A Night With Penelope free porn video

A Night with Penelope by Tanya H. Hazel, my boss, was comfortably open minded about me sleeping with hotel guests. The first time, I'd only been working there a couple of weeks, was a middle aged business consultant - a little overweight, with a gorgeous smile and a thing about being on top. Fine by me. Next morning, while I was tidying up after breakfast, Hazel sidled up with a knowing look and asked how Mrs Jenkins had been. She'd enjoyed the way I'd blushed, I think, and when I'd realised she wasn't about to get all stuffy with me I gave her a little smile and told her Mrs Jenkins was a very athletic woman. She'd seemed happy with that. Thereafter whenever one of the guests took my eye, or I took theirs, we might have a brief exchange about it the next day - something along the lines of; Miss Argyle seems to have had a good night, or Mrs Adams looks tired this morning. No matter how careful or discreet I was Hazel always seemed to know. I never saw Hazel with anybody in what might be termed an intimate encounter, nor did she ever make any kind of pass at me. Which was a shame, for she was a very attractive woman in a slender, very organised never a stray hair or laddered tights way that I liked. She was always perfectly correct and well mannered and whenever I was close by her I found myself straining for the edge of her perfume of the sound her pencil skirt made slipping over her thighs. I think I may have been a little in love with her, but I digress for Hazel is not the subject of this story; I am - or to be correct, the fact that I enjoyed the occasional fling with guests at Hazel's country hotel. My name was Ian back then and after a troubled childhood and a few years in the Navy I was 26 and still trying to work out what I was for and what I wanted from life. In various towns around the country I had been an support worker for mentally vulnerable kids, a mobile phone salesman, a Red Cross volunteer and a vegetable specialist in a very large supermarket. Nothing had fit and I hadn't lasted more than a year in any of those jobs. It seemed I was going to be drifting for ever looking for the perfect woman, the perfect job and the perfect place to settle. I only found myself in Hazel's employment after noticing a handwritten advert in the post office window of the village near the hotel and I had only been there looking for a bus stop after being dumped by my last girlfriend - too obsessive, too controlling and too up herself for my liking. I'd walked up to the hotel with the advert in my hand, handed it at Reception and that night I'd been pulling pints in the bar. That had been eight months previously and though it was a nice hotel with good clients, usually, I was starting to get itchy feet and knew I'd probably be moving on any time soon. The lady whose room I shared on that most notable night was called Penelope - never Penny or Pen, always Penelope. She was a few years older than me, early thirties, tall and willowy with short, blonde tousled hair who sauntered into the bar wearing a low cut top, skinny jeans and high heeled boots. She was staying for three nights, being involved in a big photo shoot and expensive product launch at an airfield down the road. I'd seen all kinds of women come through that bar, from the blousey, puffing middle aged matrons, to precious beauties and pretentious children trapped in women's bodies, and I'd been happy enough to let some of them take me to their beds, but Penelope was the first one I really hit it off with. There was a straight talking, focussed certainty about her I enjoyed and over the first two nights I learnt she was a London based photographer who dabbled in all manner of projects from calendar landscapes, boring, to semi-naked glamour work, funny. Her parents lived in Belgium and she was an only child who had wanted to be a photographer since she was eight. I liked her so much that after serving her drinks and passing the time with her for my two rostered evening shifts in the bar I volunteered for a third. Maybe Penelope was the one, I thought to myself after the second evening and confess that before that third night I'd had my cock in my hand and had been gently playing with it to the thought of what she might be like in bed. On the third night I found out. Business had been slow and she waited until I had cashed up and locked up before leading me away by the hand, without the pretence of going separately I'd become used to with other ladies. Hazel had put her into one of the best double rooms, room thirteen, in the old wing overlooking the gardens. While I had no ambition to have bedded a guest in each of the hotel rooms, I had a mild curiosity about whether I could manage the full set and thirteen was new territory for me Under her clothes she was a little thin for my preference at the time, but she had very sensitive nipples and toes, and I enjoyed all of them before she showed me what she could with her mouth, which I enjoyed even more. Afterwards, when I was contemplating gathering up my clothes and slinking back to the flat I had, rent free, in the old servant's quarters under the roof, she pulled me down and bit my shoulder. "Stay the night," she said, in a manner that suggested I didn't have much choice. "I like the smell of a man after sex and snoring helps me sleep." "Charming!" I said and kissed her. She looked lovely sprawled naked across the rumbled bed. The soft light from one of the bedside lamps made intriguing shadows across her. The kiss deepened, one thing led to another before she was riding me, like Mrs Jenkins had done, though Penelope was gentler on her steed. "Will you stay?" she asked some time later. "I will, but I must clean my teeth," I said. "Don't like my taste?" she teased. "You're the sweetest girl I ever tasted, but I do like to clean my teeth before I sleep. You have to look after your kit so it will look after you." "Use mine." She waved towards the bathroom. It was on the way back to the bed that I happened to catch my reflection in a long, dress mirror beside the wardrobe. It looked as antique as everything else in the room, carved from the same dark wood, but I had to look twice because I didn't see the tall, rangy man I'd expected. There was a naked woman. When I looked again the woman was still in the mirror looking back at me. "What's wrong?" said Penelope. "Weird. There's a woman in your mirror and she'd looking at me." "You're delusional." "I am not! Come and have a look at her." Moments later I felt her arms wrap me and he body was pressed to my back. I saw her reflection in the mirror looking around my shoulder, she wasn't as tall as me. Then I felt her stiffen. "She looks like you," she said after a few moments silence. I'd already noticed that. The mystery reflection had my height, my cheeks and nose. She was fair haired like me but hers tumbled around her shoulders. Her hips were beautifully curved, her breasts full and round. It appeared that she was being embraced from behind by a bony, short haired blonde. "How are you doing that?" Penelope asked. I shook my head. The mirror-woman copied me. "Well you work here! You must be up on all the tricks." I waved. My female reflection waved back. I stuck my tongue out. She did the same. "How weird is that!" I said. Her lips moved in time with mine, but I didn't hear anything. "She's very beautiful," Penelope said. She moved one of her hands to my chest and ran her fingertips around my left nipple. You can imagine how lovely that looked in the reflection. I was a couple of metres away at that point, it was a very big room, and curiosity made me want to get closer. Disengaging myself gently from Penelope's embrace I stopped when my fingertips were almost brushing hers are she reached for me. Then the reflection smiled, a warm friendly its-going-to-be-okay smile that was first thing she'd done that wasn't copying me, because at that moment I'd been frowning. I felt cool glass under my fingertips and realised that I was touching the mirror - just for a second before I snatched it back and when I looked again the mystery woman had gone. There was only me and Penelope showing in the mirror. "What happened there?" she asked. She touched my shoulder and I turned to face her. My skin was alive with goosebumps and I wanted to get away from that weird mirror and back to bed. "I have no idea," I murmured. "It's cold, let's go back to bed." "Good idea. We'll have a better look in the morning." She took my hand, the one I touched the mirror with, to lead me towards the four poster. My nails scratched her palm, very gently, which startled me for as much as I was careful to keep myself clean and brush my teeth I kept my nails short. I pulled my hand away and had a look. It wasn't my hand any more. At least, it was attached to my wrist which made it mine, but it didn't match it's twin. "Oh my God!" Penelope breathed. My nails weren't very long, but they were oval shape and each one was painted a delicate pearlescent pink. My fingers were slender, elegant and, like my hand, almost completely hairless, though I could still see the scar weapons along my left index finger some inept weapon handling as a Naval recruit had left me with. It looked like I'd had a woman's hand grafted to my arm. "Did we fall asleep?" I said slowly, staring at the alien hand. "Did you stick something in my drink? This is a dream, right?" "I don't think so," said Penelope. She looked closely at the hand, holding me by the wrist and turning it over to look at the palm. "It's spreading," she said. "Look, it's spreading up your wrist." My hairs were just fading away as a creeping feminisation went up my arm. We both stared, silently, until it touched my watch and before my staring eyes I watched that change seamlessly into a smaller ladies analogue - the same style and condition, just smaller. "Can you feel my fingers?" she asked, touching hers to my transformed ones. "Of course." I wriggled them. They worked fine, did everything they were supposed to - they were just women's fingers. "Jesus! Phone an ambulance or something!" "Ambulance hasn't got anything to stop this," she said shaking her head. The change was halfway along my forearm now. "Touch your fingertips together." I did as she asked, reckoning she was testing my coordination or something. On the left side were women's fingers steepled against the men's on the right. Except, within a heartbeat of that contact I saw the nails on my right hand lengthen, a wash of pink polish swept over them. "Oh god," I murmured. "Why didn't it do that to you when you touched them?" "I'm already female," she said watching my other fingers change. "Can you feel it changing?" "I shook my head. "How can I be changing like this? I mean, it's impossible isn't it?" She took my left hand and before I could stop her she's placed the fingers against my left chest, atop my flat commendably hard pectoral muscles. My nipple started to harden immediately. "What are you doing?" I asked, snatching my hand away. "Experimenting." "Experimenting! This is my body here! I need help or something." "You don't need help, you're beautiful," she murmured watching my nipple. Before I could stop her she bent and kissed it. I gasped, couldn't help it. The sensation was what I was used to, only amplified. She kissed it again, then took it between her lips and into her mouth. "Penelope!" I moaned. "Stop it." I almost went to pull her away, but I was scared to touch her with my female hands. "Come to bed," she whispered and I felt her breath over my glistening nipple. It was so big now, I could feel it swollen and hard, almost as big as one of hers. The skin around it was darkening and crinkling into an aureole just like hers. "I can't sleep now!" Her fingers encircled my cock and she suckled at my nipple again, swirling her tongue around it. "Neither can I," she said. My cock was stiffening in her hand, she used it to lead me to the bed, pushed me down onto my back and sat astride me. Her pussy lips were warm and moist against my tummy. Her fingers found my nipples, the left so much bigger than the right now. The skin looked softer around it, all the chest hair was fading away in a steadily expanding circle. She kissed it again. Squeezed it gently between her teeth and I moaned. She moved herself back a little, teasing my cock with her pussy. She kissed my fingers, my female hands and held them to her own breasts. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth parted. "You're growing breasts," she said. The left was more advanced, sitting atop a soft bud now. She caressed it gently, eyes wide in wonder and it felt gorgeous. My left arm was fully female now, smooth and hairless, the change creeping into my shoulder. "Amazing," she said. "I should take pictures." "No!" She smiled. "Don't worry, I won't. This moment is for us." She swung her leg over me, showing me where she was glistening with arousal, then knelt between mine, kissed both my budding breasts and then lowered her mouth to my throbbing cock. I shouldn't have responded, I shouldn't have let her, but she knew what she was doing, as I said earlier, and what I experienced was the most intensive blow job ever. While she kissed and sucked, licked and teased, her eyes never left my body. As my breasts grew, fuller and rounder, she watched. As hair started to curl around my face, as my moans and cries got shriller she watched everything and I saw her hand edge between her legs and begin moving as though she was fingering herself. Maybe I should have tried to stop her, to grab my phone and plead for an ambulance, but the feelings in that moment were so overwhelmingly beautiful I just lay there and lived it. When I felt ready to explode into her mouth, I groaned with frustration as my cock started to shrink. I felt it dwindling inside her mouth. She kept kissing and sucking it as it went, but even when it wasn't hard anymore the pleasure never stopped. It just became became more and more concentrated, as though all the nerve endings were just squeezed into a smaller and smaller place. Until I couldn't see what she was kissing any more, all I could do was feel the ecstasy that spread through me, making me arch my back and rock my hips. I bit my lip and squeezed my new breasts, thrashed my head from side to side, I thought I must wet myself or explode. Her finger end touched me, just below the last nub of my cock and I whimpered with anticipation for I was so wet there. Then I couldn't breath, I went almost rigid and screwed my eyes shut as her longest finger slipped effortlessly inside me. Seconds later, as I revelled in the first penetration, the orgasm burst like nothing I had ever felt before. Tears ran down my cheeks, my body trembled with aftershocks, I was moist all over and Penelope was kneeling up between my legs. Her mouth and face were wet, her eyes were wide and she looked down on me with wonder. "You're a woman," she whispered. My shoulders started to shake, I sobbed with the echoes of the orgasm still making me tingle. She lay down beside me and took me in her arms, holding me tight and I missed the last part of the transformation finishing at my toes. I sobbed softly in her arms and some time later I fell asleep there. When I woke, the sun was shining through a gap in the curtains and I first panicked that I was going to be too late to help with the breakfasts. It was early though. My phone alarm was cheeping down by the side of the bed where my clothes had been dumped the night before. I reached for it blindly, before it woke Penelope and then the full realisation of what had happened to me hit me. There was a woman's arm reaching out form the bed - my arm. It had not been just a sexy dream. As I rolled in bed my soft, round breasts shifted and pulled on my chest, hair whispered before my eyes. My phone, which had been in my trouser pocket, was now cheeping from inside a small black, shoulder bag. Beside it, where my clothes should have been, was a hastily discarded black skirt, a matching blouse and a crumpled pair of opaque black tights. My hotel lanyard was on top of the blouse and there with it my photo id card. It said Hannah now, not Ian. The woman on the card was who I had seen in the mirror last night - it was me, but a female me. I looked like my mother when she'd been younger. While I stared the phone stopped. Penelope shifted behind me. She pulled my hair back from my face. There seemed to be a lot of it, it was thick and gleamed. "Ian?" she said softly. I picked up the lanyard and showed it to her, rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. "Hannah?" I sighed heavily. "My mum was going to call me that if I had been a girl." My voice felt tight and clear in my throat, like somebody else was speaking. "It's a lovely name. I had an Aunt Hannah." "I need to get up for work." "I don't think that's really your priority right now," she said rolling onto her side. She propped her head on one hand and looked me up and down. Our breasts almost touched. Mine was much bigger. "You've seen the lanyard, look at the clothes." I said. "Like my whole life has changed." "But why?" I shrugged and ran my hand down my sides. My hips were full and round and my thighs touched at the top. "That mirror did something to me." I rolled out of bed and walked across to the offending article. This morning it gave a clean reflection of a woman in her mid twenties, her fair hair was long and curled and there was a dusting across her mons. I recognised moles on my shoulder and chest, though that one was now all but buried in my cleavage, and a hook shaped scar on my left calf where I'd been aggressively tackled in a football match when I was nine. "Maybe it only works after dark?" said Penelope walking up to stand behind me, like she had last night. She touched my shoulder. "It didn't do anything to you, did it?" She shrugged. "I was already a woman." "You'd think somebody would have noticed by now if all the male occupants of this room got their genders changed in the night!" "Maybe nobody noticed," she said. "Hannah!" "Good point." I checked my feminine watch. "I have thirty minutes to get ready for work." "You're not seriously going to go to work are you!" I shrugged. "What else should I do? You've seen the lanyard. There's a handbag down there with my phone in it. I can't sit here and sulk, I'll have to work out a way back. Have you got this room tonight?" She shook her head. "I'm going back to London. I should pack, I have a train to catch." I sat heavily on an armchair and ran my fingers through my hair. It was very heavy. "I'll tell Hazel I don't feel well, take the day off, try to understand..." I said. Penelope picked up my clothes. There was a black bra and panties to go with what I'd already seen. "I can lend you some clean knickers," she said. "Trousers would be good, but I don't think any of yours will fit," I said gesturing to her slim hips. "You'll have to make do with this skirt for now," she said. "There must be trousers in your room." "What if all my stuff changed with me!" "This is the twenty first century, you must have women's trousers up there!" "What a bloody mess," I sighed heavily. "Have a shower," she suggested. She picked up a hairbrush from the dressing table, there was a blonde coloured hair elastic wound about the handle. "My niece's," she said. "She left it last time she visited, it'll keep your curly locks out of the way." She helped my tie it all back into a bushy pony tail and I looked a little like myself again - from the neck up at any rate. And ignoring the longer lashes and slightly fuller lips. And lack of stubble. I was really female. Even the shower felt different, the way the water ran off my smooth skin made the whole thing much more sensual, but I couldn't afford to be distracted into trying to replicate the sensations of last night. Though as I lifted my leg, to clean where Penelope's tongue had been the busiest last night, and saw the crinkled folds and sleeping lips of my new vulva the temptation to let my fingers wander was strong. And inside? A vagina - I'd felt Penelope explore that. A womb, ovaries! I turned the water off and Penelope met me with a towel. She offered to dry my back. "I didn't know you liked women too," I said. "Why would you. It was hardly likely to come up in conversation and your, well... what happened, happened. I told you, you're beautiful." "Nobody ever called me that before." "You may have to get used to it, Hannah." She dried my arms, then my breasts. She was very gentle with them and they were so very sensitive. My nipples started to harden again. That made her smile. "What are you smiling at?" "My lips were the first thing ever to touch your breasts. That's really special." She looked me in the eye, tilted her head to one side. "May I kiss you?" "Last night was special," I said afterwards. We were in each other's arms, my breasts engulfed hers and I could feel her erect nipples. I was happily aware of the slight pressure of her mound against mine. My hands rested just above the curve of her tight bum. Any man would have been happy to have seen us together like that. "I prefer woman," she said. "Never really had a serious relationship with a man." "Oh? Last night?" "I told you, I like the smell of a man after sex. And I like to remind myself how much I enjoy it with a man, and why I prefer women. I love the gentleness of a woman, her softness, her curves." She ran her hands up and down some of mine as she said it. "Stop distracting me," I whispered. "I have to go to work. Help me get dressed." Though I had never tried crossdressing, not so much as a pair of panties during sex, it did feel intimate to step into a pair of Penelope's; the plainest ones she had. They were brief and pale blue with a lace trim. To glance down at my body with that feminine blue cotton cupping my altered sex only highlighted what had happened to me. Penelope helped me into the bra, showed me the best way to put on tights and watched as I wriggled the stretchy skirt over my hips. It showed off my curves and may have too tight across my bum, though its hemline was modest enough at a couple of inches above my knees. The bra was size 34C and the skirt a 12; it felt weird to have a bra and dress size of my own. Once I had buttoned the blouse, Penelope steered me in front of the mirror and showed me what I had become. I laughed - only quickly - at the absurdity of what I was seeing. How could I be looking out through the pretty eyes of the woman in the mirror. "Madness!" I snorted. "That is not me!" "You need heels for those legs," said Penelope handing me a pair of flat, black ballet pumps with little bows on the toes. I laughed again, a little crookedly. My legs did look good in the opaque tights, but heels! I slipped on the shoes and flashed my panties at the mirror in the process. "You'll have to be careful about keeping your knees together in that skirt," she warned. "Keep your legs crossed when you sit - at the knee, not the ankle! Do not bend at the waist to pick something up or you'll attract all sorts of attention." "Yes, miss." "Are you sure you want to go through with this?" "How else am I going to find out why this happened." "Okay." She handed me the handbag. "Two things my mum told me - never go out with bare legs, unless it's very hot and second." She produced a dark pink lipstick from her dresser. "Always take the trouble to wear lipstick. Apparently it makes you feel better. Pucker up for me." I puckered up. What difference would it make? Would I feel any less of a man by wearing it? "Feel better?" she asked, then did her own lips. I shrugged, staring at my reflection. She dropped the lipstick into my handbag when she'd finished with it. My lips glistened, they felt smooth and sensual. I wondered what it would feel like to kiss her, with both our lips painted. "I'll come and find you before I check out," she said when I had my hand on the door handle. I took a deep breath. "Do I get a kiss? For good luck?" She kissed me briefly on the cheek, to avoid smudging her work on my lips. "You're taking this very well, I imagine most blokes would be fairly freaked out by now. I shrugged. "I'm freaking out inside. One thing I got from the Navy - if it's all shit and out of your control, you may as well just crack on anyway, no point in crying about it." "Being a woman isn't shit." "Hope not!. I'll ring you and let you know how I get on." "Good luck, darling," she said and smiled. There wasn't time to go up to my room and see what had happened there, I hurried down to the dining room, conscious of the way my breasts moved, even with the bra to support them. My hips" new spread made walking feel drunken at first, but I took shorter steps and allowed a moment to marvel at how sensual it all felt, from the movement of the stretchy skirt around my legs, to my thighs brushing together with a faint hiss. The first person I saw, it was still quite early, was Hazel who was arranging the newspapers on a table by the dining room door. As usual she looked immaculate, but there was a flicker of surprise when she looked me up and down. A tiny crease appeared between her arched brows. "Ian?" she said. I stopped dead. For a moment I was going to lose control control completely and wet myself or fall over or start screaming. "Why?" I said. Eventually. We stood there like a pair of cowboys in a stand off in some movie. "I'm not sure," she said. "Shall we sort the breakfasts out and talk about it later?" I wanted to drag her into her office and sort it there and then, but the first guests of the morning chose that moment to step from the lift and both of us, commendably, put on our public smiles to wish them good morning. It wasn't too busy, mid-week as it was, mostly business, a few couples, and we'd broken the back of it by nine. To be honest, getting into the rhythm of the morning was probably the best for me, to take my mind off what had happened. Of course, I had been provided with plenty of reminders - mostly the way my breasts moved and seemed to get in the way or any arm movements and the pony tail bouncing at the back of my head. The cook called me "love" every time I went in - yesterday I'd been "mate" - and I discovered that men look at women, even when they think they aren't, and they are never as discreet as they think. Nobody stared too blatantly. Sometimes I saw Hazel's head on one side, with that little frown crease between her eyes. She asked me if I was okay at one point. I told her I was and she gave me a little smile and complimented me on my bearing. Whatever that meant. That was just before I got a mild rebuke from some portly bloke who'd been calling "Miss!" for too long while trying to get my attention. At least I didn't have to curtsy. Penelope came down for her breakfast and took a table away from the others in a corner. I was serving at the time, but I flashed her a smile after she raised her eyebrows in an enquiring manner and then hurried over to her before Maxine, the other waitress, could claim her. "How are you?" she asked. She reached for my waist, then checked herself. I wanted to kiss her again, but Hazel wouldn't have liked that and despite everything I was still a professional. Well, not that professional or I wouldn't have been in Penelope's bed last night and this morning would have been completely different. "Getting along," I said with a little shrug. "It's all experience." She gave me a purple edged business card. "Call me. I mean it, for anything." She smiled. "Even make-up advice." "Hopefully it won't be that long." I inclined my head towards Hazel who was talking to Maxine, but keeping an eye on me. "That's the boss. She knows." "She does!" Penelope's face took on an edge. "She did it?" I shook my head. "We're going to have a chat." "Okay. Fingers crossed then. Listen, give me a call whatever happens. Last night... both halves of it, was amazing. And you, as you are now, you're the most beautiful woman I ever woke up with." Heat rose in my cheeks. Once breakfast was cleared away, cook made us both a bacon sandwich and we took them into Hazel's office and she shut the door behind us. She offered me a seat, on the leather sofa by the window. I was careful to cross my legs, at the knee, and gave my hem a little tweak. "I'd always thought of you as elegant," she sat and then sat beside me, rather than behind her desk. "Now I see it more." Justina, the Polish receptionist, brought us coffee in china cups. She looked at me, frowned a moment before her face cleared and she smiled. "Hiya, Hannah," she said. I mumbled something back. Justina was pretty, petite and walked like a dancer in the towering stilettos she habitually wore. We had flirted light-heartedly ever since I had known her, though she was too much engaged to a soldier from Hullavington, who she clearly loved, for either of us to have meant anything by it. Here and now if I had tried flirting with her she would have run from the room - aside from that fleeting frown I was clearly Hannah, a woman, as far as she was concerned. When the door was closed again I leaned towards Hazel and threw an obvious question at her. "You know about this?" I waved a hand to indicate my reformed body. "It's the mirror in that room," she said. "I'm sorry. I had no idea you'd be in there for the night. I presume Miss Foster was persuasive." "Very." "And now you want to know about the mirror?" "I want to turn back." "Ah." "That wasn't a good, ah." "Ian, Hannah, I don't know how, I don't know why. The mirror changes people's lives, but only in one way. It makes some men into women. Not every man who stays in there, just a few." "As impossible as that sounds, I don't want to be a woman." "Maybe none of them do. But it changes them anyway and they go away, as women, and often, a few years later, some of them come back and tell me they're happy. Happier maybe than before." She shrugged. "That's all I know." "So this," I indicated my boobs, "is going to make my life better?" "I don't know. It's the mirror. It does it's thing." "You should move it. Before somebody else gets this." The phone rang. She ignored it until it stopped. "Once, I did move it. I had it put in here. I locked up that evening and the next morning it was back in that room." She shrugged. "I asked some of the staff who have been here awhile, longer than me, and they said it had always been in room thirteen. It's an old building, God only knows how long it's been around or why the mirror does this or how it knows who to change." "And what can I do?" I asked. "To be a man again." She bit her lip. I'd never seen her do that before. "Surgery. Hormones. I don't know of any other way. You're biologically female now." "I was biologically male yesterday. There must be a way. Another mirror." "Maybe there is. It's a good theory, but it isn't here." She was looking at the floor. "I searched everywhere. All the rooms, all the outbuildings, the cellars and attics." She crossed her legs slowly, arranged her skirt neatly. Her tights were sheer and had a faint sheen, she had very pretty ankles. "You too?" I said after a moment. Hazel nodded. "That's how I knew it was you, after.. when you came down this morning. I came as an overweight overnight guest, Nigel." She laughed. "Next morning here I am, Hazel. I took a job here, to have a look for a way out. Here I am." "Happy?" "I'm married to a very special man with two wonderful children, both girls, and I am now the hotel owner. Before, Nigel sold cars for a living. Have you ever tried that? It's miserable." I looked at her carefully. I'd looked at her before, she was a good looking woman, but I'd never looked beyond the immaculate make-up or the pristine outfits. "And you don't... miss it?" "Your first period is the worst. I'd advise you to go on the pill." Tears quickened in my eyes. Periods, contraceptives. Surgery and hormones! I felt her touch the back of my hand. "You've got your job and your flat here. Stay. As long as you want. I can help you through it." After that I went to my room. My things were as changed as I was. I had a look through all my drawers and shelves before I worked that out. Anything I'd owned in there which was male and had a female equivalent had changed. For example, my Gillette razor had gone from a black and aluminium model into a pink and cream version for my legs and armpits. Inside my pants drawer was a modest collection of pretty, but not overly sexy, panties and bras in different colours and styles. I still had some socks, but enough tights to get me between wash days - black opaque pairs mostly and a couple of sheer, natural ones. Instead of the two or three pairs of smart, black trousers for work I had more skirts - all straight and a little longer than the one I was wearing. I was now the owner of a knee length, flared floral dress, a short button through denim skirt and a long, peasant style skirt in purple, but the only trousers I could find were two pairs of jeans - one stonewashed and one black - and a pair of pretty floral leggings. My books, thrillers and science fantasy, had not changed, the motorbike magazine I'd been reading was still on my bedside table and my deodorant was a feminine version of the brand I usually wore. Beyond clothes there was hardly anything girly in the room. Apparently the only make up I possessed was the lipstick Penelope had given me and while I had found my ears were pierced I did not own a pair of earrings. I still had trainers and running kit, including a sports bra, my Converse boots were now a couple of sizes smaller and my best brogues had gone to be replaced by a pair of plain black court shoes with two or three inch heels. It was as if virus had spread through my life consuming everything that was male and replacing it with the female equivalent. Beyond driving licences and my colleagues, my Facebook and twitter accounts had gone over as had my bank cards and online accounts. Anything that identified as one gender or the other had been transformed to the point where I could have looked back and wondered if I had ever been a man at all. With three exceptions. Penelope was one and she phoned at least once a day, texted constantly and emailed me in the warmest and supportive terms - a little humour too. The second was Hazel of course, who fussed in a quiet and dignified manner, but kept me busy around the hotel. With a concern for my future, correctly perceiving that I was probably going to be leaving, she showed me different roles around the business so I might be running Reception as often as I was in the bar or restaurant. As front facing staff she always made sure I was well turned out and she showed me her less-is-more tactics with make-up. The last was my Mum. Whatever was in that mirror might have fooled my bank, the DVLA and maybe even MI5, if they'd ever had cause to open a file on me, but Mum rang me two days after I'd gone female and demanded to know what was wrong with my voice. Having come used to the little frown, then passive acceptance of my magically projected gender from people who should have known me, Mum's reaction was probably the most surprising post-Hannah development. "It's hard to explain," I said, trying to deepen my voice. "Have you got a cold? What's the matter?" "Come up and see me," I suggested. "We'll talk." Once she agreed, I fled downstairs to find Hazel and so it was that at the appointed hour of her arrival I was sitting demurely in a secluded spot in the gardens while Hazel brought Mum to see me. I'd thought of wearing something bland, baggy and asexual, but Hazel had thought it better to be a little more overtly female. "You're a woman now, let her see you for what you are." So I wore my floral dress, nude tights and ballet pumps. "Oh my God!" she almost shrieked when she saw me. She clapped her hands to her mouth, eyes wide and face so pale we both thought she was going to collapse, or run off. Of run off and then collapse. But she made a massive effort to get her shock under control, you could almost see her fight it down in the way she'd often had to after Dad had died. "You could have warned me!" "It's not an easy thing to say over the phone." She made some jerky gesture to encompass me, from my thick plait to flat shoes. "I like your skirt." Hazel turned and made her way back inside. "I never knew," she muttered, but came and sat beside me. "Never realised. All those years. Is this what you've always wanted?" "I'm very happy," I said. "You're sure?" "Positive." "Does that mean I can have a hug?" Which made me laugh. Boys are never very good at hugging their mums and I guess she'd missed that. When we parted she looked down at my chest and frowned. "Are they real? What can I call you?" "Yes and Hannah." "I would have called you that." "I know." "If I'd known before I would have called you that a long time ago." Which I thought was a really lovely thing to say and I'm pleased to report that Mum and I are closer than I ever remember. We shop, dine and even go away together. What she doesn't understand is why none of her friends, or our few surviving relations see anything other than Hannah when we meet, or why a post-operative transgendered woman should need tampons. Maybe one day I'll explain. When I got my first weekend off I took a train to London, navigated my way by tube and foot to the affluent area where Penelope had her studio and found myself hugely impressed with the place she had made for herself. A pregnant woman behind the desk in the well lit and airy reception asked me at first if I was a model - which was flattering, I did have a lot of leg on show - before agreeing to call Penelope and report that Hannah had dropped by to say hello. Any lingering reservations I'd had about phoning in advance were blown away when Penelope saw me; she let out a delighted squeal and rushed me into a tight embrace. She had a flat over the studio, it was lovely - full of light and colour, and Penelope. I hadn't planned to stay the night, but she showed me a very inviting spare room which I never used and I woke up with her tangled in my hair, her taste still on my lips and my clothes once again spread on the floor beside her bed. Those discreet enquiries I'd been making to try and find the opposite to Hazel's boy-to-girl mirror seemed pointless after that; I didn't miss being a man. I handed in my notice to Hazel, hugged her goodbye, after promising to keep in touch, and moved in with Penelope. What a joy! She taught me something of photography, I modelled for her - though she never used my nudes commercially, and when Rebecca, her assistant, left to have her baby I took over and now we run the business together. To finish this account, and to reassure you fully that I went forward into my woman's life with my head held high and a smile on my lips, I'd like to paint a picture for you. I'm back in Hazel's office, in her hotel. Hazel, Penelope and I are squeezed onto the leather settee as she's forsaken her desk to come and admire the rings we're both wearing - we'd picked them out only the week before. Hazel is as demure and poised as ever, though smiling brilliantly, Penelope is in her usual skinny jeans and high-heeled boots and I'm wearing a longish, narrow, stretchy dress and stiletto heels of my own. The big diary on Hazel's desk is wide open at a Saturday we've booked next spring when, whatever the weather, the sun will shine on me and Penelope in cream coloured gowns we've already chosen, when she will become my wife and I will become hers. Penelope's dad will give her away, Mum will do the same for me and Hazel has just agreed to become one of bridesmaids. I couldn't be happier, but as we chatter about that big day to come a little part of my mind wonders who Hazel will put into room thirteen... Maybe it will be you.