The End of Jessica Munroe Part 5
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The End Of Jessica Munroe. Part 4 free porn video
Wine. Fucking wine. It was wine that first made him venture out into the
night, and wine that meant he was nearly caught. It was wine that meant
he talked and flirted with Doyle last night when he should have ran. It
was wine that lead him to sucking his first cock. Art held his temples in
his fingers. No more wine. Never again.
He groaned, a low, pained, masculine grown. The kind of groan only a
hangover could ellicit. Even with his eyes closed Art could feel that the
room did not want to stay still. It flipped and twirled all around him,
leaving him feeling sick and disorientated. What time was it? How had he
got home last night? Wht was that taste in his mouth? He smacked his lips
together, his dry tongue reaching out in a vain attempt to moisten them.
The chemical flavour of lip gloss burnt his taste buds. With great effort
he opened his eyes, the bright sunlight that leaked in through the blinds
of his bedroom scorching his retina. With even greater effort he lifted
his head and scanned the spread eagled body that strectched out beneath
him. The same blue dress from the night before, bunched up around his
behind, one of his legs still encased in the black, nylon fabric of his
tights. His handbag lay beside him, open, its contents strewn across the
bed. He had clearly been in a rush to get to sleep last night. He buried
the back of his throbbing head into the pillow and shut his eyes again.
Thank god his mum wasn't in last night.
It was some time till Art managed to summon the strength to clamber out
of bed. He pulled the dress up over his head, the tight neckline getting
stuck under his chin, only released when he finally remembered the zip on
the back. The sight that greeted Art in the mirror was not a pretty one.
His once sleek and styled shoulder length hair was now matted, pushed up
high at the back like a mad, ginger mane. His eyes were smudged. Black
streaks ran down his face fom the corners. Had he cried last night? He
didn't remember crying. One set of false lashes clung, determined, to his
lid, the other long gone.
He padded back over the bed and fell down hard on the soft surface of his
matress. He was still wearing his bra. He didn't even realise. His head
went back to his hands. His eyes closed again. Little snippets from the
night before danced in his brain. The sound of the hustle and bustle in
the bar. The smell of the toilets as Doyle had held him. The taste of his
cum. Art shook his head a little. What had he done? How had he let it get
to that point? Questions raced through his brain, as fast as the hangover
would let them. He could have stopped it, couldn't he? Why hadn't he
stopped it? Had he wanted to stop it? Could he stop it now?
The deep, hum of a phone text alert sounded from behind him, running his
train of thought off the tracks. The screen lit up, turned towards the
ceiling. Art didn't open his eyes, instead choosing to fumble blindly
behind him with his outstretched arm. When he finally found it he lifted
it close to his face, squinting though the haze of black eyelashes to
read the text. He didn't recognise the number.
"Hey babe. It's Doyle from last night. The guys who's dick you had in
your mouth ;)," Art winced a little but carried on reading, "Last night
was great. You've got a talent for it!!! But listen. I'm not looking for
a girlfriend, yeah. Don't need the stress right now but if you ever wanna
hook up again, maybe take it further you should give me a bell. I'd be
happy to do it ;) XXX"
Art threw the phone over his shoulder, already sick of Doyle for the day.
It bounced across the surface of the matress and landed with a loud thump
on the carpetted floor. Art pressed the heel of his palms hard into his
temples. Was he trying to push the headache out or the dull, hazy
memories of last night? A bit of both, he reasoned. He had been stupid,
careless, letting himself get that drawn in like that. He wasn't gay. He
was sure of it. He had never looked at men like that before last night.
Never wanted to do anything sexual with them. He wasn't gay, and yet he
couldn't deny what he had done. He had sucked another man's cock, and
what's more he had enjoyed it. Not the act itself, the feeling of Doyle
insde his mouth. What he had enjoyed was the femininity of it all. He had
enjoyed the idea that a man could see him as just a girl. He had revelled
in the fact that he could embrace this side of himself so readily. He had
loved that he, a plain, quiet nobody, could make a man like Doyle forget
who Jessica Munroe even was, if only for a minute. The small nugget of
pride that hummed inside him at the thought made Art feel a little sick.
He needed a shower.
Art emerged from the bathroom, his wet hair tied up in a towel high up on
his head. Another towel was wrapped around him, around his waist. His
face was almost clear of make up, just a slight grey edge to his eye
where the mascara had been particulaly stubborn. His head had cleared a
little, the warm water in the shower washing away a little of the
hangover. Most of it still remained however. Under the cascading water,
away from the world, he had managed to switch off a little. Thoughts of
Doyle and Jessica and his own mad spiral into femininity were pushed to
one side. All he think of now was how he was tired, and thirsty. He also
wondered what time it was. Jumping onto his front he slid across the bed
and reached over the side to grab his phone. He turned it over in his
hand. 11:30. Still early. However, it wasn't the time that caught Art's
eye. It was the small envelope icon in the top corner of the phone. A new
text message. Art considered it. He should ignore it. He didn't. Opening
up the text another unknown number greeted him, different from the one
before.
"Hi. You don't know me. My name's Marcus," Art read on, aghast at the
name he had just skimmed past. How had Marcus got his number? "My friend
Doyle gave me this number. He said you and him had fun last night. Just
checking to see if you fancied meeting up with me for a drink, or maybe
even come to my place haha. I promise however big Doyle was, I'm bigger
;)"
The phone drop to the floor again. Art's eyes closed again. He sighed
loudly. This was bad. This was very bad. Doyle was giving his number out
now without permission. An empty feeling spread through Art's chest, the
worst case scenario's rushing out of no where, jabbing at his brain.What
if Doyle gave the number to Linton? Would Linton text him? What if Marcus
passed the number on again? What if the number made it's way Art's
friends? What if Danny found it? A dull throb arched its way across Art's
forehead. He pulled himself up and sat with his back against the head
board of the bed, his legs pulled up against his chest. He inhaled
deeply. He had to think about this logically.
It was unlikely Danny would get a hold of the number. So far Doyle had it
and Marcus had it. Danny, and the rest of Art's friends didn't exactly
run in the same circle. He couldn't see when Danny would ever get the
opportunity to see it, unless Doyle was feeling particulaly charitable.
That wasn't likely. Would Linton really text him, even if he had the
number? He might be friends with knuckleheads like Doyle and Marcus but
Linton wasn't exactly like them. He wasn't the same boorish thug that
those two were. He wasn't the kind of guy to text a girl for a random
hook up, at least as far as Art knew. Besides, Linton had Jessica. How
would she react to Art, to Ally? Another girl encroching on her
territory. Giving blow jobs in bathroom stalls, making boys forget who
she was. Art was sure she would love the number, to demand this new girl
back off. To put her in her place. The familiar pit of hate in Art's gut.
Jessica would really hate the girl Art had become. He opened his eyes
again slihtly. His head still ached, his brain still buzzed with
conflicting thoughts. Worry, disgust, pride. He needed to clear it. He
needed some fresh air.
He towled his hair a little, leaving it just damp before spraying it with
the heat defence spray that had become a regular go to in his routine,
one that added soft waves to damp hair. He pulled his sister's hair dryer
from where he had been hiding it under his bed and set to work, primping
and pushing his hair up from underneath. He was relieved to feel the
weight of the hangover that had hung around in his mind beginning to
clear. His stomach felt a little lighter too, and the ache in his joints
began to ebb away. A little fresh air would hopefully finish it off. He
stopped in his tracks. What was he doing? He gazed at himself in the
mirror, soft, auburn waves framing the sides of his face, a definite
girls bob. He hadn't even realised he was doing it, styling his hair in
the same way he would when dressing as Ally. He had reached for the
spray, designed to give women's hair a bouncy, summery look and used it
without thinking. He put the dryer down. It was too late now. The spray
had set. He turned his head one way and then another, the waves bobbing
either side of his face, tickling his neck. He stared into his pupils.
His eyes were still rimmed by a faint line of grey. His lips were parted
a little, his breath a little quicker than usual. On the floor, next to
th wardrobe sat his make up. The same make up he had used the night
before. He glanced in his mirror to the backpack just peeking out from
under his bed. The backpack that contained his dresses, his bras, his
shoes. He looked back at himself.
The warm summer breeze whipped around Art's legs, legs wrapped in a layer
of brown nylon. His feet wore white, Converse trainers. The same trainers
he wore out as a boy. The dark black hem of the cotton, skater style
dress he wore rose and fell with every step he took, as he clutched the
strap of his brown, leather handbag across one shoulder. His face was
only lightly made up, a little powder foundation, subtle black eyeliner
and soft pink lipstick. He strode as across the road towards the bus
stop, holding himself tight and concentrating not to walk like a guy. If
he had admitted it to himself, it was no longer difficult not to.
Art couldn't help himself. He had reasoned that with his hair like it was
there was no way he could go out as a boy. It would look strange. Much
better to pull out a dress, apply a little make up and head out as Ally.
That's what he told himself anyway. Deep down he knew that he could have
just stayed in, that he could have gone back to the shower and washed out
the hairspray. He was making excuses. In reality, as the initial shock of
seeing his hair like that had subsided, he had felt relief. It was a
relief that he now had a reason to put on a dress and face the world
again as a girl.
The bus ride was a short one. Art spent the majority of the journey sat
staring out of the window at the passing suburbia. No one on the bus had
jumped up and pointed at him, laughing at the boy in the dress. He was
passing, just like he always did. He thanked the bus driver in a voice
that was becoming easier and easier to summon with every attempt, and
clocked the man's swift glance at his breasts. It was a glance that would
have terrified Art weeks ago. He would shied away, found a quiet route
and set out on his way home desperate to avoid the attention. Now he took
it in his stride. Of course the driver was going to look. Any man would.
What was one man glancing at you out of the side of his eye when you had
had a cock in your mouth? The bustling crowds in the town centre no
longer held the same fear for Art as they would have done. He wormed his
way through the crowds, weaving in and out of passing groups of friends
and office workers and mum's with prams. Not once did he worryabout being
seen as a guy. Not once did anyone stop him. It was becoming a familiar
experience for Art.
The earthy smell of coffee danced around his nose as the the chime of the
front door rang out above him. It was a quiet shop, just off the main
shoppin a street, a place where Art had come before. Never like this
though. He spied a low table at the front of the shop by the window and
made a bee line for it after picking up his order. Art smoothed the skirt
of the dress beneath him as he sat down in the soft leather of the sofa
with his knees together and sipped his coffee. All around him the low
hustle of the shop continued on as normal. He reached out and grabbed a
book from underneath the table, "Metamorphosis" by Franz Kafka. Art
chuckled a little to himself. Ironic, maybe a little dark to be really
comparable to himself though. He had to admit he was enjoying himself.
What kind of coffee had a book like this anyway.
Art settled back into the sofa and resolved to staring out of the window,
lifting his feet up off the floor and pulling them up underneath him. His
hangover was all but gone. He paused. This was strange. This wasn't like
the other times he had been out. He wasn't as nervous or as on edge. He
wasn't as breathless or excitable. Art struggled to put his finger on how
this felt. He could sense a change in himself. He was trying hard not to
think of the night before, of Doyle and his drunken night at the bar. Of
the bathroom stall, of Doyle forgetting who Jessica even was. Of
completely feeling like a girl, the feeling of freedom he felt. It was a
feeling that had let him stride through the middle of town unafraid and
unconcerned by the greedy looks from men as he darted past. Surely that
kind of feeling couldn't be wrong. It didn't feel wrong. Was this what he
was feeling? Art wasn't sure.
The door to the coffee shop chimed again. A tall, handsome man in his
early twenties entered, ducking slightly to enter the building. He looked
down at Art, who looked back. He smiled. Art smiled back. The man carried
on past the tables towards the counter of the shop as Art watched him go
before turning back out through the window. That was the feeling. Art
finally could place his finger on it. Sat here, with his coffee and his
tighted legs pulled up under his dress, watching the world go by and
smiling at strangers, Art knew how it felt. It felt normal. It was a
revelation that should have struck Art like a ton of bricks but instead
the realisation of it simply washed over him. He wasn't sure why he felt
like this, but what he was sure of was that he had styled his hair into a
soft, wavy bob without realising it, he had sucked and man's cock and he
was enjoying every minute of being a girl. He couldn't deny that.
The last of the coffee slid down the back of Art's throat as his phone
buzzed again from deep in Art's handbag. Another text, another unknow
number.
"Hey!! This is Jamal!! Doyle gave me this number!! Said I should message
you if I ever need a hook up!!" Art rolled his eyes. Who the hell was
Jamal? There wasn't anyone called Jamal who went to school, not as far as
Art knew. Was Doyle giving out the number to other people now? He went to
close the phone but another text interrupted him. He opened it.
"Like the picture too!!" The text was accompanied by an image. It was
grainy and dark, clearly taken in low light but Art could easily make out
the dark, black tiles of the bathroom floor. There in the picture was
himself last night, sat on his knees, eyes closed and mouth open. He was
sweaty and the fringe of his hair had become matted. His chin glistened
with a trail of cum. Doyle must have taken a picture after he had
finished, when Art was washed over by waves of femininity. The moment
after Doyle had told him he had forgotten who Jessica was. Art frowned.
He hadn't realised Doyle even had his phone out and now this picture was
being shared around. It was not a flattering picture at all, it was Art
at his worse, at his most vulnerable. Art knew he should be alarmed. He
knew this was the kind of thing that would be the death of him if his
friends saw it and recognised him, but he wasn't. He stared deep into the
picture. Yes, it was Art at his worst but it was Art at his most
feminine. It wasn't even Art. It was Ally. The person in that picture was
a woman, nothing more.
He looked out at the window. The faint reflection of Ally looked back,
her hair framing the soft curves of her face, her eyes lined sligthly by
the dark liner. Her small, pert breats rose and fell with every breath.
This was him. This felt normal. Art looked back down at the picture on
the phone. If being there in that coffee shop felt normal then why wasn't
this picture also normal? Why wasn't this version of him, the girl who
met guys in bars, took them to the bathroom and sucked them dry, also
normal? They were the same person after all. This was normal for Jessica,
fucking and sucking guys. She was the whole reason he had started down
this path, to prove that she wasn't special, that even a nobody like him
could be just like her. It was an obstacle that Art had been actively
avoiding for some time, an inconvinient truth. If he was going to be like
Jessica he would have to embrace every side of her. Even this one. He
done it once, he could do it again. Art rubbed his nylon covered thighs
together, loving the utterly female sensation of it, squashing his balls
and his own cock slightly as he did. From the corner of his eye he could
see the tall, handsome man who had entered the shop before looking across
at him. Who could blame him?
"Hey Jamal! Glad you like the pic. You say you wanna hook up. Time and
place? ;P Xxx" Art placed the phone back into his handbag and stood up to
leave. He watched the eyes of the man at the table carefully as he did,
happy to see them trained on the young, tight arse that sat behind the
swishing fabric of his dress. He left the shop with a swing in his step,
and headed for the nearest clothes shop. He would need a new dress, after
all.
It was six weeks later. Art walked too school beside Danny, neither of
them saying very much. They rarely said much to each other these days.
Art pushed a long strand of red hair back behind his ear. He still hadn't
had it cut, his hair now stretching down past his shoulders lmost to the
small of his back. He had taken to some times wearing it in a top knot,
relieved that the style had become somewhat acceptable amongst boys in
his age group. His friends had still felt the need to comment on it. Art
had still resisted the daily temptation to wear very subtle make up to
school, or tights under his clothes. It was too risky but it was a strong
compulsion, one he wondered whether he could ignore for much longer. He
had begun to feel awkward without some piece of female clothing on his
person.
"I heard some of the lads in the canteen talking about that girl again
yesterday." Danny broke the silence that had lasted just long enough to
be awkward.
"Which one?" Art replied.
"Which one? You know which one. The one that has apparently worked her
way round half the male population in the year, giving blowies to anyone
that asks."
"Oh yeah." Art paused. "That one."
"You can't have not heard about her. Everyone's talking about it."
"Yeah I know." Art was being intentionally dumb, careful not to let Danny
know just how much he knew about the girl, "There's a lot of girls that
those guys talk about though."
"Yeah, I guess." Danny stopped for a second, glancing carefully across at
Art. "No other girls like her by the sound of it though."
"Maybe not." Art's reply was quiet. He hunched his shoulders up higher.
Danny continued on, much to Art's displeasure.
"You never know, man. She might even work her way around to us. Maybe
we'll even get a shot at her." He laughed a little. It was an awkward
laugh, the subject wasn't the kind that the boys had ever engaged in. It
was a laugh that invited Art to speak and make a contribution but it was
an invitation Art didn't take. Danny's laugh slowly died away. "Anyway,
just a thought."
The two boys continued on down the road. Art could tell Danny was trying
his best to engage him, to coax him out of the shell that he had
retreated into recently. For his part, Art was fully aware he was
becoming more difficult but the more he slipped into being Ally, the
confident, flirty and powerful girl, the more he became quieter and more
reserved as Art. It just wasn't as fun. His clothes seemed ugly and heavy
on him. His face felt naked. He yearned for the times he could be at
home, or out and about, or around a boys house living up to the
reputation he was building for himself. He didn't care as long as he was
in a dress and heels.
"By the way, did you hear?" asked Danny, intetionally leaving the
question hanging.
"Hear what?"
"Jessica Munroe is throwing a party in a few weeks, after exams for the
end of college." Art's ears pricked up. He straightened up a little and
turned his head towards Danny. Danny seemed happy enough to have got any
sort of reaction. "Yeah, apparently loads of people have been invited.
Not us though."
"When's the party?" Art ignored Danny's comment.
"What? Oh, I dunno. Sometime after exams." Danny wracked his brains
trying to think when. "A few weeks I guess. I wouldn't worry though. We
definitely won't get invited."
"Why is she throwing a party?" Art asked but the question was directed at
himself more than Danny. His friend answered anyway.
"Because she's Jessica Munroe and when Jessica Munroe throws a party
anyone who's invited goes." Danny was right. Everyone who was anyone from
school would be there. Tucked away from the world, an audience with
Jessica. All the somebody's together in one place away from nobodies like
Art. His head buzzed with anger.It wasn't fair. He wasn't a nobody any
more. He had worked hard over the past few weeks, replying to boys,
meeting them at home, in parks, in bars careful to never let things go
further than oral. They would tell their friends. More lads would come
and Art would oblige them. It had been the same thing for the past six
weeks and now Jessica Munroe was trying to shut him out. Shut Ally out.
Maybe she felt threatened. Another girl was marching in on her territory,
squeezing her out. Another girl with power over men, with a reputation
that preceeded her. A girl that, as far as Jessica knew, didn't attend
their school. She would know this new girl would never appear at the
party because this new girl would never know about it. It would be
Jessica's perfect venue, all the boys together eating out of the palm of
her hand. Just the way she liked it. Art couldn't let it happen. He
couldn't let her have a free run. There were two girls on the block now
and this one was not going to just sit back and let Jessica have all the
fun. He was Art and, invitation or not, he was going to that party.
"Art. You OK man? You've stopped walking." Danny's voice snapped him back
to reality. Art hadn't even realised he had stopped moving. He turned his
head up slowly to meet his best friends gaze, "You good?"
"Yeah," he replied slowly, "yeah I think I will be."
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