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

The Lesson Plan -- Part Two: Supply Teacher Thursday: Sex Education Chapter 16 "Good morning!" I welcome Vicki into the house, out of the dark cold morning and into the warmth and light. She looks tired, if I'm honest, and slightly irritated that I appear to be fresh as a daisy and awake. What she doesn't know is that I've been having to get up this early every morning for the last week. This is normal for me. "Coffee?" I ask with a smile, drawing my robe around me and bustling into the kitchen. "You're bright and cheery this morning, sunshine," Vicki says, laying down her makeup bag on the kitchen counter and taking a mug of filter coffee from me gratefully. I watch as she takes a sip, closing her eyes and drawing a deep breath. "Not bad. You know Ellen can't make a decent cup of coffee to save her life." We get to work and I'm happy that rather than apply the mask herself, she wants me to do it, and is happy to offer advice and to watch. In Ellen's room we sit at her vanity, and I'm shown where to apply the glue, how to check the mask is in position, and how to blend the eyes and around the ears and chin. Ellen's face replaces mine in no time at all -- a blank canvas for my usual routine of foundation, powder, eyeshadow, liquid liner, blush and lipstick. Vicki watches as I work, and we chat like old friends, my voice slipping into Ellen's almost effortlessly now. I tell her about school, and the news from the real Ellen, and about Wayne. It's only when I pause to blot my lipstick that I realise I've told her that I've kissed a man. "You do that really well," she says, a smile on her lips. "I might get you to come into the salon next time we've got a wedding and you can help with the bridesmaids, like your aunt used to do." I stand up and undo my robe, slipping it off my shoulders and laying it on the chair. I'm already wearing my aunt's underwear: a white full cup bra and matching white panties, a suspender belt I found at the back of a drawer clipped to white sheer stockings. "Of course, I'd be happy to, after all you're doing for me," I say, reaching for the blue sheath dress I'd already decided to wear today. It was long, below the knee, with a thick zip that ran all the way up the back and a jewel neck. Very work appropriate. "Honey, your garters should go under your panties," she says, still smiling. "It makes it easier to go to the bathroom." Before I can say anything, I feel her fingers on the exposed skin of my thigh, unclipping the elastic straps. "Are you getting dressed up for anyone?" she asks, looking up at me. Everyone, I want to say. I'm getting dressed up for everyone. For you, for Wayne, for school, for Shayna. "I just thought white would go with this dress, and I didn't have any other hose," I answer, keeping still as she unclips my other thigh. "Ellen didn't," Vicki says, sitting back. "You said you didn't. You mean Ellen." She's not judging me, there's no meanness in her voice, or suspicion, or anything other than just a gentle probing that I find a little difficult to deal with. Vicki's backstage. I have to remember that. She isn't fooled by the performance. "Well, both," I say with a smile, reaching down to tuck the straps through the waistband of my underwear. "I've got something for you," she says, reaching into her bag. "Before you get started there. Hang on." She pulls out something triangular, thin and flesh colored, wrapped in plastic that flops as she unwraps it. "I know you said no hands were going up your skirt, but I thought, maybe, after the other day in the salon..." I take the new prosthetic from her and turn it over in my hands, pausing to stroke the neat patch of soft fur crowning a very realistic looking labia. It feels more padded that I was expecting, and I realise it will make me a little rounded like other women my aunt's age, whilst also hiding my sex. Turning it over I see an arrangement of tubes in the silicone. "Vicki, I don't know what to say," I say softly. The possibilities are thrilling, I'm thinking. The ultimate test. I could be naked with other women. Or men. "You want to give it a whirl? Really see what life is like on the other side?" My panties are down at my ankles before she'd finished asking. Chapter 17 Observing my Aunt Ellen in preparation for this role, I was keen to make sure I copied not just her voice and her spirit, but her movements. Those movements -- from the roll of her hips as she walked to the grace of her fingers as she absently brushed her hair behind her ear -- were what made her real. What I came to appreciate quickly is that a great deal of these movements are a consequence of her sense of style and the clothes she wears, and that these constant small feminine gestures are subconscious: a small but important part of the sisterhood. I make thousands of these little gestures every day now. A finger slides under a bra strap to move it to a more comfortable position on my shoulder; I tug up my pantyhose at the thigh, to better fit the gusset to my crotch; I twist a skirt back into place, the zip having slid around from my behind to dig into my hip; I smooth the back of a dress against my ass when I sit to stop it wrinkling; I hold the sides of a skirt to stop the wind from flashing my underwear to the world. There are a thousand little movements I make to keep comfortable and decent automatically. And in doing so I demonstrate to the world that I am a woman. As an actress, it's a gift. In the just short walk from the car to my classroom, I've decided that I hate wearing stockings with suspenders. My walk is transformed with each little tug of the stays against the welt. My stride feels spring- loaded. The three inch gap of exposed thigh flesh between the lacy stocking top and my panties is tingling with cold. I feel a clasp ping free -- obviously too close to the edge -- and I find myself reaching down and resting a hand on my thigh, tracing the elastic through my dress with my fingers and checking its not too serious. I look up and catch sight of an older student -- Melanie in fact, I notice after a moment -- who gives me a knowing smile and a theatrical roll of her eyes. We are women because we share these experiences. And we share these experiences because we are women. "Good morning, Mrs Bennett," she says cheerfully, taking her white earbuds out and letting them dangle on her blouse. "Good morning Melanie," I reply, letting go of my thigh and correcting my posture. "And it's just 'Miss'. There's no Mr Bennet. How are you this morning?" I ask, walking in step with the younger girl. There's a youthful bounce about her I have to fight the urge to emulate as we walk together. "Good thanks," she says, and I am standing so close I hear a snatch of the music playing from the tiny earbuds -- a little bit of the Hamilton soundtrack. "Oh I love Hamilton!" I gush. I daren't sing, I haven't practiced this voice for that. "I actually saw it in New York.." I begin to say, but Melande cuts me off. "Oh my God, you've seen it! I'm so jealous! That's amazing!" "I did," I say, giving a little Ellen chuckle. "I was lucky to get tickets from a friend who worked at the theatre. It was amazing. The music's great but the costumes, the theatre is what really makes it." We both hear the bell ring, calling us to start the day as we step through the doors, the hall thronging with kids of all ages. "Maybe we could talk about it some time?" I suggest. "I'd love to know what you think about it." "Definitely. Miss Bennet," she says, her face lit up. My first class of the day is another set of new students I didn't see yesterday, and so the performance starts again. "Hello, I'm Miss Bennet." Every so often the cold metal of the stocking clasp I haven't had time or privacy to fix touches my bare skin and makes me shiver. Another reminder, another feminine gesture. These kids are young and mostly eager to learn, and I find myself dialing up my Ellen to eleven, radiating warmth and motherly kindness to all as we read The Wind in The Willows together. Its recess before I have the time and privacy I need to fix my stocking. I sit at my desk, crossing my legs at the thigh, and slide the modest hem of the dress up over my stocking tops. I locate the wandering clasp and am about to fasten it to the top of my stocking when I have a Proustian moment triggered by the shaped, glistening red nails against the smokey nylons and the long, smooth well-shaped legs. I'm ten years old, and my aunt Ellen is staying with us at Christmas. And by us I mean me, my dad and my mom. Our house isn't too big, but it's warm and cozy, and Ellen, since she's visiting, has my room which we're sharing. She has the bed, and I have a sleeping bag. It's late, and I'm woken up by Ellen tiptoeing into the room. I'd gone to bed hours ago, leaving the adults to their wine and warm laughter. I don't stir, pretending to still be asleep, watching my aunt cross the room in the darkness. Moonlight bathes the room in a blueish light as she unzips her skirt, letting it fall and stepping out of it with a rustle. I watch, holding my breath as she sits on my bed and rolls down the nylon stockings she wears, her nail varnish glinting catching the light. I keep watching as she pulls on thick flannel pyjama bottoms, as she unbuttons her blouse and sits for a moment, her skin shining and satin to my young eyes, her brassiere on proud display. All too quickly, the matching pyjama top is on, and she reaches inside, fiddling for a few moments before pulling the bra out from an oversized sleeve. It seems enormous and unfamiliar to my boyish experience -- both frilly and feminine and rigid and sturdy; the two half moons of underwires keeping its shape even as she drops it to the ground, to join the bunched up stockings, skirt and blouse. She crawls into bed, under the covers, and turns away from me so I can't see her. Her clothes pile is just a foot away from me, and I softly, quietly, reach out from my sleeping bag to touch them, finding them still warm. Maybe I dreamt this memory, but I swear my aunt whispers in the darkness: "Goodnight Kevin." "Am I interrupting?" I look up, pulled out of my daydream by Wayne, my leading man, looking down at me with a kindly smile. He's not so much looking at me than looking at my creamy thighs, enjoying the same view I was a moment ago. "Sorry, I was miles away," I confess, clipping the suspender clasp securely to the stocking top and uncrossing my legs before drawing my dress down to my knees. I look up at him as I stand up, smoothing down the front of my dress. He looks very handsome in a three piece brown suit and white shirt. I wonder if he made the effort for me. "About last night," he starts, breaking eye contact with him for the first time since I've met him. "We shouldn't have...." his voice tails off. "No," I agree, gently. We really shouldn't have. But there was something so exciting about it, something so alluring in being wanted the way he obviously wanted me. Wanted Ellen. We stand together in silence, not looking at each other and I reach out with my hand to take his, my fingers gently touching him. Ah yes, this has consequences. "While you're here, Mister Chalmers," I say with a smile, looking up at him and letting my hand drop to my hip. "One of my students, I was wondering a little about her homelife." "Oh?" He asks, his tone changed -- relief mixed with authority. "Which one?" I wonder now if he's been anxious about this all night, since I left. If he spent the night trying to think of what to say? If he'd blown his chance with me? I wonder how many years he's held a candle for Ellen, only for me to come along and make it burn brightly. "Melanie Anderson, she's in 11th grade." "Oh. Melanie," he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "She's had an interesting summer. I had a call from her mother asking the school counselor to keep an eye on her. I think her dad abandoned them, from what I can gather. She was never the most gregarious of kids to begin with, but her mom was worried she'd just hide inside herself. If you can get through to her, Ellen. That would be something." "She seems to like musicals," I say, leaning back on the edge of my desk. "Maybe theatre?" "We did have a drama department, years ago, but you know how it is. I had to fight for the music department, never mind anything else. Are you offering? Or what about that nephew of yours you were telling me about. Kevin?" "What about him?" I ask, calm as can be. "He's an actor. He's living with you. You said he could teach. How'd he feel about doing some after school club or something? You could do it together." "Uh, sure," I say, "Sure. I'll ask him. Do you think there's enough kids here that would want to do that?" "Probably. You never can tell. Depends what play you wanted to put on. If you got enough kids though, I'm sure I could get you some funding. Not much, but... you know. We have a stage and curtains! That was enough for us when we were kids," Wayne smiles, lost in the memory. We acted together when we were younger? I really need to talk to Ellen and figure out what their history is. "Well anyway, think about it," he says, coming back to the present. He turns and starts to walk out of my classroom. "Could be fun." "I will," I say to his back as he leaves. My eyes drift involuntarily downwards to his ass. "Thanks Wayne." Chapter 18 I was nervous, so help me. Rather than pick up Shayna from work we'd agreed to meet for coffee near Fancy Nancy's and I was early. To everyone else in the coffee shop I was a middle-aged woman, slowly drinking a cafe latte out of a tall glass mug and staring into space, occasionally turning to look whenever someone came in. If anyone was paying attention to me, they might have noticed that I'd checked my makeup in my compact more than once since sitting down. If you were paying attention, you might have concluded that I was waiting for a date, but that a women my age might have been a little less worried about it; a woman my age should be a little more comfortable in her own skin. Maybe I should have gone home to change. I like this dress -- it's a good color on me, it looks professional without being too tight or revealing, and it's a good length for work -- but it's not really a date dress. Either the neckline should be lower or the hemline higher. I should have rushed home to change. I wonder what Shayna will be wearing. Oh God, listen to yourself. I'm so preoccupied with my own self doubt I don't notice Shayna arriving until she's at my table, beaming a wide smile and holding her arms wide to receive a hug. I push my chair back and almost trip over myself to embrace her, feeling surprise in the strength and duration of her hold. She's a good hugger, fully committed, and I close my eyes, almost purring at the warmth, safety and tenderness of it. I'm sad when she lets me go and kisses me on the cheek, muted through the mask. "Ellen!" she says brightly, sitting next to me rather than across the table. "Wow, Ellen, you look ..." she tails off, looking me up and down, taking in my made-up face, quickly put-up hair and my blue sheath dress. "You look amazing." She finishes, meeting my gaze, her cheeks flushed. "Aw Shayna, you're always so sweet. I love your outfit, you look so beautiful." It's almost too easy to slip into Ellen; easier than trying to be myself dressed like this. As I compliment her, I reach out, touching her wrist with my fingers in a gesture I've seen my aunt do hundreds of times with her girlfriends. I mean it though, she does look beautiful. Her blue skinny jeans are so tight as to be almost painted on, paired with knee length brown boots and a simple loose white top. Her boots match a small leather jacket and handbag. Her long blonde hair has been styled into loose curls that frame her heart-shaped face perfectly. "I love what you've done with your hair," I add with an Ellen smile. "Thank you, that's cute," she says, blushing adorably. My fingers are still on her wrist, and she makes no sign of wanting me to move. "How's Kevin doing?" she asks, raising her eyebrows. "Kevin's doing good I think. He says hi" I say, finishing my latte. "How do you think Kevin's doing?" She laughs, a great warm melody of a laugh that makes me feel warm and happy all over. "I think he's doing superbly," she says, moving her wrist to take my hand. "Almost unbelievably well. How was school today, Ellen?" We sit together, holding hands, and talk about our days like old friends. I don't break character once, and Shayna, to her credit and despite several innuendos, manages to talk to me as Ellen throughout. Only her fixed smile would alert anyone watching that there was anything out of the ordinary. Well, that and the loud thumping of my heart in my chest. "What's it like?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Being? You know." She looks me up and down and raises her eyebrows, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Being what?" I reply, faux innocently, suddenly intensely mindful of all the people around us. "A woman," she says casually, taking a drink of her coffee and studying me. It's a good question. Not least of all because I haven't really thought about it like that. What is it like? So far it's been exciting, and scary. It's been unfamiliar, and different. It's been ... fun. "I don't know," I reply honestly. "Oh come on Ke...." I squeeze her arm, my eyes flashing. "Shit sorry. Come on though, Ellen," she says, leaning forward, closer to me. "You must have some ... I mean, this is so awesome. Do you... like it?" "Maybe we could go somewhere else?" I say, keeping Ellen's voice light and chatty as I brush my hair behind my ear and lean in towards Shayna. "I think I like it," I whisper, Kevin's voice sounding like gravel in comparison to my aunt. "But I'm not sure." Shayna's mouth drops open, her face betraying an almost childlike delight. "Come on then," she says, getting her things together. "Let's go." We leave the coffee shop arm in arm, my heels making us both about the same height. "I wasn't kidding," she says to me as we walk along the street. "I'm really going shopping." My aunt's closet has enough dresses, skirts, blouses and shoes to fill a small to medium boutique. Women of a certain age (and certain size) would be very at home there, and sure to pick up something from a designer brand to something a little less exclusive. My aunt was an equal opportunities fashionista. If it looked good on her, she'd buy it and find an excuse to wear it later. What this meant though was that I had never needed to go shopping for clothes for Ellen. We've barely walked for five minutes before we enter our first shop. It's trendy but low budget, full to bursting with lots of different clothes all in no real order in racks and on tables. The music is alternative: a female singer and guitar I don't recognise. It's also clear to me that Ellen is too old for this place by about twenty years. All the staff and customers are young women, and I worry for a second that I might run into a student here. I feel hugely uncomfortable as we cross the threshold, like an invader in a foreign land, but one glance in one of the many tall mirrors decorating the exposed brickwork walls calms my nerves. I'm Ellen Bennet. Forty two. But I look young for my age. "So I meant it earlier," Shayna says to me, as she takes a top out from the rack and inspects the pattern. "That dress looks amazing on you. And so I wondered," she puts the top back where she found it. "Are you like, putting your own outfits together or have you got help?" Her tone is friendly, playful, salon-gossipy -- just the sound of two women shopping and chatting. It's perfect. We could talk about anything and no one would pay any attention. "You're so sweet," I gush, mimicking the girly conversational tone. "I've had this dress for a while and just love how it fits me." I follow her lead, taking a closer look at a short denim skirt hanging nearby. It's much too young for me, I decide, putting it back. "But to answer your question, no, I pick out my own outfits. I've been reading a lot of fashion magazines." "I knew it! I thought the other day you looked great too." I blush under the mask. "Help me," she says smiling. "I'm terrible at dressing myself. Help me be stylish like you." "Are you making fun of me?" I say. "You look great." My phone starts to vibrate in my purse. I glance down and check the screen. Wayne. I let it ring out to voicemail. "So this," she says, gesturing at her top with both hands, "is the only date outfit I have really. I'm a jeans and top girl." I watch as she walks past me towards some flimsy blue flowery dresses. I can't help but admire her ass, pert and round in those tight skinny jeans as she goes by. Wait, did she say date outfit? "So are you looking for a date outfit?" I ask, rubbing the dress fabric between my fingers. Compared with Ellen's dresses this is cheap and almost transparent. "Because this is... not it." "Maybe," she says, turning her head to look at me, her pretty green eyes sparkling. "What's wrong with this?" She takes one of the summer dresses off the rack -- a smaller size than I would wear, I notice -- and holds it up against her, turning to find a mirror. "Blue's not a good dominant color for you, with your hair and eyes," I say. "Besides, for a date you need..." I tail off, looking around the store for something better, and spot something that might work. Leaving her standing there I go off hunting and start to browse with purpose. I find one, two dresses in a few minutes that I think would suit her, and turn around to find her watching me, arms folded, with a huge smile. "They're both red," she says simply as I hand her the two dresses -- one cami dress in a deep claret, one mini wool dress. I watch as she checks the label on both. "And they're my size. Why I am I not surprised that you know my size. Okay, let's see." The changing rooms are off to the side of the store, next to an area devoted to bras, panties and socks, and guarded by a shop assistant in a headset. "Just the two?" she asks as Shayna approaches. "Your Mom can sit here if she wants," she adds, gesturing to an empty chair nearby. "Yeah 'Mom'," Shayna says, grinning and looking over her shoulder as the sales assistant takes her inside the changing room area. "You wait here, okay? 'Mom'." "Thanks sweetie," I reply in saccharin tones watching her go. Study, study, study. My acting training comes back to mind as I turn away from the changing rooms and back towards the shop floor, and the young women shopping. It's a different world, I decide, as I walk over to the cotton bras and panty sets nearby: a neat row with pink and black polka dots. They all seem tiny in comparison to the bra and panties I'm currently wearing, with cute little cups and more flimsy fabric. Ellen isn't a plus size, but she is a curvy woman, and so in this shop I have to squat down and balance on my heels to find a set that would fit me. I feel oddly depressed for a moment, and jealous of these slender, confident young women who can wear these cute little things. What the hell, I think, standing up, bra and panty set in hand. Mom indeed. I could wear the hell out of anything in here. I'm about to go looking for a cheap dress to wear to prove my point when I see Shayna emerging from the changing room. "Hey 'Mom'!" she calls over to me. "What do you think?" Shayna has tried on the claret wool mini dress first, with it's round neckline, 3/4 length sleeves and thigh-length hemline. She stands in a model pose, one hand on a jutted out hip, her blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders. She looks so beautiful I can barely speak. "Wow," I whisper, taking a step towards her, almost stumbling in my heels. "That looks lovely!" I say, louder, regaining my walk, my character. "Turn around, let's see the back," I add, as I get closer to her. Pushing my luck. But she obliges, giving me a twirl that sets my pulse racing even faster. "Do you think it's a bit short?" She asks, genuinely, tugging at the stretching wool of her hemline over long bare legs. "Well, the other dress is longer, if you want to try that?" I offer, playing the part while in my mind the rest of the store watches. "Sure," she says, and I swear she gives me a wink as she turns and struts back into the changing room. I watch, open mouthed, as her ass moves under the stretching fabric of the dress. "Do you want to try those on?" the sales assistant asks me. I look down to see I'm still holding the bra and panty set -- cute in pink and black polka dots. Before I can answer she's ushering me into the forbidden world of women's changing rooms, down a short corridor and into a changing room of my own -- a small box of a room with a curtain, a shelf, two hooks and a huge mirror. "Just let me know if you want any other sizes," she says as she goes, drawing the curtain and leaving me alone. Ellen is reflected back at me: her long chestnut hair, her bright blue eyes, her beauty spot, her cartoon hourglass figure. I watched her look down at the underwear in her hand and give a little chuckle. There was no one here, no one to witness the performance. No one, except me. Why not? I watch as Ellen hangs the plastic hanger on the hook, steps out of her heels, and reaches behind her back to the large zip that runs the length of her dress. She gives a little wriggle, pushing the zip down, then reverses her arms, reaching up this time to pull the zip down. In the mirror, the well-fitting shift dress starts to wrinkle at the chest, then the waist, then the hips. She stops at her butt, then slips one arm, and then the other, out of the arms of the dress. This isn't a strip tease, this is just a woman, in a changing room. Ellen steps out of the dress, and folds it neatly on the shelf, unconcerned than she is in her underwear. She's not embarrassed. She takes her time. This is a woman's changing room, and she is a woman. Shayna had asked me what it was like. The truth is I hadn't allowed myself to think about it. It was never what this was about. I was doing this to help out my aunt, and to make some money. When I agreed to this and set down my conditions, I'd said I'd wanted to look as authentic as possible. My aunt, sexy and beautiful in simple white underwear in the mirror was the proof of that. But being a woman was more than her clothes, more than her body -- it's her experiences. I watch as Ellen reaches behind her and unhooks the band of her full cup white brassiere, slides the thick nylon straps down her arms, and removes it from her chest, laying it carefully on top of the folded dress. I see the red marks of the underwires under each breast, and watch as she watches, as she turns, to see her own half-naked profile in the mirror, as so many other women will have done in this little room. I give my soft, round butt a squeeze through the tight white panties, giving it a little lift before running my thumbs under the seams. I should wear more pants, I think. I've got the ass for it. Outside, beyond the curtain, I hear another girl being escorted to a cubicle, chatting happily with the sales assistant. She leaves her with a swoosh of the curtain, and the girl wastes no time in unzipping something, and rustling as she gets undressed. At the same time, another curtain, further away, is drawn back, and I hear someone walk by. I take the bra off the hanger, turning it over in my hands. The cups are moulded and stiff -- unlike any my aunt has in her drawer -- with a frilly trim and a little bow at the center. I can already tell the straps will be too short, and set to lengthening them before I try it on. Outside the curtain, I hear snippets of a conversation getting louder. "She went to try something on, I think she's in number seven." "Ellen, are you in here?" Shayna's voice from the other side of the curtain. "I won't be long," I call out slightly hysterically, turning to face the curtain just in time for it to be opened. Shayna and the shop assistant stand there, looking in for a second. Shayna wears the other dress I picked out -- long and stretchy tight and bright red with spaghetti straps. The assistant simply turns and walks away, and Shayna steps into the cubicle with me, drawing the curtain behind her. "What do you think?" she asks, as if this is the most normal situation in the world and I wasn't standing topless just two inches away from her. "Did you see the back of this? It's a crisscross." She turns on the spot so I can see her almost bare back -- her skin is, I notice, flawless. "I'm not sure about it. Also, I'd have to go braless which ... oh that's cute." She reaches down and takes the pink and black polka-dot bra from me, turning it over in her hand as I was doing a moment ago. "This is a bit... young... for you?" she says, holding the large bra cups up against her own chest. "I like it," she adds, taking a closer look at the tag. I watch as she sticks her head out around the curtain and calls for the assistant, asking for the bra and panty set in her size. "This dress though, this is totally you," she says with a mischievous smile. "You should try it on." Shayna bends down a little at the waist and takes a hold of the bottom of the dress, wriggles it up her thighs, over her hips, and pulls it up and over her body in one smooth, perfect movement that sends her blonde hair flying. As she turns the dress the outside in I can't help but stare at her nearly naked body -- her smooth skin, her gentle curves, her effortless femininity. Her long legs are perfectly smooth, topped by a pair of purple thong panties, tight against her slim hips. Her bare breasts are not too large, soft, natural and utterly beautiful. By some miracle, I manage to look up to make eye contact just as she does. "It's just us girls, right?" she says grinning, as she hands me the still-warm dress. "I think your tits will look better in this than mine anyway," she adds, looking down at my bare breasts, which now seem too large, too unnaturally perky, too fake next to this real life goddess. "Just us girls," I reply with my best Ellen smile, trying anything to ignore the butterflies in my stomach, the dryness of my mouth, and the warmth between my legs. I bunch the dress up and drop it over my head, sliding my arms through the thin straps and wiggling it down my curvier body. It feels tight -- too tight -- but it's stretchy. "For the record," I say, as I shimmy the tight fabric over my hips and down to below my knees, "your tits looked amazing in this." I turn to face the mirror, my back to Shayna, and fuss with the dress, tugging it into position. It does look good on me, I admit. I'm about to say so when I feel Shayna's hands on my back, her fingers teasing the crisscross straps into place. Her touch is gentle, tender, and almost sends me over the edge. "What do you think?" I ask as I smooth the dress over my round hips, looking at Shayna in the mirror. "Ignore the white stockings," I add with an wrinkle of my nose. "I was gonna say about the stockings. Very sexy," she says, in such a way i'm not sure if she's flirting with me or joking. "That dress is so you. Wow. That's so unfair." "Unfair?" I ask, laughing and turning around to face her. "What's unfair?" "You're a better woman than I am," she pouts. I'm about to reply when the sales assistant returns, pushing a matching bra and panty set through the curtain with a cheerful "here you are!" and leaving when Shayna takes them from her. "Does no-one care we're in here together?" I ask in a whisper. "Why would they?" Shayna replies, taking the bra off the hanger and attempting to try it on, before realizing the straps are too short. "It's just us girls," she says, looking at me with those deep green eyes. She's so close I can see the gooseflesh on her arms, the individual lashes on her eyes, and the gloss on her lips. I could kiss her, wrap my arms around her, and hold her. "It's a good job you're gay, isn't it?" she whispers with a chuckle, handing me her bra. "Can you do this?" "Sure," I say brightly, hiding my shock. I take the slightly smaller underwear from her and quickly lengthen the straps, guessing the size. She thinks I'm gay. She thinks I'm a gay man. Oh jesus. "See," she grins as I hand her it back and watch her slip it on easily. "You're a better woman than I am." Chapter 19 "I am not," I protest, setting down the two crystal glasses and the bottle of Prosecco on the coffee table. I pour more than is recommended into each glass and hand one to Shayna, who is sat on the edge of aunt Ellen's sofa in aunt Ellen's living room, and is currently on the 'phone. I take a drink from my own glass and sit on the nearby chair, unconsciously smoothing my dress behind me with my free hand, and sitting cross legged at the thigh, my white nylon stockings rasping. "I am not squandering this opportunity." "Yes that's one vegetarian and one meat feast thank you," Shayna confirms, looking down at the takeout menu on the coffee table. "Shush," she adds, taking a drink and scolding me with a playful glance. "No, not you. That's fine, thank you! Bye!" I watch as she sets the phone down on the table and effortlessly moves her limbs into sitting cross-legged on the couch. "I think you are," she says once settled. "I think, if I were in your shoes, I'd be... I don't know. Out there." "In my shoes?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. My shoes right at this minute are in a pile at the front door, kicked off with a happy sigh the moment we reached my house. Shayna had taken my lead, having unzipped her boots in support. "Yeah. Like, If I were suddenly able to be a gorgeous, flawless man. I would, you know, do stuff." "You think I'm gorgeous and flawless?" I ask, with a grin. "You know what I mean," she replies with a theatrical roll of her bright eyes. "And I do actually. It's amazing to me that you're..." She pauses, her cheeks flushed, and takes a sip of prosecco. "Anyway, I would want to know all about being a man. I would do all the guy things. I would want to be with men, and find out how men are." "Are you saying I should spend more time with women?" "Yes! Invade all the sacred spaces. God, I'm amazed you haven't already. I'd have at least gone to the gym. All those naked people, unaware." Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "We could go swimming. Can you swim? Are you water resistant?" "I think so, I'm not sure," I reply, lost in the thought of our night so far. Being in a woman's changing room had been so unlike anything else I'd ever experienced -- the intimacy, the trust, the whole experience had me buzzing. Experiencing that with women who didn't know I was acting seemed both wrong and really exciting. Vicki's gift this morning certainly made it possible. "I think I'd be too scared," I say, honestly. "Scared? Of what?" Shayna asks. "Of being found out," I reply simply, taking a drink and resting the glass on my knee. "All week I've been worried about being found out." "You are kidding!" she says, with a laugh. She looks so pretty when she laughs. "Honestly," I say. "Okay," she says, leaning forward, "ignoring for a moment that even though there's just you and me here, you're still sitting like her, drinking like her and talking like her, so much so that it's hurting my brain. Ignoring that you've been teaching classes of kids for the week. Ignoring all that, remember that I still wanted to give you a bikini wax earlier this week!" Ignoring that I'd hugged a guy, kissed a guy, given a guy a blow job. "Vicki said I could maybe help out in the salon. Like Ellen," I say, changing the subject. "That's a great idea," Shayna sits back, grabbing her glass as she gets comfortable on the sofa. "I mean, you could do makeup at least. You're really good at it. I mean, it's a bit on the heavy side..." she gives me that mischievous look again and my heart melts. "And that would be such a good way to be with other women. Just talk to them, hear their stories. Honestly, Ellen, women are so different when there's no men around." Ellen. I let that pass. "Men are so different too," I say, taking a drink. "The way they are around me. I feel that I'm being looked at all the time. Appraised. It's a lot more attention that I'm used to!" I laugh. "I was scared at first but now, well, some of that attention is quite validating." "What sort of attention?" she asks. "Just, you know, how they look at me or talk to me," I reply. "I was out for drinks with Miranda and this one guy was hitting on me really hard. It was different." "Ooh interesting! Did you flirt back?" She takes a drink, eyes locked on me. I think of that conversation with Tom. I was a little tipsy, but not out of control. I remember laughing, touching him, smiling, and, if I was honest, loving every minute of it. "Well," I say, "he did buy me a drink. It would have been rude not to." "See! This is what I'm talking about," Shayna almost squeals with excitement, her Prosecco sloshing in her glass. "Did you kiss him? Did he kiss you?" "I didn't kiss him," I say, uncrossing my legs and feeling a little bump of my suspender clip against my skin. It would be quite nice to get out of these clothes and into something more comfortable. "Or do anything else with him," I clarify hastily, inadvertently putting stress on the word 'him.' "Him. But... with another guy? Ellen, don't hold out on me!" Shayna drains her glass and unfolds herself from the couch, scooching towards the table and waiting bottle. Her loose top flows around her, occasionally giving a sense of the shape of the woman underneath in teasing fashion. I wonder if she'd let me borrow it? "I think I'm going to get changed, if that's okay?" I say, ducking the question and standing up, straightening my dress. "I'd quite like to get out of my work clothes." "Sure," she says, setting down the bottle and standing up, glass in hand. "I'll come too. I love Ellen's closet. So, come on, spill!" "Uh," I say, taking a deep breath and smiling -- my quick way of finding Ellen again. This wasn't what I had in mind. I shook away the panic, remembering the state of the bedroom. This wasn't a stranger, Shayna knew who I was. She knew Ellen. It was, after all, just us girls. Maybe she did this all the time? One thing was certain, she wasn't going to let me get away with ignoring the question. On the other hand, it would be nice to talk about it with someone. "Well," I said, climbing the stairs, "yeah there has been someone." "Holy fuck Ellen, it's been a week!" Shayna laughs behind me. "I haven't had a date in 2 months." She called me Ellen again. "Shayna," I say, "I can't believe you couldn't get a date in 2 minutes if you wanted one. Anyway, this was someone at work, it's not like I've been out cruising bars since last Friday." It's fair to say that I am not as neat as the real Ellen. Her bedroom and closet was always so tidy it could have been part of a catalogue shoot. Even by my usual messy standards, the room that greeted us was very lived in. The bed was unmade, cushions scattered on the floor, my robe from this morning lying discarded on the corner. My makeup table was overrun with brushes, tubes and cotton balls. "Aw this looks like my room," Shayna says, breezing past me, setting her glass down on my bedside table and looking around. "After I've tidied," she adds with a conspiratorial smirk. "Do you want help with your zip?" "Oh be a doll," I say, hopefully sounding like Ellen -- hopefully hiding my nervousness -- and turning to face away from her, my hands resting by my hips, one knee slightly bent. Shayna appears behind me and rests a warm hand lightly on my shoulder, and I quickly feel the gentle tug of the zip as she draws it down my back. I had thought she might just unzip me enough that I don't have to stretch, but she slowly and wordlessly unzips my dress all the way down to the curve of my ass. I realise I'm holding my breath, not moving, not daring to do anything. "Thank you," I say, my voice almost a whisper. I have to relax. I have to pretend this is the most natural thing in the world. I'm trembling. "That's okay," she says in my ear, her hand still on my shoulder for a beat too long. "It's always easier with someone else," she continues, letting me go and stepping away. "I do love that dress. I don't think I've seen you... seen Ellen... in it before." I close my eyes and take a deep breath, my chest rising and falling in my line of sight, and I hear her take up her glass and walk through into the closet. "Someone at work huh?" She calls out. I don't turn around, but wriggle the dress down over my hips and let it fall onto the floor, dangerously close to strip tease. I'm showing off for her. Showing off my fake body. What am I thinking? I wish, right now, that I'd brought some of that Prosecco up with me. I turn around and casually walk to the bed and sit down -- in full view of Shayna. Nothing strange about this at all. Nothing sexy. "Well, it happened really fast," I say, reaching down to unclip my white stockings one strap at a time. "We were just talking and then, well, he kissed me. And then I didn't know what to do and if I was supposed to be kissing him so, well, I did it a few more times." I give a little laugh, that sounds forced even to me, and roll one stocking down my smooth leg. I ball it up and throw it towards the washing basket, but miss. "So, wait, you were just talking? And then he kissed you? At school?" Shayna asks, ignoring the show going on and taking a floral skirt off the clothes rail as I get to work on the other thigh. "And have you seen him since? Did you like it? Was it different from, like, other guys you've kissed?" I watch as she holds it up next to her. "Wow, all the questions!" I laugh, raising my thigh a little to reach the clasp underneath. "Yes, at school. I think he and I have some sort of history so I don't think I have sexy flirting super powers or anything. We were just talking and then I felt like it's what I should do so I did it." I roll the other stocking down and throw it to meet its partner. "And, yes, I went round to his house," I admit, reaching behind me to undo the clasp on the suspender belt. "You went to his house? Oh my god, this is Principal Chalmers isn't it? This was last night? Fuck Ellen." Shayna is open mouthed, shaking her head in disbelief. "I didn't know what to do," I confess, the suspender belt falling away, leaving two red marks around my middle which I rub absently. I stand up and walk into the closet, passed Shayna and over to my makeup table. "I was just doing what I thought Ellen would have done." I watch as Ellen Bennet, in just her white bra and panties, sits down and leans into the mirror, carefully removing her fake eyelashes. "Fuck. Did you have sex?" Shayna asks enthusiastically. I dab some lotion onto a cloudy cotton ball and gently draw it across my eyelids, the subtle color smearing off my face. I'm Ellen Bennet. I'm a forty-two year old woman, and I'm gossiping with my girlfriend. "What sort of girl do you think I am? Shayna!" I reply, checking my mask in the mirror. "But we did... fool around a little." "Fooled around! Amazing!" Shayna barks out a laugh. "He didn't know? Like, when you say fooled around do you mean what? Second base? Third?" "What am I? Twelve?" I laugh. "Hey if you're going to third base when you were twelve, I know exactly what sort of girl you are," Shayna giggles, taking a drink and setting the glass down on my already crowded makeup station. "Well, ok, how about I say I got to second." It feels like leaping off a building to make that confession. My chest tightens, my breathing deepens. "Do you think this skirt is really cute?" Shayna asks me, holding it up against her and looking at herself in the full length mirror. It's a white pencil skirt, with a large purple flower print on it. I've never seen Ellen wear it -- It looks so small that there's no way Ellen's ass would fit in it -- but now I see it out it looks great, and perfectly matched with Shayna's top. Before I can answer, she's already unbuttoning her skinny jeans to try it on. "So is Ellen going to see him again?" she asks, bending over and rolling the jeans down her pantyhose. In the full length mirror I watch her perfect ass present itself, purple panties and tights stretched over round pert buttocks. "And more to the point," she says, stepping out of the jeans and standing up straight. "How does Kevin feel about it?" How does Kevin feel about it? Kevin feels confused and excited, accomplished and scared. He feels like this is all more than he bargained for, and also that he's not doing enough. He feels that he's lost his own agency by second guessing what Ellen would do. He feels sexy. He feels beautiful. He feels a swelling pressure between his legs. And finally he feels he can't say any of this because currently he's playing the part of Kevin Daly, accomplished gay actor. "Kevin?" she says, smiling kindly at me. "It's okay. You can be Kevin with me." "Kevin's freaking out a little bit," I say, turning around on the stool to face Shayna, still using Ellen's voice. Ellen's smile. "I'm freaking out, a little bit," I repeat, concentrating to drop my voice in pitch, to move my speech into my chest, to ignore the reminders that keep me Ellen. "Even when I'm on my own I can't stop," I confess. "Oh you're not okay are you?" she says, barely a question, as she instinctively steps towards me and wraps her arms around me, bending at the knee and hugging me close. I close my eyes and sigh, relaxing into her comforting arms, and feel her stroking my hair. "That's so nice," I whisper, but she shushes me, holding me for a moment before sitting next to me with a soft 'scoot your ass over' and we hug, our bodies turned towards the other, touching legs and hips, arms and sides, faces and shoulders. "Kevin," she says softly after an age, "can I ask you something?" "Sure," I reply, my face inches away from hers, gradually aware of how close we are. The warmth of her skin against my bare legs, her silk top against my arm. "Are you really gay?" In answer, I tilt my head, lean towards her, close my eyes and brush her soft ruby lips with my own. Tentatively at first, a little push to ask, 'ok?" I feel a little push in return. 'More than ok'. Instantly, I push harder, parting my lips and feeling her push back against me. A kiss. Her tongue slips inside my mouth, welcome and urgent. My hand moves to her waist, finding her warm and slender beneath her top. We kiss, and the rest of the world falls away. "Oh I was hoping you'd do that," she sighs happily after our lips part, our eyes locked. "You should have done it in the changing room," she says, all mischief. "Little tip, when I take you to a women's locker room: Don't stare at the naked people. You were like a cartoon, your eyes almost popped out of your head." She giggles, and leans in to kiss me again, moving her hand to touch my mask. "This is very weird," she says, her finger-tips probing my face gently. "Which part?" I ask with raised eyebrows. "The part where you look just exactly like my friend Ellen is a good start," she continues, looking closely at my mask. Looking for joins, for imperfections. Her fingers press against the cheekbones, the nose, the lips. "I know you're in there, but it's like... you know those pictures where you're looking at two things at once? Like the duck and a rabbit?" She laughs again, that gorgeous sweet girlish laugh. "Is any of this you?" I take her sweet elegant fingers and move them down to my neck and shoulders. "This is me," I say. "The face is all her." "I can't see the join," she says, staring so intently at me I begin to feel uncomfortable. "How easy is it to take off?" "Not that easy. It's a lot of solvent and patience. It's not like the movies, I'm afraid. And I've got school tomorrow," I add with a smile. "How much of the rest of you is... you?" she asks, moving her fingers slowly down my chest towards my brassiere. "Obviously, these aren't," she looks at me with a raised eyebrow, her hand moving over my soft, full breast, snug in its white cup. "Second base," she says, with a mock gasp. I reach behind my back and undo the hooks and eyes, releasing the tightness around my chest of the snug band. "Over the bra doesn't count," I say, slipping the straps from my shoulders and watching as Shayna takes over, removing my bra and turning her attention to my bare breasts like a curious schoolboy -- stroking, squeezing and cupping the fake flesh with a delighted smile on her lips. When she pinches the fake nipple, permanently puffy and dark, I let out a little gasp. "You felt that?" she asks, amazed. Her expression sours into an eye roll almost instantly as she looks at my teasing expression. "Pity," she adds, moving her hand down past my breast onto my stomach. "This is you right?" I nod, almost too preoccupied to answer, casting my mind back to the vision of her gorgeous tits in the changing room. "Stand up," she commands. I do as I'm told, rising slowly to face away from her, my prosthetic posterior at her eye level, almost fully covered by my white panties. "Your taste in middle-aged ladies underwear is on point, I'll give you that," she says, and I feel her hands on the fullest part of my hips. "Not you," she says, almost to herself, running her hands down to my thighs. "I guess here is where you start again?" "A little further down," I say before letting out a little giggle. I've always been ticklish above my knees, and Shayna's featherlight touch isn't helping. "Sorry! Wow, it's really hard to tell. Like, seriously, as long as you keep your panties on, no one would know." As she speaks I hook my thumbs into Ellen's panties and tug them down over my womanly rear, bending at the knee for effect before letting them fall to the ground. I kick them to one side, and turn around, naked, for Shayna to see. "Fucking hell!" she exclaims with a giggle, covering her mouth with her hand. "Kevin have you done something really drastic?" I don't need to look down to know what she sees -- a neat patch of soft curls on a gentle mound, and the lips of a vulva between my thighs: Vicki's gift to me this morning. The last piece of the female jigsaw. "What do you think?" I ask. "I think you're crazy. Or Vicki is. Wow," she says, leaning towards my feminised crotch. She slowly reaches out her hand, making to touch me, when the doorbell rings -- a loud piercing ringing that echoes throughout the house. "Shit," I say, moving away and out of the closet, picking up Ellen's robe from this morning, and tying it around my naked body. "Pizza guy," I say to Shayna, still frozen on the makeup table bench in the closet. "I'll be right back!" As I descend each step of the staircase, I focus on finding Ellen, shutting out Kevin and ignoring the hidden hardness between my legs. The unconstrained jiggling of my body helps, although it's the tightness of her clothes I've been using before. I slow down, finding her walk as I watch her feet land on each step, painted toenails glistening. "Just a minute," I say out loud, finding Ellen's voice again and fluffing my hair. As I reach the door I flash my best Ellen smile at the hall mirror, hoping to jump start my performance for the pizza guy as I pick up my purse. "Hi!" I say breezily, to the young man standing at the door holding two cardboard pizza boxes. "Hi Miss Bennet!" Andrew McCallister is delivering my pizza. Chapter 20 Time stops, and I watch Andrew slowly, obviously and deliberately look me up and down, from my painted toenails to my tousled hair. I see him committing this moment to memory -- the teacher he already had fantasised about, now in just her robe. Ellen's bathrobe is white and fluffy, thick and cosy and three quarter length, stopping just short of my knees. It has not one tie but two -- the thick belt outside, and also a thin inner ribbon for modesty, common in women's bathrobes. "Thank you Andrew," I say brightly. Carefree. Faking it. "What a surprise! I didn't know you had a after-school job." I daren't look anywhere but at his eyes, but I needn't bother. His gaze is elsewhere, staring at my chest so intently I might burst into flames. I've not been very good at using the inner ribbon, since I'm more used to just tying a robe around my waist as I normally would. But then, I don't normally have a woman's hips and boobs. Which is why, when I reach for the pizza boxes, the thick tie neatly loosens and my robe gapes open and I give Andrew one hell of a view. "Oh my goodness!" I almost shriek, hastily fixing the robe and retying the belt. "Why don't you come in, for a second, and I'll take care of you. Er, this. Okay?" I take three steps back into the house and gesture for him to come inside. "Okay Miss Bennet," he says, with a goofy grin on his face. "Sorry if I interrupted ... something?" He walks past me and into the living room, still carrying the pizzas. "This is a nice house Miss Bennet." "Thank you Andrew, just there will be fine," I say, opening my purse, taking out the money and watching him slowly putting the pizza boxes on the coffee table. He sets them down carefully and turns to face me, taking a step towards me. He's far too skinny for his uniform, which looks about 2 sizes too big for him. Still, he manages to make it look smart, tucking his shirt into his shorts and wearing the baseball cap proudly. I put myself in his shoes, thinking what I was like at his age, and what I would have done if one of my hot teachers had had a wardrobe malfunction. Much the same, I think to myself with a little inward smile. "Here you go, and here's a little extra." I say, giving him the cash and a healthy tip. "Thanks," he says, looking anywhere than my eyes. "Miss Bennet, about the other day. In class..." he starts, his unbroken voice faltering. "I'm really sorry." "That's okay Andrew. I know these things happen to boys your age," I say kindly, making to escort him out. "No harm done." "You're my favourite teacher Miss Bennet," he says, not moving, looking down and blushing. The poor boy. "Well that's very nice of you Andrew," I say, moving towards the door. "And for bringing the pizza. And I'll see you tomorrow?" "Ellen!" Shayna calls from upstairs. "Stop playing with the pizza boy and come back up here!" My face, my mask, is fixed, but I know how this looks. Hell, I know how this is. Andrew's eyes have gone as wide as saucers as jumps to some conclusions. The robe, the late-night pizza, the other woman, the tousled hair and my nakedness. It doesn't take a genius. "I have a friend over," I say, by way of unnecessary explanation. "Anyway, it was nice to see you Andrew," I start to walk to the door, and I'm grateful that he follows me. I'm less grateful when Shayna appears at the top of the stairs, although offer a silent prayer that she has at least put on the skirt she wanted to try and is dressed. "Oh, hello," she says with a smile. God she's pretty when she smiles. "Do you two know each other?" "Shayna, this is Andrew. One of my students," I say, with the emphasis on students. "What a coincidence isn't it?" "Hi," he waves, as I open the door again and usher him outside. "And bye I guess." "Goodnight Andrew, thanks again. Drive carefully!" I say as the door swings shut with a slam. Jesus Christ. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath and sighing until I feel Shayna's arms around me, holding me from behind. "Well, he's going to have a story to tell at school tomorrow," Shayna says eventually, giving me a squeeze. "Come on, the pizza is getting cold. Why'd you invite him in?" She asks, releasing me and going into the living room. "My robe," I start to explain, following her. "It feel open and I flashed him and I got flustered. I didn't know what to do." I'm still using my Ellen voice. "Oh my God," Shayna says, holding her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. "Wow, well. You've probably made his night," she opens both pizza boxes and takes a slice of the vegetarian one before sitting down. "Is he a good kid?" "I think so. Although the first class I taught with him in it I had to keep him back because he," I take a slice of the other pizza and sit down on the couch. "He got a boner staring at my ass." Shayna bursts out laughing at this, her whole face lighting up. "Well it is a nice ass! The kid's got taste," she says, taking a bite with a grin. "Although I hope he never finds out it's plastic. That's how fetishes start." "Speaking from experience?" I ask, taking a bite of my own pizza slice. "Maybe," she counters, wiggling her neatly shaped eyebrows. "You're back to being Ellen I notice," she says after a moment, reaching for another slice of pizza. "Not judging. Whatever's easiest for you. I know you're figuring all this out." "Tomorrow, after school, I'm taking all this off and having a weekend as Kevin," I say. "But while I have her body. Her face. It's easier to be her. Is that okay?" "Of course it's okay! I'm fascinated. I think it's amazing that you can impersonate her, I'm just worried about you a little bit. That's all." We eat in silence for a moment, before she says. "You don't sound so thrilled to be going back to being Kevin." I eat my pizza, and think. It's true, I didn't sound that thrilled. When you're on stage and everything's working, you don't want the show to be over. It's more than that too. I was having the time of my life. "I guess I'm enjoying myself," I admit. "I thought it was a crazy idea at first. But Ellen believed in me, and Vicki's makeup, and all the lessons...." I tail off, lost in thought. "After that first day and I saw you in the salon and you didn't know that I wasn't Ellen, that was the most thrilling thing. It's not about fooling people, it's that I can be someone else. I'm living her life, and.." I tail off again, my pizza slice hanging limply. "And?" she prompts me. "It's better than Kevin's." I finish the thought, crossing my legs. "Kevin is a unemployed drama graduate with nowhere to live and nothing going on. Ellen's life is so much more fun than that." "Okay," Shayna says, "I almost buy that except for one thing." "What's that?" I ask. "Why'd you wear stockings today?" she asks, with a curious smile. "Damn I left my glass upstairs. Hang on." I watch as she gets up off the armchair and walks through into the kitchen. The skirt looks great on her, I think. Why did I wear stockings today? I've shown them to lots of people -- Vicki, Wayne, Shayna. Vicki had asked who they were for too. What was so unusual about stockings? No one would have asked who I was wearing pantyhose for. Or socks. Shayna returns with another glass, and helps herself to some more Prosecco whilst filling my half-empty glass. "That skirt looks great on you," I say. "You should keep it." "Thanks," she laughs. "It's mine. I left it here last time I spent the night after too much Prosecco." I think back to the kiss, a few moments ago -- soft, tender, feminine. Her hands exploring my body, caressing, teasing. She wasn't looking for Kevin. She was looking for Ellen. "You and Ellen?" I ask, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow of my own. "Wow, no!," she exclaims, suddenly blushing into her wine glass. "I might have... Fuck it. I did develop a huge crush on her at the Salon and told her, drunkenly, one night. She was very flattered by my clumsy come on. Jesus, this is weird telling you this when you look just like her. Anyway, you didn't answer my question. Stockings." "I liked how my legs looked in them," I answer honestly. "I wore them because I thought they made me look sexy." "You looked sexy in your blue dress," Shayna counters. "And the red dress. And in that bathrobe. Because you're sexy. What I want to know is," I watch her put her glass on the table. "Is this a turn on for you?" "Which part?" I ask. "Pretending to be a woman or getting naked with you in the ladies changing room?" "You forgot getting to third base with your boss." "Trust me, I'll never forget getting to third base with Wayne," I say, brushing my hair behind my ear and sitting back. "I'm not ... I'm not doing this for kicks. I promise you. And I didn't grow up wanting to be a girl or being envious of other women." Except the other women in the store tonight, I think to myself but don't say out loud. "'Other' women," Shayna says with a smirk. "You know what I mean. I've been very respectful of my aunt." Shayna laughs, gently mocking me. "What the hell does that mean?" "I just mean I haven't, you know... taken advantage of her," I know I'm blushing under the mask. "Oh my God," Shayna giggles. "Ellen, you're a modern woman. It's important you know your own body. Wow..." She gets up off her chair, and takes the half-finished bottle of Prosecco. "Come with me." She reaches out her hand, and I take it, rising off the couch in a smooth motion, my heart beating loudly in my chest. Chapter 21 You can't believe your luck. Of all the people to deliver pizza to. This one delivery made this shitty job totally worth it. If only you'd had your phone at the ready, just to take a picture of her in that robe, so you could see it forever and ever. Oh my god, she's so fucking hot. Those tits, her legs! You replay the moment her robe fell open over and over in your mind, even though you didn't really see anything. In your imagination she's naked forever: perfect tits, neatly trimmed bush all on display for you to see. God she's so fucking hot. How could you possibly drive away, after seeing that. After seeing her hot friend. After noticing the curtains weren't closed. They just talk and eat pizza for a while, but when Miss Bennet crosses her legs in that tiny robe and you can see her creamy thick thighs. Well, it's almost heaven. Hidden in the bush in the garden, hand down your pants, you can't help but touch yourself looking at her, and thinking of that dress she wore and her ass. Oh jesus that big juicy ass. It's when they go upstairs, you have to see more. You have to. Thankfully there's a porch to climb on, a pipe to shimmy up, and no neighbours to look while you do it. It's dark. You have to see. You have to. You watch, quietly, as she takes off her robe the moment they step into the bedroom. You can't hear, but that doesn't matter. Holy shit, what a body for a woman that age. Large, still perky tits, with big puffy dark nipples; a slender, toned middle, and wide curving hips and thighs, all framing a neatly trimmed pussy. You can't help yourself this time, taking your hand out of your pants long enough to snap a photo on your phone. You take another picture when the thin blonde wiggles her cute ass out of that tight skirt, when she lifts up that white top, and takes off that girly polkadot bra, that seems to make both women laugh for some reason. Holy shit, you think, you can't believe what you're seeing. Miss Bennet is a fucking lesbian, and her girlfriend is hot too. You watch as they start to tenderly touch each other, cuddling at first, kissing, their hands stroking their sides. The slim blonde takes the lead though, directing Miss Bennet's hands to touch her own tits, to squeeze them, stroke them. Fucking hell. You're so hard right now, you daren't touch yourself. You fumble your phone to switch to taking a video and drop it, clattering loudly on the porch roof and down to the bushes below. Fuck. Shit. You hide, hunkering down, but the two women are too into each other to have noticed. You look into the bedroom again, and they've moved onto the large bed with Miss Bennet kissing the other woman, suckling her tits, kissing her stomach, and stroking her thighs. She buries her face between her legs, and even through the thick glass you can hear the blonde woman moaning and screaming. You guess Miss Bennet has done this before the way she goes at it. Yo