The Lesson Plan -- Part Two: Supply Teacher (Episode Three) free porn video

The Lesson Plan -- Part Two: Supply Teacher Author's Foreword: This is a unauthorized "part two" to Tiffani Andrews' excellent The Lesson Plan Part One: Endless Summer (http://fictionmania.tv/stories/readtextstory.html?storyID =1431653814505060881). The characters, the setting and the setup were so wonderful, I felt inspired to continue in my own way. Thanks to Tiffani for setting the scene so well. I hope you don't mind. Wednesday: Shakespeare for beginners Chapter 10 "Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent." My finger slides across the line of text, my bright red fingernail a glossy reminder of my status. I'm Ellen Bennet. Miss Ellen Bennet: High school English teacher. I look up, smiling, at the girl reading Viola. What was her name? Claire? Catherine? I can't remember. She's confident in her reading, getting passed the language of Shakespeare without stumbling over the words. She, like all her classmates, is about fifteen and, like all her classmates, straddling that awkward line of teenager; child, young adult and self-conscious woman. I personally feel today I am an expert on being a self-conscious woman. My choice of a knee-length brown sweater dress had seemed conservative, especially when paired with boots and a thick dark brown belt. However, the way all the boys in the class were openly leering at me was making me reconsider. That, and my choice to wear spanx today meant that every movement was tightly constrained. Ellen, as a result, appeared even more feminine in her movements. My movements. "Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be." The boy sitting on the opposite side of the classroom read the Captain's line in monotone. He is sporty, with broad shoulders and a buzz-cut hairstyle. I'm impressed he didn't stumble over the word eunuch. His line reading is so dull it doesn't even get the giggle I'd anticipated. Twelfth Night had seemed like a pretty solid choice when I was putting my lesson plan together for my Aunt. Little did I know that the story of cross-dressing and deception might be a little bit too on the powdered nose. And that was before we got to all the business with the garters. I certainly didn't expect to be using my theatre studies minor to pass myself off as my forty-two year old aunt. The bell rings, signalling the end of class and coincidentally the end of scene 2. "Okay everyone," I say, struggling to get my light voice loud enough to be heard over the racket of chairs, bags and chatter. "See you next time. No reading ahead. And thanks to our readers today," I say, giving a show of applause as I stood up. One or two of the boys half heartedly join in as they left, my classroom suddenly empty. It was break time, and I weighed the option of walking to the staff room for some instant coffee and adult conversation against just staying here and staring at aunt Ellen's mobile. I was still concerned about running into Principal Chalmers after last time, but the real Ellen still hadn't gotten back to me. I'd made up my mind to call her tonight if I didn't hear. I catch sight of myself reflected in the windows of the classroom -- a cartoon of a woman, all bosom and bum, the hourglass of my fake figure accented by the thick belt over a skin tight dress. It had seemed so innocent on the hanger, I think as I tug at the stretchy fabric. All my aunt's clothes were like this. My aunt was like this. "Penny for your thoughts," Miranda asks, brightly, as she enters my classroom with two mugs of coffee. "Wow Ellen, you really suit that dress!" Miranda hands me a cup and perches her pert little bottom on my desk. Today she wore high-waisted tweed pants and a simple white blouse. She was a small woman -- in all proportions -- and always dressed elegantly. Next to her I feel like a drag queen. "Thank you," I gush, taking a sip of the coffee held between both hands. "I love your outfit today, you're look so cute!" Miranda blushed, giving me a pleased sweet smile. "How's your morning going?" I ask. "Good," she answers, nodding her head. "Older kids so far so not too bad. I usually make coffee and bring it in rather than go all the way across school to the staff room. Thought you'd like to join me for a smoke?" "I'd love to. This is wonderful," I add taking another sip and noticing the tell-tale red lipstick mark of Ellen -- reminding me not to flirt as Kevin. "You've been so nice to me Miranda, you're a real sweetheart." She blushes again, hiding it by taking another drink. She was pretty, I admitted, in a mousy sort of way. "How were you first classes?" she asks me, jumping off the desk and making towards the fire door. "Good I think," I say encouragingly, following her. Despite having little actual teaching experience everything had gone not too badly. "I think the novelty of a new teacher was carrying me some of the way, to be honest," I add with a smile. "I'm enjoying myself though. I'd missed it." "Aw good," Miranda says, "I told you you would!" We both turn the corner to see Principal Chalmers in a tasteful fitted navy suit. "Principal Chalmers," Miranda says, taking a sip of coffee. "How's your first day back going?" "Very good," Wayne replies, striding towards us, his very presence changing the atmosphere. I'm struck by the observation -- that I'm one of the girls. "Do you mind if I have a word with Ellen?" He asks, taking me by the arm and not waiting for an answer. "Of course," Miranda replies, taking out a cigarette and nipping out the door to smoke. Just as she does, I could swear I see her rolling her eyes skyward. The principal was on me in an instant, grabbing my shoulders and crushing my body into his as he kisses me -- forcing his tongue between my lips. It seems to go on for an eternity, as I stand there, unable to respond. "Wayne," I begin, after our lips part. "God Ellen, you look amazing," he interrupts, moving his hands off my shoulders and down to rest on my fake hips. "I can't stop thinking about you. I need to see you. Tonight?" The bell rings in the hallway, signalling the end of recess. "Okay," I reply, fully intending to follow it with we need to talk. Instead, he kisses me again on the lips, a quick peck this time, and releases me, taking a few steps back and licking his lips -- leaving me standing in the middle of my hallway. Chapter 11 The rest of the day passes in a blur of concentration and students of various ages and abilities. More than a few times I almost forgot I was Ellen -- I was just trying to play the role of a teacher, hitting the points I'd prepared in my lesson plan. I was glad I'd tried to stay in character as Ellen the days before today, as it had definitely paid off. As the last of the day's students filed out and I sit down heavily in my chair, exhausted, two events earlier this afternoon playing on my mind. The first was during the afternoon's lesson where I was introducing the Great Gatsby. I had gone to the blackboard to write my name, in large flowing feminine chalk script, and heard some giggling. I finished writing and turned around, the chalk still in my hand, and the class was silent -- too quiet even. I had chosen to ignore it, smiled, and started by asking everyone to open the book and I read the opening to the class of sixteen year olds: "Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone," he told me, "just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had." I started to talk about what to look out for in the first chapter, with a view to prescribing it as homework. I had turned again to the blackboard to write "narrator" when I heard the giggling again. This time I turned straight away, "What is it?" I ask, scanning the faces of the children for any tell-tale signs. The class fell silent again, but I noticed that one boy was staring resolutely at the floor, his face bright red. "You have some chalk on your... dress," a girl on the front row said, not unkindly. "Oh!" I said, setting down the chalk and looking down past my mountainous bosom. "No," a chorus of children joined in. "On your ... ass!" "Oh, thank you," I said, trying to pass it off as no big deal. I rubbed the dust off my hands and was about to rub my hands over my padded backside when I paused, recognising a look of devilment in the girl who had spoken up. "What's up with you?" I asked, turning my attention to the boy who was bright red. "Everything alright?" "Miss Bennet," the girl chimed in again. "Andrew's got a boner!" The class erupted into laughter, and Andrew's face turned an even deeper shade of red. "I don't!" He protested over their giggles. "Okay, okay, settle down," I had said, my voice as loud as I could go without breaking. Thankfully they stopped, but I was feeling a little out of control. I took a deep breath and walked back to the front of the class, sitting down on my desk. "Back to Gatsby," I said, quieting my voice down, keeping it slow and soft, and getting through my first chapter synopsis without further incident. I finished just short of the bell, with instructions to read chapter 1 by Friday. As the bell rang, I asked Andrew to clean the blackboard for me, and caught up with the girl who had been the root of the trouble. "Would you mind waiting behind?" I asked her as she stuffed the book into her bag. I went out in the corridor with her as the children of the school busied themselves going from class to class. "What's your name?" I asked, looking down at her. She was definitely mature for her age, and pretty. Her makeup was expertly applied, and she had obviously spent a long time learning how to do it. Like most of the other girls her age, she wore her school uniform to the limit -- her short straight skirt tight over her hips and only barely reaching mid thigh. Her blouse was almost too tight, her top two buttons straining against her budding breasts. She was, in short, the sort of girl I'd have been terrified to talk to in school. "Melanie," she said, quietly. I had been prepared for some attitude, but instead her body language changed -- her shoulders fell, she looked anywhere than at me. "What was all that about Melanie?" I asked, keeping my voice soft. "I don't know," she replied, avoiding me. "It's not nice to make fun of people." "Well he did," she said, turning her head to look at me. "Boys are gross." It took me a second to put what she said together, and then I realised she was talking about Andrew. I looked up and caught sight of my reflection in the opposite class door and noticed it -- a white chalk handprint decorating my derriere. "I'm going to have a word with him," I said eventually. "But boys often can't control..." "I was just trying to help. My mum says we have to look out for each other. Us girls," she interrupted. I made a mental note to check into Melanie's home situation. "Well, thank you Melanie, but sometimes it's better to have a quiet word. No harm done," I added with a smile. The girl gave me a little smile back, and adjusted the oversized backpack on her shoulder. "You'd better go, I don't want you to be too late for your next class," I said, sending her on her way. I watched her go before ducking back into my classroom to find Andrew finishing wiping off the chalk on my board. He was a smart young man with his shirt tucked into his trousers, and his tie firmly and properly tied, unlike almost all the other young men I'd seen today. His dark brown hair too was neatly groomed with a side parting. He was small, and very skinny. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" I asked, walking past him and sitting on the edge of my desk. I had thought Melanie had been a ringleader, trying to cause trouble, but now I wasn't so sure. "Nothing," he said, staring at the ground, and starting to go red with embarrassment. His voice was still quite high -- like it hadn't broken yet. "It's alright," I said, my Ellen tones becoming quite honeyed. "I just want to know if everything's okay with you Andrew." "I'm fine," he said, clearly desperate to be anywhere else but here. "Were there others in the class being mean to you?" "I said I'm fine!" He shouted, louder than he intended. His eyes went went. "Sorry. Sorry. Can I go?" "Okay, Andrew." I flashed him an Ellen smile. "You can go. But," I added as he picked up his backpack and slung it over his narrow shoulder, "if you ever need to talk, you can talk to me about anything. Understood?" He turned and looked up, giving me a small little smile. "Thanks," he mumbled before rushing out the door. I sighed, watching him leave. Giving lessons was one thing, dealing with the kids was something else, especially since I wasn't really that much older myself. My next and last class of the day had filed in, and it was curtain up all over again. Chapter 12 My phone rings in my purse as I make my way through the carpark. It's Ellen. The real Ellen. "Hello," I answer in her voice, trying to sound perky but failing and aware of the students and other staff members milling around me. "Hey sunshine, that bad huh?" she laughs down the phone. "Wow still freaky hearing you do me." "Hang on," I say, fishing in my purse again for my car key and pushing the button to unlock the door. Holding the phone against my cheek with my shoulder, I opened the car door, toss in my purse and climb in, swinging my legs inside and closing the door. "How's things?" I ask, taking the phone from my shoulder and holding it against my ear, brushing against one of my dangling earrings. "Things are," Ellen sighs loudly down the phone. "Things aren't too hot I'm afraid. Michelle's mom is out of the coma, at least, but she's... she's not doing too great Kev, if I'm honest. I don't know if she'll ever get out of hospital. Those kids are so great Kev, they'd love to meet you. I keep telling them about my wonderful actor nephew." As she talks I run my fingers through my hair, pushing it back off my face, looking through the car windscreen at the ever-decreasing number of people milling about, getting into cars and grabbing bicycles. I recognised a few kids from earlier, and wave as they pass, earning enthusiastic waves back. "I need to stay up here a little while longer, I'm afraid. The house has gotten tangled up with lawyers, and Michelle just doesn't..." I hear Ellen's voice break, and a sob crackles down the phone. "Hey, it's okay. I've got this. Can I do anything else to help?" I ask in a whisper, using my deep male voice for I think the first time today. Ellen laughs down the phone. "You're doing so much already. You're good. You're real good." She sniffs, and I can tell she was wiping away a tear. "So, how was your first day? I got your text." "My first day wasn't bad, I think. You're not fired." I say, still keeping my voice low, even though there's not too many people about now. "I'm actually really tired, but I have to go meet Chalmers tonight." "You what?!" she exclaims, her voice raising yet another octave. "Yeah, so. I wanted to talk about this. On the inservice day, when I met him, I was concentrating on being nice and being, well, you, and so when I met him and said hello we sort of kissed. And then kissed again. And then he kissed me today, and asked me on a date I think." "Oh boy!" Ellen was laughing now. "You kissed him? Oh Jesus Kev." "What's the deal with you two?" "Wayne and I," she sighs. "Wayne and I dated years ago. In high school. I think he's never really gotten over it. He's always been sweet to me." "And when you say dated?" I ask, leaving the question hanging. "Before I left to go travelling. We slept together, if that's what you're asking." "Oh dear," I sigh, looking down at my feminized body in the car, the tight brown sweater dress clinging to my fake curves; the swell of my large bust obscuring the view of my hand as it lay on my lap. "Well, don't worry," I say, lifting my head to look again around me. "I'll figure something out." "I'm sure you will!" Ellen laughs again. "Just remember, I don't want to come back to being married, okay." "I prom..." I start to say, turning my head to see Melanie standing by the car. "I promise," I repeat, switching back into Ellen's voice with a toothy smile as I gave Melanie a little wave. She looks into the car with narrowed eyes and a faint smile and it takes a couple of moments before she waves back and carries on her way. "Everything okay?" Ellen asks down the phone. "Everything will be," I say, putting the key in the ignition and slipping my nylon-covered feet out of the boots I wore, so I can feel the pedals. "I hope." Chapter 13 The house was quiet and still as I pulled up into Ellen's driveway and slid on her boots. It was still light out as I walked into the hallway, but dull enough that I turned the light on anyway, squatting down to pick up her mail: One bill, two pieces of junk mail and a fashion magazine, wrapped in plastic. "10 Outfits for the Perfect First Date" a headline screamed on the cover next to "Paris Fashion Week" and "This Season's Must-Have Accessories." I stood, taking the mail and myself into the kitchen where I set it and my bag down on the countertop. I tore into the plastic, balling it up and setting it aside as I opened the magazine, flicking from page to page of glossy photos of gorgeous women until I found the article in question. Inside my bag, my phone started to vibrate. I glance at the illuminated screen -- Chalmers. "Hi Wayne," I say, my Ellen voice ringing out in the empty kitchen. "How's it going?" "Ellen. Where are you?" His voice is deep, confident. Masculine. "I'm at home," I answer, turning my attention back to the magazine. The first outfit was a pair of skinny jeans, a sparkly orange top and tall brown boots. Not with my ass, I think to myself, flicking the page over. "Can I come over?" He asks, all confidence. "What about a bar someplace?" I reply, thinking on my feet that a public place with lots of people might be better than just the two of us alone. Outfit two, more skinny jeans -- black this time, and a black tank top. Boring. "A bar, on a school night? Oh Ellen, never change," he chuckles. "Why not come here instead? I just want to talk. Scouts honour." Outfit three was a pair of shorts with leggings and the same tank top from the previous suggestion. I was beginning to doubt the pedigree of this magazine. "You were a boy scout?" I tease, flicking over the page. Outfit four was a red lace dress, black pantyhose and a denim jean jacket with pixie boots. Bingo. "Give me an hour?" "Looking forward to it," he says. "You know where you're going? I moved, remember." "Oh!" I exclaimed, picking up a nearby pen. Thank goodness! "Tell me." I scribble down his address onto the magazine and hang up with promises to see him later. Going to his place wasn't too bad, I figured, as I could at least leave at any time. Getting him out of here might have been tricker. But then, he just wanted to talk. Scouts Honour. I close the magazine, leaving it on the counter, and climb the stairs to Ellen's room and her huge closet. I was tired. Dead tired. To be honest I just wanted tonight to myself, to get into some comfortable clothes and to relax. No chance of that. One after the other, I lift my feet behind me, bending at the knee, reaching down with my hands to slip off the boot, and drop it unceremoniously. I give my free toes a wiggle, and fantasise briefly about the foot spa I'd had the other night. Maybe when I get home. My feet were wider than my aunts, and only some of her shoes fit me at all. Few of them fit me comfortably. With a sigh I reach down to the hem of my dress, just above my knees, and wiggle it up, stretching it tight over my thighs, my wide womanly hips, and up, up my body, bunching under my large breasts. Contorting myself, I pull my arms out of the tight stretchy sleeves, and roll the whole impossibly tight tube up and off, trying not to catch my hair in the process. "Not a dress to take off in front of anyone, ever!" I say, running my hand through my hair to settle it down. "Or, at least," I add trying and failing to fold it before dropping it in my aunt's empty laundry basket, "not without practice." In just my tight spanx, pantyhose and a nude bra, I consider my options. I desperately want to take off the constricting underwear and just breathe, but I wasn't entirely sure I would have the energy to get it on again. To be honest, I'd love to just take off the whole disguise, mask, wig and all and take a long warm bath. Kevin's phone, sitting on the bedside table, began to ring, interrupting my fantasies. "Hello," I answer in Ellen's voice without thinking, standing in a very Ellen pose, with one hip jutting out, and my free arm under my breasts, loosely touching the glossy side of my high-waisted control underwear. "Hello, who is this?" My father's voice demanded. Oh shit, my dad. "Ellen? Ellen is that you?" "Hello, William," I answer after a moment, my heart tightening in my chest. "How's things?" "Ellen, why on earth are you answering Kevin's phone?" My dad asks, confused. "Kevin ... " I reply, taking a deep breath. "Kevin's staying with me. Didn't he tell you?" I ask, knowing the answer. "He's what? No, I thought he was with what's her name. His girlfriend." "Angie," I remind him. "No he's been living here for a couple of months now. I don't know why he didn't say anything WIlliam." I knew fine, he would be an asshole about it. He and Ellen have never seen eye to eye. "Anyway, he's..." I look down at the body of a gorgeous woman in her underwear. "Getting changed I think. Do you want to talk to him, I can see if he's out the shower. He left his phone here," I add, hoping that he's buying this. "Can you put him on, Ellen. I need to talk to him." That's my dad. All business. "Sure thing hon," I say, pushing my luck with the Ellen act. "Two seconds." I drop the phone to my side and walk around the room for ten, nine, eight, seven seconds while I swallow, trying to ignore the sway of my fake hips, the bounce of my prosthetic breasts, and then, Ellen's face reflected back at me from her vanity. "Hi Dad," I say in my best Kevin impersonation. "Hi," I repeat, a little lower this time. I blink and hear my false eyelashes fluttering. "Kevin," he barks down the line, his voice clipped. "Why are you staying with your aunt? I thought you were in New York?" I sit down at the vanity, and cross my legs at the thigh almost on autopilot. "I needed somewhere to crash dad, just for the summer. It's no big deal," I reply. "No big deal? I don't like the thought of you just sitting there on your ass -- you've had your fun in New York, it's time to face reality Kev." If you didn't like to think of me sitting on my ass before, I think, feeling the padding of my buttocks shifting under me. "I'm facing reality," I say, watching my voice coming from my aunt's lips in the vanity mirror. "I'm helping Ellen, I'm working on my acting. What do you want Dad?" "We need to talk," he says. "I haven't heard from you in ages, you don't have a steady job. You're staying at your aunt's for goodness sake." "What's wrong with Aunt Ellen?" I ask, absently straightening a bra strap on my left shoulder. "Ellen," my father almost spat. "You're just like her. You both just want to breeze through life, do what you want." "I'm discovering we have a lot in common," I agreed. "You ask your aunt where she was when her sister was ill. You ask her where she was when her family needed her. Halfway around the world, that's where!" "Now, hang on," I say, snapping back into the phone call. "You don't know what...." "No, you don't know. Like I said, ask her. We need to talk Kev, face to face. Man to man." "That might be a little difficult," I said, uncrossing my nylon-static legs. "The face part anyway." "Give the phone back to you aunt, I want to talk to her." "Dad!" "Just do it son." I lay the phone on the vanity and closed my eyes, taking two deep breaths. Just talking to my dad was stressful enough, and we hadn't really spoken in months. "Hello," I say after another moment, easily slipping back into Ellen's register. "What is it WIlliam?" "I need to see him, Ellen. I don't know what nonsense you're filling his head with, but I'm going to come and see you. I'm coming this weekend, okay. Make sure he's there. Will you do that for me at least?" "What's this all about William?" I ask, finding talking to him much easier behind this voice. This mask. "This weekend. Thank you Ellen. I appreciate it." He hangs up, leaving me holding the phone in one hand, an expression of disbelief on Ellen's face. Chapter 14 "Still on for tomorrow? How was your first day?" The two messages were waiting for me on my phone just before I left the car, sent by Shayna while I had been driving. "I'm exhausted thanks for asking! It went really well, but I have to go to the Principal's office. Can't wait for tomorrow xx" I reply, hesitating before adding the two final xs, but deciding to throw caution to the wind. I was getting better at texting with acrylic nails. I check my makeup in Ellen's compact -- her face, as ever, was flawless. I take the cap off her trusty lipstick and twist, refreshing my full bright red lips before smiling and checking my sparkling fake smile for any red stains. Perfect. I opened the driver door and set down the pair of red heels that had been keeping me company on the passenger seat. I swivel out of the car and slide my feet into the shoes, careful not to snag my nylons on the edges. Funny how quickly some things can become habits. When I had stood in Ellen's closet, struggling to decide what to wear, I briefly considered dressing down as much as possible. But where was the fun in that. Where was Ellen? My aunt was glamorous, fashionable, and above all feminine. It had taken less time to take a leaf out of the glamour magazine, and pair the red dress from the previous night with Miranda that had been rejected with black pantyhose and a denim jacket. I'd had to swap bras -- the nude molded cup wasn't much good under this dress. A quick rummage through her bra drawer and I found an unlined red demi cup bra that barely covered the dark areola of these impressive fakes, but that worked under the dress. I'd kept the spanx however, despite the hose slipping off the slick glossy satiny sheen of the control panties if I wasn't too careful. Between the hose, the girdle and my gaff, there was no way anyone was discovering anything surprising between my legs. "Great! I'm looking forward to seeing you too xx" Shayna replied, my phone lighting up as I click-clicked in my heels down Chalmer's garden path. I read and re-read the message, growing in excitement every time I read those works and the two x's at the end. All I could think about was that kiss the other night, when she had called me "incredible." I was still glowing from that exchange when I rang the doorbell to Wayne Chalmers' house. "What the hell am I doing?" I whispered to myself under my breath, exhaling loudly and focusing on all that made me Ellen, starting with the painted false fingernail on the door bell. A light went on in the hallway inside the house, causing my heart to start beating faster. Here we go. Wayne answered the door in well-fitting dark blue jeans and an untucked white shirt, open at the neck. It's the first time I've seen him out of a suit and tie, I realised. He's actually in very good shape for a guy his age, and there's a hint of bulging muscle and toned forearm as he holds the door for me. "Ellen," he greets me, smiling. "Wow," he adds, theatrically looking me up and down. "If I'd have known we were getting dressed up..." "Hi Wayne," I say, hoping I pass inspection. I find it difficult to think of this older man as someone my age, someone Ellen's age. I still don't really know how I'm going to play this. All I know is that Ellen's job depends on it. "You look good," I say, shifting my weight to rest a hand on my hip. "You gonna ask me in?" "Come in, come in!" he laughs, taking a step back and letting me into his house, the leathery smell of cologne hanging in the air. He's made an effort for me too I realise, as he reaches for my denim jacket and takes it from me. Wayne's house is, strangely, almost exactly the same size and layout as Ellen's, I think as he shows me into the living room. Although, I suspect his closet is nowhere near as large. The living room is bright and pleasant, with a cream sofa, a well-varnished rocking chair and a few small tables. A small television sits in one corner, a few plants are scattered around. A large mirror sits on top of a wooden fireplace, a small real fire crackles away. A tiny stereo is playing some orchestral music I don't recognise. "Can I get you a drink?" he asks from behind me, and I turn as he walks right up to me and rests his hands on my waist. His hands are warm, and large -- his fingers almost touching around my narrow middle. His familiarity with me, with Ellen's body, is so strong, it's so easy to let him take control. Which, of course, is not in Ellen's character at all. "I thought we were going to talk?" I ask, looking up into his eyes. "This is talking," he replies, taking one hand from my waist and using his fingers to brush my hair back. "My God, Ellen, you are so beautiful. It's like you're still the gorgeous twenty-something I fell in love with." I can't move. It doesn't occur to me to move. I'm being held by this man, and wooed by this man and -- god help me -- it feels amazing. My face softens as he talks, my eyes widening as he continues. "You waltz back into my life three days ago and I can't stop thinking about you, I'm obsessed by you. And every time we meet I just want to ... you're the most feminine... You see, you get me tongue tied." I'm not even acting any more. I'm getting my first review. The most feminine sounds only like a ringing complement in my ears. "The way you dress, the way you walk, Ellen, you're not like other women. You're the perfect woman." Do you ever find yourself talking to someone -- male or female -- and while they are talking you watch their lips move, and the thought enters your mind. I could kiss them. You may be attracted to them, you may not be, but something inside you just lays the suggestion on a plate for you to consider. You could kiss this person. This is my excuse, and I'm sticking to it. I reach up on tip toes and gently press my full red lips against Wayne's, closing my eyes as I lean into him, my lips parting. I feel his fingers tightening around my waist, his other hand gently cupping my chin. The kiss was long and slow, soft and tender. The only sound I can hear is my heart yammering in my chest. "Oh jesus, Ellen," Wayne says after our lips part. "You're not helping." I'm Ellen Bennet. Forty two. School teacher and Wayne Chalmers' perfect woman. As a young man growing up, there aren't often many times when you hug another man, or be physically close to them. Occasions I can think of include sports victories, family gatherings and clinging together for warmth while lost in the mountains. Hugs between men are usually at a distance, with minimal touching and lots of back slapping. Hugging women is also fairly rare, truth be told, but involves more upper body contact -- a boob squish is something to be treasured. Being embraced as a woman is ... different. So far as Ellen I've held and been held by Miranda and Shayna, and both have held me differently. Warmly, affectionately, and wanting to make each other feel safe and supported. Also two sets of boobs, which is as glorious as it is strange. As Wayne holds me now, my breasts pressed against his shirt, his hand on my waist, I'm aware of another fundamental difference. Quite a large fundamental difference. Bulging. Growing. I'm Ellen Bennet. Forty two. School teacher and Wayne Chalmers' cock is hardening for me. The first time I left the house dressed as Ellen I was terrified I'd be found out; that I wasn't up to the job of impersonating a beautiful mature woman. I was terrified my makeup would let me down, or my clothes, my walk, my voice, my personality. And since then, every day as a woman has been about seeking validation -- validation that my Ellen was as good an Ellen as I could be. The traffic cop; the video game employee; Tom; Andrew; Wayne. Men, I now realised, were all too happy to give me that validation. And the swelling cock of Ellen's ex- boyfriend, pressing urgently into my body, was almost validation enough. Almost. "Pleased to see me?" I say, surprising myself by not moving. Not pulling away. "You know I am," he replies. Not moving. "You know what to say to make me feel... like a woman," I confess. "It's just. It's complicated Wayne. With us working together. You're my boss." The lines sound like bad melodrama even to my ears, but it's the best I can do under the circumstances. "You feel so good, Ellen. We fit together," he says, clearly taking my lead for tone-deaf daytime soap opera dialogue. To emphasise his point he moves his hand from my waist around to the small of my back, letting his fingers linger over the curve of my ass. Push yourself beyond what you think you know. Mrs. Scheider's lesson was to look deeper into a scene; into a character. To take risks. To try different things. "We did," I say, adding a far-away quality to my voice and a little sad smile as I look into his eyes. For a moment I'm convinced he's going to kiss me. Everything about his body language, his posture, his grip, his eyes point in that direction. Instead, he takes a deep breath that I feel reverberating through my bones and lets me go, taking a step back. "About that drink," he says, starting to walk away. "I got a bottle of chardonnay just for you." "That would be lovely Wayne," I say with a dazzling smile and following him, conscious of the sway of my hips even though no one is watching. I should make my excuses and leave. I should tell him there's no chance. I should do any number of things that would make my life, as Kevin, easier. But where's the fun in that? And I was having fun. "Thank you," I say, my fingers deliberately lingering on his as I take the glass from him after watching him fill it from the chilled bottle from the fridge. "Just for me?" I ask teasingly, watching him take a bottle of beer and open it. He doesn't speak, just clinks the neck of his craft beer bottle against my glass and takes a sip. I'm not a huge fan of white wine, but Ellen is, and so I take a confident sip and find it actually not that bad. "I drove here," I remind him as I follow him back into the living room, sitting next to him on the couch and crossing my legs at the thigh, causing my dress to ride up just a little. I leave it, instead resting the glass on the exposed smokey pantyhose. "So you can't get me too drunk. Promise?" I joke, finding his gaze again through my thick lashes. "You could always stay the night?" he replies, glancing down at my legs. "I'll make sure you get to school in the morning." "Oh and how would that look?" I ask with a little laugh. "The principal dropping me off in yesterday's dress." "I think you'd be OK. This isn't the knockout number you had on earlier," he replies, taking a drink. "Speaking of which, I heard you made quite an impression on Andrew McCallister today." I gasp theatrically, splaying my fingers over my chest in an overly feminine gesture that draws his gaze to my cleavage. "Oh god. Well, you know how teenage boys are," I laugh softly. "Maybe that outfit was too much." "Not just teenage boys," he says with a smile, looking at me with warm eyes. "The sight of you in that dress was the highlight of my day until about ten minutes ago." "Oh, and what's the highlight now?" I ask, putting a little quiver into my lips as they curve into a smile. Flirting with Chalmers is so easy -- so fluid -- as Ellen that I find I can't stop myself. I'm enjoying myself. I'm having fun. I've never been spoken to the way people talk to Ellen, and I like it: I feel so in control; so powerful. To answer me he simply sets down his beer bottle and touches the side of my face -- my mask -- with his gentle fingers, sliding down to my jawline, and leans in to kiss me. He's firm in his kiss, hungry, and pushes his tongue into my mouth with practiced confidence. His fingers touch the back of my neck as we kiss, and I feel his other hand taking the wineglass from my grasp. I stay in character, moving my own tongue to meet his and moving my now free hand up to touch his face, keeping my fingers light as I slide them through his short hair. This proves to be a tactical error, as I feel him rest his hand on my knee -- my legs now undefended. I keep them resolutely crossed as his hand moves up from my knee to my thigh, slipping fingertips under the hemline of the dress as he strokes my thigh through the pantyhose. Another inch and he'll feel my spanx. And a few inches after that... "Oh Wayne," I gasp as our lips finally part, wriggling a little on the couch to turn and face him and to bring my other hand into play by resting it on top of his on my thigh. Underneath the act and the disguise I'm on the verge of panic, but Ellen is in control. I'm Ellen Bennet. Forty two. School teacher and sex kitten. "Slow down there cowboy," I say, forcing my voice to sound calm despite the hammering in my chest. "What sort of girl do you think I am?" "We both know the answer to that," he says evenly, eyes gazing deep into mine. He doesn't move his hand and I'm feeling more than a little scared. He's definitely more powerful than me, and I'm flying blind with how to handle this -- this is my first time on this side of this particular scene. Plus if he gets too handsy I'm in real trouble. "Let's just talk, okay?" I say, reaching for the wineglass he stole from me, my other hand firmly blocking any further advance. To my relief he lets me have it without any complaint, and I feel the pressure lessen on my thigh. Trusting woman than I am, I take my hand off his and move to hug myself under my breasts, giving off hopefully unwelcoming body language as I take a sip of wine. "Why don't I start?' I offer. I glance down to see his fingers toying with the hem of my dress and not moving away. Fuck. "Maybe we shouldn't have ... kissed." "You kissed me," he says, all charm. "Twice." "And you kissed me," I reply. "But that doesn't mean ... maybe we shouldn't rush into anything." Wayne takes his hand off my thigh, and I feel elated. The fear leaves me almost instantly. I've got this. I'm safe. I have feminine wiles! More importantly I'm not going to have to do something I'm really not comfortable with. I feel lighter almost instantly, right until the moment he takes my hand in his and lays it down onto the warm bulge in his jeans. "No more talking," he says, leaning forward and kissing me so quickly I can't react any other way than to kiss him back, my lips parting in surprise to welcome his tongue inside my mouth. My heart is racing as I figure out what to do, balanced with the realisation that another man's cock is under my fingers. I daren't move. I have to move. I have to get out of here. Show's over. "No! Wayne, you're my boss," I say, maybe a little too shrilly. "This was a mistake," I say, pulling my hand away from the unfamiliar lump and setting down my wineglass before leaping to my feet.. "I don't know what I was thinking," I say, sotto voce to myself, but sure he will hear, as I spin round to face him. "Ellen," he starts to say, standing to tower over me and looking at me with such tenderness. He leans in to kiss me again, soft and gentle as before. It's a long, slow, lingering kiss, and I feel his hand on my waist, resting above my hip with such casual intimacy it's difficult not to feel safe, just at that moment. Or it would, were I not trying to flush the thought of his cock in my hand from my memory. "Don't go, please," he says as our lips part. I have to go. I have to run. "I'm sorry Wayne," I say, moving his hand off my waist and leaving his house without looking back. I'm outside in the cold before I know what's happened, without enough time to put my jacket on. Chapter 15 The compulsive hand washing wasn't helping. I had been scrubbing my hands for a good ten minutes now. I let the water run and smiled my best Ellen smile into the bathroom mirror -- her sparkling white teeth gleamed back at me from between plump lips. The woman in the mirror was naked, except for a tight flesh-colored thong -- my gaffe -- and her face denuded of makeup. Amazingly, even almost naked, it was impossible to tell that I was a young man in disguise, thanks to some very clever prosthesis. My breasts were full and round, swaying heavily as I moved. My waist was naturally slim, but my hips and thighs curved dramatically, and my bottom was a work of art -- the very hourglass figure of a middle-aged woman. My face though, my face was the masterpiece. A mask of such detail that you could see individual wrinkles and lines. It moved as I did, changing my face in lots of tiny ways so that I looked just like my aunt. While my body was convincing, my face was almost uncanny. In between frantic washing, I check my body and my face. I check and check. Every pore, every inch. I had never been touched like that before. Never grabbed, squeezed, manhandled. I need to be sure nothing has come loose, or torn, or given way. I need to be flawless. It seemed like I was still intact. Moving as Ellen was second-nature now. The sway of her hips, the gentle bounce of her bosom was made easier by the makeup, but also the makeup reminded me to stay in character, even when I was on my own. I pick up a toothbrush and start brushing as I cross the tiled floor to the shower and reach in to turn on the water, waiting for the water to heat up to a good temperature. I set down the toothbrush, and spit. All I could taste was mint. I pour out another measure of mouthwash and gargle again, just to be sure, watching my face disappear as the mirror fogs up with steam. I run my tongue along my teeth and swallow. I can't taste anything. I can't taste Wayne. I take the gaffe off before stepping into the shower, enjoying the freedom offered by not having my penis hidden between my legs. It was strange, taking it off, freeing myself. A part of Ellen was about feeling constrained. All her clothes were tight -- her underwear and pantyhose too -- and that tightness and unfamiliarity reminded me to put my voice high behind my eyes, to keep my posture up, and to walk from my hips. I step under the warm water, and stand there for a minute with my eyes closed, letting the water fall on me, dripping down my skin. Washing away my sins. It's another few minutes before I start my routine -- the routine Ellen and Vicki drilled into me: shampoo, conditioner, body scrub, body wash from shoulders to feet and rinse. I'd been having showers all my adult male life, but I'd had to become a woman to learn how to do it right. I was using my aunt's beauty products -- she had kindly left hers behind -- and while she didn't tend to floral scents, her body wash was really sweet and pretty to smell. Often during the day I'd move and catch a little of it on my nose. I wasn't used to her fragrances enough to ignore them yet and this was just one note, even including the Dolce & Gabbana that was her signature. It also formed a nice foam when I used it on the puff ball I'd been instructed to use, and even though I didn't have to wash the prosthetics, I did anyway, instead using my hands to cover my skin -- real and fake -- with the foaming gel. "The way you dress, the way you walk, Ellen, you're not like other women. You're the perfect woman." Wayne's words come back into my mind as I shampoo my hair, starting at the root and working outwards so as not to damage or tangle the extensions. I can still feel his strong hands on my waist, can still see his soft eyes looking at me with that expression of desire. "You're right Wayne," I say out loud in Ellen's voice. "I'm not like other women." I'd never been in a sex scene before on stage, but we'd covered it in class. We'd workshopped a Streetcar Named Desire, but I hadn't been Stanley. I looked down at my wet and soapy body, bubbles bursting on my bosom. Maybe I should have been Blanche. Good sex on stage is like good sex in real life, Mrs. Scheider had said. Communication is key, focus on your partner and try to laugh about it afterwards. I'd had my first sex scene tonight, that was for sure. It helped to think of it like that -- acting. I was acting the role of Ellen Bennet. Wayne was my co-star. We'd communicated. I'd focused on him. I'd gotten away with it. I'd more than gotten away with it. I had enjoyed it. The thought catches me almost by surprise, but it's true I realise. I enjoy being Aunt Ellen. The thrill of impersonating her was incredible. Every time a man looks at me I feel it -- I'm no longer afraid of failing to be her. Instead I'm thrilled to be looked at like that. The way Wayne looked at me tonight. The strange sensation of his cock swelling because of me. I had made that happen. "Jesus Kevin what are you doing?" I say, splashing my face again, this time resting my hands on the mask. Something didn't feel right. For the first time I felt water under my eye. Fuck. I turn off the water and almost leap out of the shower, rushing over to the mirror and wiping it free of steam as I lean over the sink to see my face -- Ellen's face -- is coming away. The invisible join around my left eye is very visible. I try a smile, and the mask wrinkles. The whole effect would be disturbing if I wasn't so freaked out. The adrenaline pumping in my veins. Holy shit. Holy shit. It's late, almost ten. What can I do? Who should I call? Vicki obviously. I wrap one of Ellen's fluffy towels around my body, and dash into the bedroom, retrieving my mobile phone and calling Vicki in a panic. It rings forever. "Hi sunshine," she answers, sounding weary. "What's up?" "Oh thank God," I say quickly, too loudly. Kevin's voice. My voice. "Vicki I don't know what to do. My face is ... it's... coming off." "Oh is that all," she says, laughing. "Don't freak, ok? It'll be fine. Better now than half way through school, right?" She was right, of course she was right. I was starting to feel better already, I could feel my heart rate slowing. "Maybe what to do is take it off for tonight, put on some face cream and put it back on in the morning?" she says, yawning. "Take if off? How do I take it off?" I sit down on the bed, adjusting my towel. "You still got that solvent I gave you?" she asks. Of course. Yes, the solvent and the silicon glue. I left it downstairs. "Yes, of course. Yes, I have that," I reply, crossing my legs. "Sorry Vicki I should have... I just panicked." "That's okay sunshine. Just get some cotton wool and work around your eyes, mouth and neck, then start using cotton buds. Be careful not to tear it, but it'll come away in no time. Just clean the inside of it or any remaining glue. After that, I'd wet a towel, pop it in the microwave and put that on your face for a bit, and then moisturize and put some face cream on. Do you want me to come over in the morning to fix your face?" "Oh Vicki, that would be wonderful thank you," I say, breathing a huge sigh of relief and swapping the phone to my other ear. "I'll see you at six. Put some coffee on for me, okay honey," she says, yawning again. "Good night Ellen." "Good night," I reply, but she's hung up already. It takes another half hour to take the mask off, working slowly and carefully so I don't damage it. I get through two dozen cotton balls, and the same in cotton buds, along with two-thirds of the bottle of adhesive remover. The eyes come away first, and I start to move the buds under the fake skin, loosening more and more of the mask as Ellen's face distorts around my brow and cheekbones. I free the mask above my brow ridge, and it's not long before it hangs down free from my skin, attached to my nose and lips. The more of my face that's exposed, the quicker I work, until a last cotton bud dissolves the glue at my chin, and the mask comes away from my face. The boy in the mirror is alien to me: I haven't seen his face in a week. I watch the man in the mirror rub his chin, a woman's hand scratching the stubble on his chin. "Hello," I say, my voice sounding somewhere halfway between Ellen's and my own. I give a little cough and smile at myself, which only freaks me out -- Ellen's bright feminine teeth in my mouth is a little disconcerting. I wrap my robe around my chest, better to ignore the curvy woman's body that's incongruous with my twenty-something man's face. The hot towel helps. It feels amazing to have something on my skin after a week. I slather my face with cream and feel the tightness in my skin melt away. I exfoliate. I moisturize. Kevin's face has never had so much attention. My skin is shiny and glowing, cool and relaxed when I finally sit down on the couch to review my lesson plan for tomorrow, still just wearing Ellen's robe. I've another class with Andrew and Melanie I notice -- more of the Great Gatsby. To be honest, I'd just included it because I'd learnt it around that age, and the themes of the decline of the american dream told via a unrequited love story was fairly straightforward to teach, or so I thought. What was interesting was that after even just one class I was changing my mind. That maybe I should have aimed for something else for these young adults. Something more interesting. More contemporary. Looking at my plan, all my choices were very safe. I was spending so much time worrying about being Ellen Bennet, I wasn't worrying about being a good english teacher. From what Ellen had said to me on the phone earlier, she wasn't coming home any time soon. I had to up my game. I lay down my planner on the table, resolving to make some time to consider my students and to do what was right for them. Melanie was a good kid, I was sure, although her behaviour was a bit intense. I thought back to the episode in the car, when she'd looked at me; through me almost. I pick up my diary and write a note to remind me to find out her history.