "Why did you never come home and visit us all
that time you were in Paris?" was her first question, rapidly followed
by: "What have you done to yourself? You are as thin as a rake and your
haircut is dreadful!" Fortunately these were questions I had
anticipated, so I was able to answer her. "I didn't come home because I
was working all hours, and, after all, you never suggested coming to
Paris to see me." (This latter was a bit unfair on Mum because I would
have been sunk for sure had she visited Paris whilst I was working as a
cross-dressed whore! But it had the desired effect of putting her on the
back foot.) "As for my appearance" I continued, "I am just getting over
a virus infection that caused me to loose a lot of weight and for much
of my hair to fall out." Mum was immediately most solicitous. "You
should have rung me," she scolded. "I know your Dad won't travel abroad,
but I would have come out and looked after you." I tried to reassure
her; "I was well looked after Mum; I have good friends in Paris who made
sure I was OK. Also I didn't want to worry you."
And so it went on, all that evening and much of the next day. I fielded
question after question without, I hope, giving too much away as to the
true nature of my time in Paris.
To be honest, the 'return of the Prodigal Son' wore a bit thin after the
first week home. For example, ours is a three-bedroom house and I have
two younger brothers. Before I went to Paris they had to share a room.
Whilst I had been away, one had moved into my room. Now that I was back,
they had to share again and neither brother liked it. Of course, it was
'all my fault'! I wasn't too happy with the way my brother had
personalised my room either. It no longer felt like mine. I was
therefore pleased that after only a couple of weeks it was time to
travel to Seaton and resume my university studies.
Fortunately for me, our compulsory 'year out' was not a formal part of
the degree course and hence not subject to marked assessment. Rather it
was intended to give students experience of living and working in a
country of our choice as an aid to improving our understanding of
different cultures when we come to apply for jobs.
Of course my tutor wanted to talk to me about what I had been doing and
what I had learned, but in a informal way; so I was able to convince him
that I had spent my time working in a high class restaurant and
exploring Paris from a 'local' rather that 'tourist' perspective. Once
again I was fortunate in that my tutor was more familiar with provincial
France than Paris, so it didn't take too much effort on my part to
convince him I had spent my time profitably.
"Well done John," he said when I had completed my tale, "It sounds as
though you have had an interesting and instructive twelve months." (If
only he know just how instructive!) "Your experiences will stand you in
good stead when it come to apply for employment. Is it still your
intention to try for the Foreign and Diplomatic Service?" I confirmed it
was. "Well my advice would be to structure your experiences into an
edited version so that you can provide a succinct summary if you pass
the entrance exam and are called to interview."
Well, to cut to the chase; my final year at university went well. I did
indeed apply and pass the Civil Service entrance exam and had a
successful interview at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. I was
offered a place on their Graduate Scheme, subject to my getting a First
Class degree - which I did!
A year later I entered government service and, after enduring the usual
dogs-body jobs all new entrants had to undertake, I was posted in a
junior role to the British Consulate in Quebec. My fluent French and
Parisian experience helped enormously as I settled into the local
community. It was an auspicious start to my career and, after a few
years there, I was promoted and sent to the Embassy in Bangkok. From
there my career progressed steadily but unspectacularly. I never did get
a posting in France. I am also ashamed to have to admit that in spite of
all my promises and protestations, I never made the effort to meet up
with Yvette and my other erstwhile friends on my occasional visits to
Paris.
Gradually my memories of that amazing year I had spent whoring faded. I
never told anyone the truth as to how I had spent my time. (Least of all
my wife!) But what did remain with me all my life was a nagging sense of
'what if?' What would my life have been like had I accepted Gervase?s
offer and gone to work for him as a ?diplomatic whore?. Well I would
never know now. Just get on and play the cards life has dealt you.
Nothing is perfect.
Geraldine
- 03.09.2021
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