Sabbatical For The Soul -- Day 2: Girl Meets World free porn video

The boy stood by the doorway, peering cautiously into her room, beads of sweat forming on his brow. The sweat wasn't just from the sticky midsummer heat; it was also from anticipation. His mother was at work, and wouldn't back for a few hours. And a few days ago he'd just discovered her old clothes, stored high up in a corner of her closet. Finally working up the courage, he casually walked into her room. He was a cautious boy for his young age of eleven, but equally na?ve. He imagined the presence of a secret camera that was surveying the room...and he imagined himself spotting it. Then... ...and with that he realized just how foolish that would be. What would he do? Break it? His mom would find out. Plus, he was probably being overly paranoid. Throwing caution to the wind, he pulled the chair from his mother's dressing table, and placed it at the closet. Sliding the door open, he stood onto the chair to reach up to overhead shelf. And pulled. Out fell a pile of his mother's old clothes, each packed away in its own plastic bag. He grabbed a few and ran back to the safety of his room to inspect his prize. Reaching into one such bag, he pulled out a cotton polka dot dress, with a cute pink bow at the rounded neckline. It had poufy cap sleeves that ended at the shoulders, and its tea-length skirt flared out at the waist. Trembling with eagerness, he pulled it over his head, feeling the constriction around his body and waist. The skirt cascaded down his leg and stopped a few inches shy of his ankles, deliciously tickling his calves. He skipped out of his room, running to the full-body mirror that hung in the hallway. Standing in front of it, he saw an effeminate version of himself, mousy long hair brushed to one side. He could easily be mistaken for a tomboyish girl. It was confusing, but exhilarating. He twirled, feeling the hem of the skirt brush against his legs ever so briefly, before it flew up about him, then settling down about him as he stopped. He grinned. This was exciting. He didn't know why it was exciting him. Was it because he was always curious how a dress would feel? Was it because he'd discovered a piece of his mother's past, when she was still young? He knew that he was a boy, and enjoyed being a boy. He enjoyed baseball and had crushes on girls. The young boy didn't really care why it was exciting, but only that it was fulfilling a need that he hadn't known was there. For the next hour, he sampled item after item. There were flouncy blouses, necklines adorned with silk flowers. There were office dresses and Sunday smocks. There were poodle skirts that felt wonderful to spin in. As he was bouncing down the hall in a baby blue number, he heard his mother's car pull into the driveway. His heart leapt into his throat. ~I CAN'T LET MOM SEE ME LIKE THIS!~ He yanked the sundress over his head, feeling the fabric at the waist tear slightly. Stuffing his ill-got prizes into his closet, smothering it under the pile of clothes that every pre-teen boy had and promised to clean out. Outside, he heard her station wagon's door slam clothes. Bounding into her room, he grabbed the remaining items lying at the foot of the closet. And tossed it upwards. The storm door opened. Most of it landed precariously on the top shelf, but one or two items fell back down, not able to find purchase as plastic bag slid over one another. ~CRAP!~ He grabbed them and pulled the closet door shut. He heard the sound of keys inserting into a lock. Bursting with fear, he darted back into his room, and desperately shoved the remaining items into his closet as well. ~GOOD ENOUGH!~ His mother walked into the door, just as he slammed the closet door shut. ~NOW WHAT?!~ He was still completely naked, save for his underwear. He quickly jumped into bed, pulling the covers up, and turned his back to the doorway of his room. He heard his mother's footsteps plod their way to the second floor, and then turn into the master bedroom. A pause, then the footsteps approached, stopping at the doorway of his room. His chest was pounding so hard he was sure his head was bouncing up and down. "Why is my chair at the closet?" The bouncing stopped along with his heart, which felt like it just sunk six feet under. ~THE CHAIR! CRAP!~ He realized he needed to complete the illusion, or else he would be caught red-handed. Feigning sleepiness, he groggily turned towards her. "What? I was napping..." He saw his mother, a puzzled look on her face. Both knew how strange this looked - he hated to nap. Yet here he was, claiming to be napping, the covers over him on a hot summer day, while his mother's room had undergone some unexplained remodeling. "I said, why is my chair BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!" The boy just stared. Why was his mother beeping? ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ Our heroine batted sleepily at the bedside table, trying to find the source of the beeping. His hand reached the phone, and groggily he claws it towards himself. As anyone else would have expected, the phone falls to the ground, escaping his short reach, and continued its shrill cries. "Uggghhhh...thanks Vivian. I didn't need an alarm." He lurches out of bed to swipe at the phone on the ground. It seems that before the swap, Vivian had set a wake-up alarm that he didn't notice. "9:00 am. Too early...why would you do this to me?" ~Why did you do *any* of this to me?~ He asked himself. The alarm clock added insult to injury, reminding him that she was the one in control. Having turned off the alarm, he sits at the side of the bed, head hanging, and takes stock of the situation. No cash, no phone, no communication. He's essentially a prisoner here. Even on the shore excursions, he would be helpless. ~I guess I better stay with the boat. At least there's food and shelter.~ His reverie was interrupted by a loud growl of his stomach. Patting it, he realizes that he does not even know when this body had last eaten. Even worse, he hasn't had a shower since his...climax. Even with the flowers perfuming the room, the room had a faint smell of sex, which must certainly be emanating from his new body. Dragging himself off the bed, he heads to the cabin's bathroom. On the way, he catches the reflection on the wall-mounted mirror. He examines the visage before him. A young woman, fresh out of bed, stares back. Her crestfallen face a look of disappointment, as if to deny its very existence. As he took a deep sigh, the lass did the same, the nostrils of her button nose flaring slightly, adding to the reflection's tragic endearment. Her cheeks and lips were a pale rose, a subtle contrast to her alabaster complexion. As he made eye contact with her, he lost himself momentarily in her hazel eyes, swollen from a night of weeping, yet still sparkling like crystals at the soft light permeating through the sheer curtains. Her expression told a story of vulnerability and delicacy, and would melt even the most hardened of hearts. He wanted to hug her and comfort her...only he was her, and he felt every bit as feeble as he now looked. A strand of his new bangs fell over his eyes, and he tucked them aside with his fingers. The maiden did the same, but with a feminine grace as she daintily twisted her wrist while her fingers traced her strawberry- blond lock behind her ear. Most of her hair was tied in a thick side braid, snaking down over her right breast. Her bosom was confined in a satin champagne nightgown, clinging to its wearer by thin spaghetti straps resting upon her shoulders. Its neckline was a shallow V, fringed with an intricate lace pattern that dove ever so slightly at the midline, translucently obfuscating the view to her cleavage, except at the very top where the valley was just visible. If anything, the lace drew even more attention to her sizeable breasts. He drew his gaze downwards. The nightgown cinched just under her bust, the front adorned with a tiny satin bow. Below the empire waistline, the shimmering satin slid down her body, loose enough to flutter ever so slightly in the breeze, yet constricting enough to mark the rounded hips and the tops of her just-right derriere, completing the hourglass appearance. Beyond her bum, the skirt flared out and ended in a lacy hem, tickling her bare calves whenever she walked. Tracing his gaze back upwards, he drank in her petite physique, estimating her height to be at most five foot four. She had errant wisps of her hair standing up, having escaped the braid's confinement when its owner was asleep. The strands caught the sidelong light from the window, forming a soft halo to frame her delicate face. He looked like a porcelain doll, he realized, a fragile yet beautiful. With a resigned sigh, the girl in the mirror turned away, and glided into the bathroom. ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ The bathroom was a novel experience for the new girl. As he entered the shower, he slipped the hair tie out of his braid, releasing his long hair from their imprisonment. His tresses unraveled in all directions, ending just beyond the crease of his short of his waist and the small of his back. As a man, he had never had to deal with this amount of hair before. Turning on the shower, a stream of warm water slid effortlessly down his new body. Much like the nightgown, the feeling was much more magnified, more sensual, than in his old male form. ~Is this how women feel their world? It's so distracting. How can they function like this? Or maybe it's a side effect of the Exchange?~ He found that Vivian had already set out her toiletries in the shower and by the sink. He began to lather his arms, apprehensively approaching his new mammaries, their nipples now erect on their dime-sized areola from the glide of the water and bubbles of soap. Much like its appearance, it was a bulls-eye of arousal, sending jolts of heat through him despite the gentlest of attempts to wash them. His breathing quickened just as he finished, but the fire was already stoked. Moving on to his legs, he lathered his manicured toes, moving gradually and cautiously upwards towards his ladyhood. Having finished lathering everywhere else, he realized that he need to do this, and do this quick. With eyes clenched and breath-held, he shot his soap-laden hands down. The feedback was overwhelmingly unpleasant, and completely different than what he had felt last night. It felt like someone had punched him in the nuts. Luckily it also had the desired effect, completely squelching the smolder desire that had been slowly building. Heaving a sigh of relief, he rejoiced that this small task was finally complete, but also that his new clitoris was not a sex button as he had feared. Next he worked on his hair, which ultimately took him three tries before finally adding enough shampoo. The added weight from the water and soap pulling on his scalp was disorienting, and just enough to distract him from the residual arousal from his earlier ministrations. As he massaged his hair and scalp, he reflected on the dream he had. It has been forever since he'd thought about that fateful day. Until then, he was a very curious boy, and always wondered what dresses and skirts felt like. The concept of a dress seemed so foreign to his childhood mind, an article of clothing that both covered up the body, yet open at the same time at the bottom. He wanted to try it, and had finally worked up the courage to do so. As he was lost his thought, he stood under the shower water, feeling the soap run from his hair. Reaching for the conditioner, She carefully worked it into Her hair, ensuring each strand was well-moisturized. He remembered his mom catching him in the act, and him vehemently feigning ignorance. They both knew his alibi was tenuous at best, but neither wanted to broach the uncomfortable topic of what he was potentially up to in her room. As he reminisced about the awkward days that followed, She rinsed the conditioner from Her hair. Stepping out of the shower, She brisky dried her body before wrapping one towel around Her breast and another one on Her head, to help soak the extra moisture. He recalled that they went to the mall afterwards, and his mom seemed to gravitate towards the dresses and skirts of the department store, as if to test his reaction. As he traced the memory of how he played it cool to his mother's tactic, She deftly unraveled the towel bun from her head. Plugging in Her curler, She quickly sprayed some hairspray on Her long, moist locks. Working quickly, She expertly worked the curler to form the thick, wavy ringlets that She preferred. He remembers that that was the first and only time he pulled off the stunt. He could not recall whether or not he ever felt the desire again, but for the next few years he still stung from the embarrassment of being caught nearly red-handed. It still brings a flush to his face, as it did now, as she scuttled back into her room. Opening the closet door, She picked out a chiffon maxi dress, adorned with a floral print of white, pink, and teal. It was an off-the-shoulder affair with short flounces at the neckline that extended to the shoulders, giving the illusion of short-sleeves. The waistline sat high, flattering its wearer by lengthening Her legs, as the skirt continued in flowing wisps of chiffon. She quickly tossed it onto Her bed as she picked out a strapless bra and matching panties from the dresser drawer. Many years and many girlfriends after, he recalls sitting with his mother in her kitchen. Having moved out years ago, he would often go back for some home-cooked food. As their conversation steered towards school-age days and summer vacations, he asked about that event. She confessed that she knew the moment she opened the closet and her old clothes came tumbling down, having been unceremoniously tossed back to the top shelf. Having clasped the bra behind Her, she slid on the panties, feeling the small triangle of fabric gently caress Her flat mount. Scrunching the long skirt of Her dress, She pulls it over Her head while navigating Her arms into their sleeves. Always Her favorite part of maxi dresses, She lets go of the skirt, feeling a flit of cool air and chiffon as it cascades down Her hairless legs. She gave a small feminine sigh as she stared into the mirror, making small adjustments to make sure the dress fit right. The young woman now opens her make-up box. Grabbing the foundation cream, She applied it to Her face, smoothening her already creamy complexion. Next was the eye-shadow and eye-liner, which She applied with equally practiced hands. As She carefully applied her mascara, he recalls the good laugh with his mother after his confession. By college, it was apparent that he was a hot-blooded young man, with his fair share of womanly conquests. Looking back, they knew that it was one of those moments where a boy, at the doorsteps of puberty, was trying to discover his own gender and identity. They even joked about it to his then-fianc?e, who would tease him about it from time to time. Having finished fussing over Her eyes, the maiden fluttered Her eyes a few times, before giving a small nod of satisfaction. As She gently puffed a pale blush to her cheeks, he paused. A moment of surprise splashed over him. Having been loss in his own thought, he didn't realize that his new body had been moving in auto- pilot until now. Finally noticing the gentle ripples of Compulsion dying down, he realized that this was undoubtedly the spell exerting its influence. If his previous reflection was a porcelain doll, the appearance before him was the very definition of a lady. Loose, voluminous ringlets of auburn framed her cherub-like fa?ade, before ending just below her breasts. The simple eye makeup she'd used transformed her eyes to large, shimmering pools of vivacity. The soft blush on her cheeks gave her a slightly bashful expression. Tracing his gaze downwards, the dress was loose and flowing, yet hinted at the contours of her hips and bust. Her bare shoulders added a sense of delicate sexuality to the modesty of her outfit. He felt conflicted. He was alarmed the spell was able to achieve so much without his consciousness. He was frustrated that instead of having the opportunity to get to know this wonderful specimen of a woman, he *was* that woman. He even felt aroused by her radiant beauty. But on top of it all, he felt pride. Pride that he was the owner of this statuesque figure. His reverie was interrupted by a loud growl, as the girl in the mirror clutched her stomach in response. Realizing just how famished he was, he grabbed a small white purse and slung the gold chained strap over his bare shoulders. He stuffed his keycard and Vivian's phone inside, before slipping on a pair of leather sandals. ~Here goes nothing. Lets hope I pass.~ ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ He stared at the passing Mediterranean sea, discerning faint outlines of distant islands from a quiet caf? at the stern of the boat. He was glad to have found this little haven, a solarium that seemed to be for adults only, amidst the ruckus in the rest of the ship. Crossing his legs in order to dangle one of his feet, he glad to be sitting after hours of exploration. Nearby, someone had opened a window in the solarium's glass enclosure, and the breeze gently fluttered his long flowing skirt as it mostly pooled onto the floor near his chair. To the eyes of others, he looked every bit the figure of poise, staring pensively into the sea. He decided that the graze of the chiffon against his smooth skin was something he could never get used to, but something he didn't mind either. During his walks on the decks, he discovered the sensuality of a dramatic flowing skirt. He realized that a lot of what he had thought were "girly" behaviors were actually borne out of necessity - like the need to pick up the hem of a long skirt in order to negotiate stairs without tripping. Catching himself in the mirror as he climbed one of the many grand staircases of the ship, he marveled at just how feminine this looked, despite the fact that he didn't feel feminine at all. ~I guess girls do what they do not to be girly, but also just for practical reasons.~ The ship was massive and fully equipped. The top deck was occupied by hot tubs and pools for adults and children alike, and even a sandy pit for volleyball. The lower decks contained luxuries of all sorts - a shopping arcade, a spa, a gym, and even a skating rink. The central region of the ship was open-air, and in it contained a park, complete with assorted trees and shrubbery. Peppered throughout the ship were restaurants bars, cafes, and bistros, where he picked up a large roast beef sandwich and a salad, only to have finished the salad before feeling stuffed. ~I guess that makes sense...my body is much smaller now.~ Every step he took while exploring the ship, his dress brushed deliciously over his silky thighs. When he stepped into the exposed regions of the ship, the occasional gust of ocean breeze would pick up his skirt dramatically, while cooling the chiffon just enough that every little point of contact on his skin felt like a pleasurable brush on him. He wished he had money to just buy some shorts; something more practical, or felt more familiar than his male wardrobe. The fact that he was more covered than he would be in male clothing, yet felt more open with his bared shoulders and a skirt that essentially exposed his underewar to the outside world below, was both conflicting and by some measures, even exhilarating. Thus, the young woman found himself floundering with his hands to maintain decency while simultaneously trying to settle his unruly scarlet mane, blushing at just how sensual it all was. To the eyes of the other passengers, he evoked the impression of a red-haired Marilyn Munroe, bashfully waltzing with the wind. He found his concerns about not passing was completely unfounded. As soon as he'd left his room he ran into the neighboring tenant, who smiled at him and with a pleasant "good morning!" went off on her own. He found further confirmation when he was walking through the ship's small amusement park. "Ooof!" A little girl, no more than eight years old, ran straight into him. "I'm sawwy miss," she said in the most adorable of voices. "That's quite alright. You' just be careful now - you have to watch where you're going or you're going to fall and catch a booboo!" He couldn't believe how gentle he was sounding. "Okay! You're real pwetty. I love your dress!" "...oh...thank you. You're quite lovely yourself! I like your tutu!" "Are you a princess?" At this point the mother ran up to them, having finally caught up to her daughter. She apologized profusely, before being dragged by her daughter to the next ride. He watched them leave, chuckling at the girl's innocence, which came out more like a soft giggle. As his mind drifted back to the present, he went back to flipping through the decidedly un-ladylike stack of car magazines that he'd picked up from the library, he came to the conclusion that this could perhaps be the most luxurious imprisonment in the annals of history. At this point there really wasn't anything he can do about it, so he might as well squeeze some enjoyment out of an otherwise miserable experience. "Interesting reading material. Mind if I join you?" He looked up. Against the glare of the sun, an athletic figure approached him, A pair of sun-glasses perched on her sandy-blonde pixie cut. atop a sun-kissed face and brilliant blue eyes. She wore a simple baby blue polo T-shirt and a short pleated white skirt. Ankle socks and running shoes completed the look. "Oh, hi! Um...sure?" "Thanks. Hiya neighbor! The name's Tamara. What's yours?" She offered out her hand. It was his neighbor, the one he'd run into when he had set off in the morning. Returning the handshake, he replies, "I'm Isabelle. Please to meet you, neighbor." "That's...," as she sat down, "a nice name. I'm surprised a girl like you are into cars," gesturing at the stack of magazines on the table. "Well, it is what it is." He felt a bit indiginifed about the comment; why can't girls like cars? Not that he was one, of course. He was almost going to call her out on it, but was not quite prepared yet to identify as female. "Well for what it's worth, I kinda like my Camaro SS. It's true what they say - it handles quite well!" Now it was his turn to be surprised, "Is that so? What year?" "2014. What do you drive?" "Miata MX5. I think it's more fun to go fast in a slow car. I like something small and nimble. And it's way easier to handle where I'm from." "Of course. You do look like a Miata driver." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Just saying you fit in well with the car, that's all." "What, so you're saying that girls can only drive girly cars?" He was a bit bemused at her taunting, so decided to play along. He also appreciated the reprieve from the isolation, as he haven't had any meaningful interactions with anyone since being on this ship. She gave a hearty laugh, "What?! I'm and a girl and I drive a Camaro! And for the record, I didn't call the Miata girly, you did. But you're a small girl and you drive a small car." "Oh...I guess you got me!" She did indeed catch him on that one. They talked for the next hour. He enjoyed the distraction, as they navigated from topic to topic. Thoughts about being robbed of his body was replaced with their first car. Fears from being stranded from home gave way to hopes about their sports team making the playoffs. "I'm surprised you follow basketball so closely." "Yeah well I was on the school team back in high school." "Really? No offence but you must've been quite a force on the courts considering you can't be more than five foot four!" "Umm...well..." the fledgling girl but his lower lip, a habit he'd had since he was a boy. He wasn't aware just how adorable he looked doing it, as he peaked out just from behind his new bangs at Tamara, suddenly extremely self-conscious. She seemed to take enjoyment in his discomfort, and lost herself in a fit of giggles. "I'm just teasing! Man you're too cute!" Unfortunately, that made him blush an even deeper shade of crimson. As the conversation continued, he learned that Tamara was also on the cruise alone. As a travel writer, she was on-assignment writing a review of the current cruise itinerary. But as a travel writer, she was also a treasure trove of stories, so she regaled him in adventures of being stranded in a small village in South America, of breath-taking scenes atop the Swiss Alps, of the futile search of affordable accommodations in Monaco at the beckoning of her publisher. "Well it looks like it's dinner time soon. Want to go grab a bite together?" He realized that he was starting to feel a little hungry. "Sure." "Well it *is* formal night, so I'm going to go get changed." "What?" "It's formal night. I guess that's how they keep us preoccupied during the days at sea without shore excursions." "Oh...." He fidgeted with a lock of his hair as he realized he didn't check his own schedule. But, he reasoned, he did need to eat. And talking to Tamara was a good distraction. "OK well let's head back and...freshen up." He inwardly groaned, not believing what he had just said. ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ He kicked off his sandals as he shut the door behind him. Feeling compelled to change, he slipped off his dress, feeling it slide smoothly to his feet, before hanging it back into the closet. The Compulsion tugged at him faintly and he willingly complied, as reaching behind his back to unclasp his bra. His male-controlled hand clumsily fumbled behind, and after a few attempts he decided that to just slide the bra off his breasts and twist the clasp to the front. In a few moments his breasts were freed from their confinement. "Ahhhh...!" He let out a long sigh of relief. Now he understood why women looked forward to taking off their bra after a day at work. The struggle was real! Curious to see where the Compulsion was leading him, he opened his closet and took out another long garment, this time a midnight blue silk gown. He inspected it for a moment, not quite knowing how to put it on. As he paused, the Compulsion took further hold, and he found himself stepping into the gown and placing his arms through the short sleeves. He squirmed and adjusted his breasts to fit into the built-in boning. He turned to the mirror. He was wearing a long, deep-blue gown. He was pleased to find that the neckline was so high it completely covered his front side, but was dismayed to find the dress was so fitted it perfectly traced out his generous bust and his flaring hips, and drew even more attention to his hourglass figure. The floor-length skirt flared ever so slightly at the knees, giving a mermaid silhouette, with a small train in the back. Looking back up, he felt his hair tickle his entire back. His suspicion was confirmed when he turned to his side - this was a backless dress. He felt his internal conflict return - he did not want to be a woman, but every time he looked in the mirror he was treated by this beautiful creature staring back, each time surprising him with a different look. Feeling his curiosity mount, and realizing the futility of resisting, he continued to follow the Compulsions. Reaching into the jewelry box, he picked out a silver bracelet with inset crystals and clasped it over his slender right wrist. Next he pulled a pair of crystal earrings and clasped them onto his ear-lobes, discovering for the first time that he had pierced ears. Finally, he found a dark silver hairclip, also adorned with small crystals. Reaching up to his hair, he tried to clasp it to one side. Instead, he found the hair clip kept getting stuck at the wrong angle, or he did not clip the right locks. Exasperated, he relaxes, fully surrendering to the Compulsions. With one swift moment, the young woman slips the hairclip into place, before gathering Her long locks and draping it all in front of Her left shoulder, effectively leaving Her back bare for all to see. ~I guess the compulsions really take over when I relax, but otherwise I seem to have control as long as I do what it wants.~ As She reaches back into the makeup box for the eye-shadow, he decides that he best let Her do the work, at risk of poking out his own eye. After a few quick brushes She was done, now wearing a slightly smokier eye-shadow to complete his evening look. She trades the eye-shadow for lipstick and chose a deep red shade. This he knew how to do. As he finishes and replaces the cap, he finds himself compelled to the shoe shelf. Picking up his long skirt, he scuttles carefully towards it, and picks out a pair of silver strappy sandals with three-inch heels. Sitting on the couch, he carefully puts it on, taking care to clasp the numerous straps that inched slightly up her lower leg. As he stood up, he smoothed out the front of his dress, which now settled just millimeters above the ground with the added height from his new shoes. Reaching into the dresser drawer again, he pulled out slender matching silk gloves, which he slid onto his hands, taking care to slide them under the loose silver bracelet which now adorned his right wrist. He made eye contact with the mirror and found a graceful woman, with sideswept red hair, smoky eyes, and glistening lips. Turning to his side, the daring cut of the dress went down to the small of his back. The skirt hugged the contour of his bottom, accentuating his slender curves. He was a veritable symbol of sophistication. But before he could decide whether he was alright with actually being this symbol, he heard a knock on his door. Carefully making his way to the door, he opened it. Tamara was dressed in a simple white button-up blouse, and a pair of flowing high-waisted slacks. It was a tomboy-ish outfit, but exuded confidence. She looks a bit like Ellen Degeneres, he reflected. "Wow! You're...beautiful." "...Thanks." He bit his lip again. "Ready to go" "Alright. I'm not used to these heels though, can we take it slow?" "Of course. That's why I like them kitten heels." Pulling up the hem of her slacks, she revealed a simple pair of pointed pumps with tiny one- inch heels. ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ It was slow-going to the ship's main dining room as the new girl hobbled along on her heels. Eventually he relented and hooked onto Tamara's arm to steady himself. He decided that this did not threaten his manhood - after all, he was holding onto another woman, even if that other woman stood a full head above his petite frame. He found that balancing on these heels was much easier if he straightened his posture and loosened his hips. So by the time they reached the grand hall he was quite a bit more relaxed, although he kept his arm hooked onto Tamara's, just in case. To other passengers, they just looked like best friends, out for a night of food and fun. To these same passengers, the young redhead in blue was also quite a fetching sight, with side-swept hair that occasionally revealed the brilliant earrings. She swayed her hips as she glided to their table for two, sitting demurely on the chair pulled out by the waiter. He was just glad that someone pulled out the chair for him - he wasn't quite confident to negotiate chair-pulling with three-inch heels quite yet! ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ "Man I'm stuffed!" He exclaimed. He ran his gloved hand over the silk- covered belly. He swore it was slightly swollen. "You're saying? You gave me half your food! Who goes and orders three appetizers. I know it's all you can eat, but you really should pay attention to the fact that you're a tiny girl." "I'm sorry..." he apologized. "I'm usually able to eat all that." ~You have no idea,~ he thought. "Hmph." The dinner service ended hours ago, and while most of the crowd had migrated onto the dance floor or returned to their rooms, the two girls decided to grab their wine to-go, and take a night-time stroll on the top deck. Eventually, they decided to soak their feet in the hot tub. Hiking up his skirt, he took off his heels and dipped his feet into the warm water, breathing a sigh of relief as the bubbly cauldron soothed his aching arches. Holding up his heels for inspection he thought aloud, "Man, whoever thought torture devices would come in such small packages." Tamara paused, searching for a witty response. Eventually she came up with, "well, that's the price of beauty." They returned to silence, content from the comforting warmth of the whirlpool. Above them was a cloudless sky, decorated by a million twinkling points of light raining down upon them. The moon was full, casting a haunting white glow on the peaceful seas. He took another sip of his wine. ~Such a beautiful evening. I wish she was here.~ "Who?" Tamara asked. "Oh? I didn't realize I was thinking out loud. My fianc?e." "Your fianc??" "She died two years ago. Cancer. I guess technically it's ex-fianc?e." "I'm so sorry to hear that, Isabelle." Tamara gently laid her hand on top of his. "I'd like to hear more, but you don't have to tell me if you're uncomfortable." Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the anonymity from the Exchange, but he didn't feel the usual need for secrecy. It was true that it had been a tough transition, and he's avoided to discuss or even reflect about the relationship for over a year. But somehow, underneath the stars, being a girl, he felt he had the permission to open up. To vent. To cry. "We had been engaged for only a few months before we found out she had cancer. It started in her kidneys and had spread everywhere by the time we found out. It too late for anything and the chemo just kept it at bay. We were heartbroken when we got the news. "At first, I wanted to have the wedding early but she wouldn't let me. Not that it mattered; after only a few months she was in so much pain she could barely walk. She was stuck in a wheelchair." Tears began to roll down his rosy cheeks. He thought back to Sharon, bald from the chemotherapy, and gaunt as the cancer robbed her life force in front of his eyes. He paused, choking back tears, before continuing. "I remember the last day. She told me to find someone. Someone to take care of me. Someone to love. She apologized for not being able to love me the way I deserved. "I deserved better, she told me. She wouldn't blame me, she said, unless I chose to spend the rest of my life alone. "But it's still too fresh. I've had good days and bad days, but the bad days are so hard. Sometimes it hurts so bad it feels like someone pulled my heart from my chest and is crushing it to nothing...." Tamara gently reached over and placed her hand on his shoulder and pulled the small figure into her as little sobbing gasps escaped her lips. She really didn't know what to say, but ultimately decided that she didn't need to say anything. There the two women sat, lit by the iridescent glow of the hot tub, each lost in their thoughts. Eventually, the words came to Tamara. "She sounds like a noble and loving woman, Isabelle. I'm sure your life is richer for having met her, even if it does hurt right now." Despite the grief, it finally occurred to him that he'd told the story from the perspective of a man. "Oh! Umm...did I say 'she'? I meant...." "Isabelle, you don't need to explain, least of all to me. We bat for the same team. I won't judge." "Oh....." "We should probably head back. We dock at Santorini early tomorrow morning. How about this: I'm going to show you a whole different side of the world on this trip. Maybe the different perspective will help you come to terms with things?" ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ They padded back barefoot to their room. Tamara opened his room door for him, as his hands were busy with holding onto his shoes, and hiking up his long skirt. As he turned to say goodbye, she gave him a hug that he gladly returned. "For what it's worth Isabelle, I had a wonderful evening. You're great company, and I'm glad I get to spend the next few days with you on this cruise." "That's sweet Tamara. I had fun tonight too." Tamara gave her a little playful cheek-to-cheek peck before leaning back. Trying to lighten the mood, she jokes, "Not a kiss - you don't look the type to kiss on a first date anyways." Before the newborn redhead can reply, Tamara retires to her own room. He brushed his cheek gently as a hot flush washed over him, "Date?" he whispered to himself. ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ "Date," he repeated. He had showered and changed and was now in bed, his hair tied in a tight bun thanks to his Compulsion, which he decided was probably better than being smothered to death by his fiery mane in his sleep. He was embarrassed about crying, but chalked it up to his smaller frame reacting differently to the wine. His night with Tamara reminded him of Sharon, and he couldn't help but compare just how much Tamara reminded him of her. They were both athletic tomboys with a sharp wit but a gentle demeanor. He recalls the first time he met Sharon, she had a short bob cut that she'd eventually grew out just for him. "Date...." Since Sharon passed away, he'd shied away from romance and affection. Occasionally he would feel the need and masturbate, but it would often take him back to the times they'd made love. His last conversation with Tamara ignited that desire for intimacy. The shower was another stimulating affair for him, but unlike the first one he did not repeat the mistake of man-handling his clitoris. He was thankful for the foresight of not impaling himself with his fingers, but nonetheless it added to his hunger. And, the cheek-peck didn't help. The arousal continued to gnaw at him. Ripples of heat radiated from his vagina as glistening moisture began form, his womanly passage beckoning for penetration. Unfortunately, no such penetration was available, and none was desired. He struggled to maintain his composure, and to cool his womanly cravings in some way. Under the silvery moonlight, the young woman began to squirm as he struggled against the mounting need. He found his hands snaking up and down his silky skin, each brush sending prickly ripples of pleasure throughout him. His breath quickened. He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to succumb, but not only was the need great, he remembered that the pleasure was even greater.... Slowly, he brought a hand to his bosom, brushing his satin-enclosed nipple. A small feminine gasp escaped his lips as he recoiled from the pleasure. His other hand traced his way down to his groin. He realized the need for caution, and while he continued his ministrations on his breasts and nipples, he gingerly circled the precipice to his moist entrance. He discovered that stroking the insides of his thighs would send thrills of warmth throughout him. Quiet squeaks of pleasure escaped his lips. With ragged breath, he began massaging his womanhood. Slowly at first, as fireworks were bursting with each circle he'd traced. He moaned. Hastening his pace, he began to slide his fingers up and down over his wet slit. He smelled his sweet scent, which only drove him even more frantic. He needed release. He began to buck his hips up and down. His hand was now grabbing handfuls of his wonderful orbs, massaging, kneeding, pinching. He felt the arousal climb, and climb, and climb. But no release came. He felt his arousal plateau, and after a while he began to feel a sore chaffing over his vagina and busom. He stopped, chest heaving. One of his breast had escaped the confines of his nightgown. He tucked it back in, protecting it from the rough texture of the blanket. Unsated and defeated, he turned, and screamed into a pillow. A muffle, high-pitch squeal filled the room. He got up and marched to the washroom to splashed some water on his face. With the arousal smothered somewhat, the pretty little lady stomped back to bed, tugged the sheets over his petite figure, and clenched his eye shut, hoping that slumber will relieve his internal blaze. He knew what this body craved. Something he was not quite ready to provide. It craved penetration.