Sabbatical For The Soul -- Day 4: Wardrobe Malfunction free porn video

The distant caws of seagulls floated into the room, carried by the gleam of the mid-morning rays. "Hmmmmm..." he sighed, relishing the last fragments of sleep as he curled beneath the sheets. The room was cold, cooled by the lingering chills of the evening bygone. Seeking warmth, he snuggled backwards into Tamara's body. She stirred slightly, before nuzzling around his tiny frame. He had never been the little spoon before, but the warmth and pressure of Tamara's embrace was safe. Cozy. "Hiya sleepy-head. Welcome back to the world of the living," she breathed, before gently kissing the nape of his neck, the warmth of her breath sending shivers down his spine. Memories from last night's festivities permeated his brain, causing a warm blush to creep over his cheeks. He recalled how he was swept away by their sensual passion. How he was drowning in the stimulation, clawing his own breasts like shipwreck victims reaching for a life jacket. How Tamara had expertly piloted his body to a glorious apogee. "Hiya back," he purred, feeling embarrassed. He had never submitted himself like that before, but he found himself doing it more and more since he inhabited this girlish body. It was not as if he was completely helpless - if anything, yesterday's run-in with the thief proved otherwise. But in this tiny figure, he was comfortable with being passive. When Sharon was sick, he had provided for her every need. When she passed away, he continued his struggle independently. But yesterday, he had allowed Tamara to lead him all over the island. To treat him to lunch. To buy him shoes. And last night, he had allowed Tamara to claim this body. Was this an effect of the Exchange? He didn't feel Compelled; he simply allowed himself to be cared for. And he liked it. Nor could he argue against the pleasures this body had rewarded him, when he chose to submit to her stimulations. He chose it. And he liked it. He understood the seeming contradiction of deciding to...not decide. But, for the first time since this all started, he felt freedom of choice, a luxury he was not afforded with Sharon. He felt that if he wanted, he could steer where this all headed. But for now, cocooned by the warmth of the covers and Tamara's arms, he felt safe to submit. "You know..." Tamara teased, her hands snaking to his breasts, "you shouldn't be so easily trusting." "Oh, are you calling me easy?" he replied back, pulling her warm hands closer to his bosom. "Well, easy enough to do this!" With that, she flicked his nipples. He squirmed, as a musical fit of giggles escaped his lips. It was almost unbearably ticklish, yet heavenly. He spun around to return the favor, feeling tiny but content in her tormenter's arms as they playfully wrestled each other, occasionally stealing a kiss. Yes. This felt good. ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ "C'moooon. Do I haaave to wear this?" he whined to himself, still amazed at just how hopelessly feminine he sounded, and felt. He stared into the mirror. His hair was in a loose side-swept ponytail, his strawberry curls tumbling down over his bosom. His body was covered by a long crochet tunic that slithered down to his ankles. The white lace was warm, but his ivory skin played peekaboo through the mesh pattern. The tunic tied across his body just under his bust, which were now concealed yet accentuated by the teal bikini top that tied across his neck. It was doing a heroic job supporting his fleshy orbs, which converged to an enthralling chasm of cleavage. A matching teal bottom hugged his curvaceous hips, tied in place by a string at the side of his waist. Aside from the thin string that tied across his chest, the white tunic was open, teasingly revealing his bare navel and shapely legs if the right breeze blew by. He rubbed his arm as he felt the kiss of the long sleeves on his arms, flaring out in a trumpet sleeve at the elbows. Once again, his reflection was delicate, exposed, but unbelievably beautiful. Behind him, Tamara stood with a lacy white crop top and denim short- shorts, frayed at the hem. It had taken them forever to get ready, partly because Tamara insisting on raiding his closet to see how she can dress him up, but mostly because they had spent most of the morning in another make out session. Tamara found it difficult to peel herself from him, and he found it equally difficult to not surrender himself to her stimulation. Eventually they decided that it was too late to have a worthwhile shore excursion, so they decided to spend the day lounging around the ship's pool decks. A proud and mischievous look on her face as Tamara hugged her from behind and rested her head on his slender shoulder. "Are you turned on by your own reflection?" "Umm...." he flushed, having been caught red-handed. "Not as much as you," feebly defending, but not realizing he had essentially confessed to her. "Well, there isn't much to dislike." She pecked him on the nape of the neck, causing the girl in the reflection to squirm bashfully. "But c'mon lets grab a bite. I'm starving." ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ The next few hours were a blur as the pair roamed the ship, fooling around and having fun. Eventually landing at the amusement park deck, they headed to a hotdog stand among the food stalls where they dared each other to consume whatever wiener combination the other created. Laughing hysterically at the scrunched-up faces made when they had to eat the others' creation, they agreed that his vanilla ice-cream topped creation emerged victorious over the kiwi and pineapple pairing offered by Tamara. Their made silly faces while wearing pirate hats and fluffy boas at the photo booth. They strolled hand-in-hand through the hall of mirrors, laughing as their reflections stretched comically from one direction to another. He glowed when Tamara hugged him excitedly, after he had won a stuffed penguin she had been eyeing at the shooting gallery. That was short-lived, however, when Tamara handily bested him at the strongman booth. "Curse these scrawny arms!" he exclaimed, as she basked smugly in her victory. He pouted as he tucked his auburn locks behind his ear. Gathering his long tunic in his hands, he huffed off in mock anger as Tamara chased after him, giggling uncontrollably. In the back of his head, he knew he was acting very girly, but all the same he relished in it. The two of them were by now thoroughly engrossed in their flirtatious dance. It wasn't that he was comfortable with being a girl, he justified to himself. He simply enjoyed her company; her laugh was the concerto of woodland songbirds, her touch the gentle sighs of the spring breeze, her eyes the glistening drops of morning dew. He was falling for her, and he wanted to please her more. He couldn't help it; nor did he want to. Tamara felt much of the same. As she caught up and embraced the redhead, she relished that swooning lovestruck expression she wore. She thrilled whenever the girl beamed at her, tiny fingers clenching her hands tightly. And she was head-over-heels when the lass timidly stared at her with fluttering eyelids, while nuzzling closer into Tamara's embrace, feeling a gentle simmering of passion in his loins. As they walked away from the cotton candy stall, he searched his surroundings, looking for somewhere more secluded to share a quiet moment between the two of them. Instead, he noticed that a crowd had gathered by the central pool where some of the shows were happening. And before he knew, Tamara was dragging him in that direction. Sitting down near the front row of the audience stand, it turns out that the ship had organized a belly flop competition and had just finished rounding up the contestants - an exclusively male mix of stout, speedo-wearing retirees, and younger men with solid bodies. It was clear that the former group had volunteered more to poke fun at themselves, while the latter group were either volunteered by their girlfriends, or volunteered to look for one. They all hung out, chatting with one another as they tried to look as calm and collected despite being barely clad in front a crowd of hundreds of curious on-lookers. The MC bounced around spiritedly, playing games with the crowd to get them into the mood. He was a charismatic young man, aviator sunglasses resting on a head of sandy- blonde curls, pale blue eyes darting about the crowd. He was dressed in a white T-shirt adorned by the cruise company's logo and a simple pair of khaki shorts. As he sat down, he was thankful his tunic was long enough to cover his bottom from directly contacting the cool plastic of the seat. However, the mesh of the lace allowed the barest of contact - enough to remind him what he was wearing, and what he was not. Not that he needed the reminder though, as he pulling the long tunic over his bare thighs. He felt exposed, realizing that his new womanhood was separated from the external world only through the thin fabric of his bikini bottom. He tightly crossed his legs, as a woman would, and pulled the tunic over his thighs as he crossed his hands over his knees. The effect was altogether demure. He felt the alien sensuality of the brush of his hair over his chest, the slight bounce of his breasts and the faint brush of his tunic over his skin. "Here we go ladies and gentlemen. We are at the cusp of this historic event! Who among these brave men will fly the highest? Spread the most eagle? Land the most flat? Who indeed, will reign as the world's greatest belly-flopper?! Give these contestants your all as you welcome them onto the platform!" Tamara and him cheered, shouting shrill, "Whoop whoops!" at the top of their lungs. "But how will we judge? How will we separate champion from the chafe? We will judge them by a panel of their peers. You will be their judge. We need some volunteers!" And with that, Tamara grabs his hands and waves wildly and enthusiastically. Oh no...please don't. he pleaded to the higher power. The same higher power who had landed him in this body. "There! Those two energetic young ladies sitting at the front row! We thank you for your selfless service!" The poolside screens, which had been providing close-up shots of the MC and the contestants, panned quickly to them. With surprise and horror, he looked at the monitor and saw Tamara sitting next her beautiful date, loose side-swept ponytail of scarlet strands covering her chest. Only that beautiful date was him. Two cruise workers approached and offered their hand, which Tamara ignored as she bounded up, pulling him with her. They sat down on a row of director's chairs off to the side of the show pool. As they sat down, the camera remained trained to him, and as he again bit his lip in his nervous habit, he saw the beauty in the shot do the same, almost seductively, as she brushed her ponytail behind her ear while much of the hair remained draped over her shoulder. As her hand fell back onto her lap, she ran it lazily along the neckline of her tunic, as she casually checked to confirm that it was still tied under her ample bust. The tunic draped around her as would a drape covering an art piece, waiting to be unveiled. At her thighs, the drape parted, hinting at her creamy skin and shapely legs as the tunic flowed gracefully over her chair. Resignedly, he admitted that the visage on the screen was beautiful. While he was mesmerized by his own image, a few more individuals were invited onto the stage. An adorable 9 year-old boy plunked himself on one of the chairs, followed by an elderly lady, with a nest of snow- white strands. Last to join the make-shift panel was a teenage girl, who was busy waving to her friends in the crowd, reveling at her luck that she was now on stage. "Here's what we're going to do folks. Each of the contestants will take their turn diving off the platform. Our expert panel here will comment on their style and grace. But ultimately, the louder you cheer, the higher their score! Show me how loud you can cheer!" He didn't hear a single word however, as he was beginning to feel self-conscious in his bikini. He crossed his thighs tightly, clamping his womanhood shut, which was still complaining that her owner ignored her need. He eyed Tamara, who was lost in the moment as she clapped and cheered with the crowd. He played along and clapped reluctantly, as he realized that one of the cameras were still trained on him. He turned to the group as the first contestant - a rotund man with a round face and a gray moustache, stepped onto the platform. Playing into the satirical mood, he comically curtsied, blew a few kisses into the crowd, before jumping himself off the platform, landing with a great big smack into the pool. He recoiled, wincing as the splash caught all of them off-guard. He couldn't help but laugh embarrassingly at the spectacle, which fizzled away when he eyed his fetching image on the screen again. Why does everything I do look so damn girly? It was at this time when the MC approached the young boy. "Let's consult one of our expert panelists. Young man - how did you find his form?" "That was a really big splash!" he quipped adorably as the audience laughed. This guy sure knew how to work the crowd, he thought to himself. Deciding that looking at the screen will just make him more self- conscious, he decided to focus onto the contestant pool. Among the small group of men waiting to compete, he noticed that a fair number of them were quite fit, like the one standing on the podium at this moment. Milking his moment in the limelight, he flexed his biceps, revealing a pair of chiseled arms. Changing his pose, he showed off his firm deltoids and chiseled pecs. Catching her gaze, he playfully winked at her with his metallic blue eyes before launching himself off the platform. He felt a skip in his heart as he tightened his thighs. Did the guy just wink at him? The splash from his landing was smaller than the first contestant, but he welcomed the spray that cooled his warming body. "So, young lady - do you think he deserves extra points for style and presentation?" the MC asked, approaching the grandmotherly figure on the stage. "Oh my, such a daring young man!" She laughed, cutely waving her fingers and winking back as he climbed out of the pool, seemingly thinking that the man was winking at him. This was lost on the bikini-clad maiden as he was once again transfixed onto his figure. They both knew that the wink was meant for him, but he found his eyes roaming down his six-pack, to the waist- band of his fitted swimming trunks, and the tell-tale bulge in his groin. His breath caught in his throat as another warm flush gushed through his body. He may be heterosexual, he realized, but so was this female body. Struggling to maintain his composure as the one of the cameras was permanently trained onto him, he feigned interest and stared at the general direction of the podium and its contestants, trying to focus on anything that would distract him from his body's mounting arousal. With furious focus he studied the bright yellow platform that each contestant clambered onto, with "BELLY FLOP" painted in cheerful blue font. He inspected the blue floor of the pool deck, covered with what appeared to be an anti-slip material that was now reflective from the contestants as they exited the pool. There were the feet of the contestants, some with visible tan-lines from wearing sandals and flip flops. Some of them had quite a bit of hair on their legs, while others had massively shaped calves that led up to equally impressive quads that rippled and bounced as some of the contestants posed and jumped. They wore swim trunks of different colors, some blue, some black. One in particular wore a bright green speedo, barely containing his well-endowed package.... He tightened his legs, noticing that if he squeezed a certain way it sent a small pleasurable release from his moist core. He squirmed, continuing the minute amount of friction. On screen, the young maiden imperceptibly rocked: left, right, left, right. Her hands were pressed onto her lower belly, as if she needed to relieve herself. Her eyes were half open as she continued to chew on her lower lip. Luckily for him, the audience was focused on the contestants. Except that he was focused on the men before him in a totally different light. He squirmed in his seat, tightly clenching his thighs, where his womanhood now quivered and moistened with craving. A small grunt escaped his throat, which he disguised by immediately clearing his throat. He was still inexperienced in dealing with this body's foreign sensations assaulting his mind. As Mr. Green Speedo stood on the platform, he noticed that his body was proportional - balanced and sculpted, but not exaggerated. He was able to delineate where every single muscle inserted in his shapely torso. Tracing his gaze upwards, he was met with a clean-shaven face and a pair of charismatic chestnut eyes. He ran his fingers through his mousy brown hair, as he stood sheepishly on the podium. At this point, all the contestants before him had all given a silly show before they jumped, but he looked endearingly uncomfortable. Giving a meek wave to the crowd, he jumped off, electing to do a cannonball instead. "Great cannonball! 9 out of 10 on the cannonball competition! But this is the belly-flop contest - and we mean serious business! Out of ten, what would you rate him?" He faintly registered the MC as the microphone was held in front of him. His female mind was still replaying the image of Mr. Green, running his hand succulently through his hair in slow motion, his piercing brown eyes igniting a fluttering in his female heart. Unwittingly, he brought his dainty hand to his chest, as if trying to smother the fireworks bursting from her chest. "T...ta..hennnnNNN...." he breathed innocently, before bringing his hand to his mouth, surprised at how sultry he sounded. "Well, I guess we're not scoring solely on technique here!" The MC teased as he continued the show. As the audience laughed, he could see on the poolside screen that his cheeks were now the same shade as his fiery hair. ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ He sulked in the hot-tub, face half-submerged to hide his still- flushed cheeks. The soothing warmth of the bubbling caldron lapped his body, easing the sting of his earlier embarrassment. He had never felt smaller, both literally and figuratively, than at that moment. On display in front of hundreds of eyes, he slinked deeper into his seat after he had made his arousal publically apparent. He felt like he was sinking into a hole in the floor, about to be swallowed up. He recalled how braced himself for the inevitable judgmental gazes and whispers of "hussy" and "tramp" - but none came. The competition and the crowd had moved on to the next contestant, leaving him to marinade in his own embarrassment. But instead of being relieved, the crowd's complacent response only added to his self-consciousness. Was his behavior not shocking? Did he and this body fit the role so well that his comment fell within the crowd's expectation? The crowd's easy acceptance of what just happened was an insult to his manhood, and only made him further question his identity at this point. Mercifully, after the competition was over, Tamara retired to her room to finish a manuscript, so they agreed to meet up later in the evening for dinner. Still unwinding from the sting of the embarrassment and the burn of the arousal, he paid a visit the many pools and hot-tubs on the ship's top deck. Deciding that a swim may soothe the sting of embarrassment, he climbed out of the hot-tub and slinked into the nearby pool. The water was deliciously cool as it lapped against his mons pubis, a foreign sensation from the usual loose fabric of his swimming trunks. As he waded into deeper waters, he felt the waterline creep higher and higher up his body until they lapped against the nylon-covered nipples of his bosom, causing a small "eep!" to escape his lips. Clinging onto the edge of the pool, he kicked off and started down the length of the pool. The sensation was entirely foreign - his generous bosom bounced and swayed in the cups of his bikini. The buoyancy of this body was foreign to him. As was the speed. As he relaxed into his pace, he noticed just how fast his lithe frame was in the water. This girl must swim regularly, he decided. The newfound speed was surprising and refreshing. and soon he reached the opposite end. Slowing as he usually does, he reached for the wall to turn and head back, only to be greeted abruptly with face full of his own fiery hair. Pushing through, he continued his trek back. Rather than gracefully sliding back behind him, his face became entangled in the mess of hair, eventually he was forced to pause to straighten his hair. Ughhh...wasn't expecting that! Too much hair! His long ponytail became increasingly frustrating as he continued his lengths. He found that if the hair was not clinging to his face, it was pulling on his scalp, slowing his progress. This battle continued for a few more lengths before, frustrated, he stopped and whipped off the hair tie holding his ponytail in place, exasperated. Yet instead of throwing it away, he found his hands Compelled to deftly gather his drenched mane, and after a few expert spins and twirls of his hairband, he had a neat bun atop his head. ~Just another thing you never knew you had to know...to be a girl.~ Now with his parachute of hair tamed, he began to enjoy his newfound speed and stamina. He settled into a meditative pace as he cut back and forth across the pool. Breathe, stroke, breathe, stroke, breathe, stroke..... Soon, the sting of the earlier embarrassment was a distant memory. As he became intoxicated with the adrenaline of his speed, he decided to push just how fast this body could go. Feeling the gentle tug of his Compulsion, he carefully timed his distance from the wall before neatly curling into an expert tug-and-roll. Feeling the brush of the wall on his toes, he felt the kinetic energy bundle into his thighs and calves as his body stored the remainder of its forward momentum into a big push. ~Damn this body is fast. Here we go...!~ With all his strength, he pushed, keen to see how fast he can steer this small figure. As his body slipped through the water, he felt the strap of his bikini top strain against the back of his, before suddenly giving way. Horrified, he felt the cups of his bikini peel back against the resistance of the water, tugging briefly on the knot around his back before finally flying off from his body! ~Shit! Oh no my top!~ Immediately, he stood up, floundering slightly as he realized he was still in the deep end of the pool. Finding no purchase for his feet and unable to use his hands to cover his new assets while treading water, he quickly dove back into the water to hide from prying eyes, then gave a few dolphin-kicks to reach the shallow end. Once there he, he immediately cupped his hands, before standing up, spinning his head frantically to the bikini top that has now betrayed him. Instead, he saw another person in the pool. He was turned away, one hand covering his eyes, his other hand outstretched. Tangling at his fingertips was a skimpy, teal, bikini top. His bikini top. "Here, miss. I think this is yours," he sheepishly mentioned, hand covering his eyes. The topless girl's face scalded as raw embarrassment once again rushed over him. A girlish "eep!" escaped his lips as his hands shot forward and snatched the piece of cloth from her. "Th...thanks!" he muttered. "You might want to put it on quick. I'm keeping my eyes closed but this deck is still pretty open." "Ye...yeah!. Keep your eyes covered!" he squeaked. "Of course." Hastily, he aligned the cups of the top over his breasts before dipping his upper body under the water, trying to steal as much coverage as the azure pool water would offer. Clumsily he tried to re- tie the string behind his back but even with his newfound flexibility, he found it difficult working the string through the knot as it bobbed in the pool water. "Ummm...can I open my eyes?" the man sheepishly asked. "NO! I'm not done! Arrgghhh damnit!" he shot back, frustration clear in his voice. "...if you're having a tough time, I can help you...otherwise I can just leave the pool...." "....fine. But keep your eyes closed!" True to his word, the man approached with one hand still covering his face, the other outstretched as he cautiously approached. The redhead cradled his breasts with one hand and turned away, the other hand curled behind her as it held the two ends of the bottom string of her unraveled bikini top. Their hands touched briefly as she placed them into his hands, before shooting forward to cover her breasts. The hopeless lass immediately felt tension in the cup of the bikini as he deftly cinched the knot together. "The top now?" he asked quietly. She grabbed the top strings floating in the water and handed them to him. Just as quickly, he cinched it up. "You should be good now. I'm sorry you had to go through that, but luckily there aren't anyone in this part of the deck." he reassured. He spun around to take stock of his rescuer. In front of him was a young man, no more than thirty years old. Sparkling chestnut eyes and a gentle smile adorned clean-shaven face. He was broad-shouldered, tone, but not bulky. Gentle beads of pool water glistened off his gently-tanned pecs. "Are you OK?" he asked, concern in his voice. "I'm...I'm fine. Just embarrassed. Thanks for your help." "I know how that feels! My friends made me do that stupid belly-flop competition in a speedo! I don't even know where they got that!" His heart skipped a beat. It was Mr. Green Speedo! Only, he had clearly changed out into more traditional swimming trunks. "You don't know the half of it..." he began. "My friend dragged me up to be one of the judges." "Oh man...I'm sorry you had to see my jump," he apologized again, clearly not aware of her earlier response to him on stage. "Anyways, my name is Trevor." he extended his hand. "My name is Isabelle," he found himself compelled to say, as he shook his hand. "You were really going there," he continued. "I was about to get some ice cream from the self-serve bar over there and noticed you doing laps. Not sure your swimsuit was up to spec though - but it was really impressive to watch!" "Th...thanks." He found his heart fluttering again, only partly from being reminded of the embarrassing situation he was just rescued from. "So...why'd your friends make you do the belly flop then?" he was eager to change the subject. "Well a good friend of ours is going to be married soon, and it's been ten years since our group had graduated from high school so we figured a cruise would be the best way to celebrate and reminisce. Of course, things got a bit wild and I lost a bet so, there you go." ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ The tunic was doing a surprisingly good job at keeping his small frame warm against the late-afternoon Mediterranean breeze, as the two stared out towards the ocean. It turns out Trevor was a Search and Rescue operator, and had come with a contingent of his friends. One of the group, Sarah, had become engaged six months prior, and had just started to plan for a wedding to happen a year from now. "She's like a sister to me," he reflected. "We've known each other since fifth grade!" "That's amazing to hear you guys are so good to each other." Trevor chuckled. "Yeah. She mostly teased me at first, but eventually we became friends. We were even on the swim team together - in fact, a good number of my group here were from swim." "Swim team? Is that why you're in search and rescue?" "Probably. I life-guarded a bit during high school and college for money. You know how it is. What about you? You probably did some swim back in school - would've been a waste if you didn't!" An embarrassed flush crept into his cheeks on hearing the complement. "I was more of the bookish type at school," he responded. ~I didn't know I could swim like that until a few minutes ago either.~ "Oh yeah? Well that's a waste. What do you do for a living nowadays?" "I'm...between jobs. Nothing exciting, just some office work," he quipped as he tucked another stray lock of hair behind his ear. Both the conversation and the breeze reminded him just how much uncomfortably different he was currently. "Certainly nothing as exciting as search and rescue!" he added, changing the subject. "Actually that's a common misconception. Much of the work is pretty mundane - mostly drills, and equipment maintenance. I mean, I've been at this for a few years or so but I've only been involved in a handful of serious searches. Most calls are kids messing with flares, or minor incidents. A lot of intoxicated boaters run aground. In fact...." He listened as Trevor reminisced on some of the quirky adventures he's been on as a Search and Rescue operator. Trevor was quite a talented storyteller, establishing the setting and cast with just the right amount of suspense and pacing, and unwittingly he became more and more engrossed. "...and that's when the otter jumped up, knocking him back, pants still down. We still haven't let him off the hook for it!" They both laughed, the redhead wiping a tear frim his eye as the afternoon sun ebbed closer to the horizon. "And then there was this other time where we were called out to fish two boys from the middle of a lake. Turns out they stole their dad's hotrod for a joyride and drove it off the road. Somehow they managed to get into a tiny sandbar on the lake. We stuck around until they fished the car out of the water and that was the time when their parents came. The guy takes one look at his dangling car and goes, "my mustaaaaaannnnggg!!!" Trevor imitates, mockingly forlorn as he throwing his hands up in the air. "Hey listen. I was going to go grab an ice cream cone. Can I get you one as well?" Trevor offered, genuine friendliness exuding from his bright eyes. "...sure!" he found himself replying, not quite sure why. ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ "...everything she has is so girly!" The temporary girl muttered out loud. The small cabin was ransacked with assorted articles of clothing. A pink cotton dress lay draped on a chair by the bedside, rejected for looking too young. A magenta tea-length number with spaghetti straps sprawled on the sofa, the daringly low neckline being too attention grabbing. I don't want to send the wrong signals and look like I'm trying! The two had talked until the sun had made most of its way below the horizon. They both shared a passion for cars, and before long they were talking on equal terms, reminiscing the about the adventures they've had in their first cars. "My first car was a crappy Cavalier. I bought it from an old lady who never changed the oil, and I ran out of money just to get it running. So the only the thing I could do to go faster was to make the car lighter - my parents weren't pleased when they realized I took out the back seats!" "Ha!" Trevor chuckled. "I had an old Honda Civic that I tinted and put in a fart-can exhaust, which my neighbors absolutely despised. I had to junk it eventually because everything rusted off. I think even the door handle fell off! I still miss the thing though." "Yeah I know, I miss my Cavalier too. I drive a Miata now, with some under-the-hood tune-ups. It's just more fun to drive..." "...a slow car fast? I agree!" He was relieved that Trevor talked to him like he was another car lover. Up until now, he was treated like the girl that he now was physically. Of course, he was enjoying his newfound freedom of just going with the flow, but he had associated this passivity with his state of being a girl. With Trevor, he found that he could talk about the things he truly enjoyed, and be treated simply as another person who shared the same hobby. The fact that he was a girl right now was immaterial. Eventually they parted ways to get changed for dinner. Slipping back to his room, he quickly showered, and started rummaging through the numerous dresses and smocks in Isabelle's closets. It was critical that he didn't look like he was trying to vie for Trevor's attention. After all, Trevor was the first platonic friend that he made during this entire ordeal. Tamara made him feel all sorts of wonderful, but Trevor made him feel normal. Conscientious of the fact that he was now a very attractive woman, he needed to be extra careful to not attract any unwanted advances. On the other hand, he figured, he couldn't look too frumpy either, lest he over-compensate and look plain out of place. Better maintain the status-quo, he told himself, as he held a sleeveless navy blue maxi dress above him. As he dove into it, he felt its jersey material slither down his body and calves as it moulded pleasurably to his new curves. Turning this way and that in front of the mirror, he felt the weight of the frock hanging from thin cotton loops on his bare shoulders, his pink bra straps peeking through. Remembering how chilly last night was, he slips on a flowy cream cardigan, with slight flounces at the sleeves. Picking out a simple black belt with a gold clasp from the dresser drawer, he cinched it across his tapered waistline under his cardigan before inspecting his reflection, long red locks draped down his right shoulder from his loose ponytail that he decided to keep. Yeah, he told himself, not too dressed up, and not too frumpy. A soft knock on his door shook him from his musings. Opening the door, he was greeted by Tamara, dressed in wedges and a sporty green polo dress ending just above her knees. "Heya girlfr...wow...pretty good job on your own without me dressing you!" She grinned devilishly. "I like the belt! It's almost like you've gift-wrapped yourself just for me." He found himself blushing at the complement. "You don't look so bad yourself." "C'mon!" Tamara leaned down and gave him a peck on his forehead, "I'm starving. Let's head down to grab a bite." Slipping into wedge slippers of his own, he stuffs his room's keycard into his purse and follows Tamara out the door. Making their way down the hall, he makes some final adjustments to his outfit as he slings his small purse over his left shoulder, before fluffing up his side ponytail with a flick of his right wrist. Unconsciously, he starts running his fingers through his long curls, tilting his head as he works out the frizz. Behind him, Tamara looks on, noting just how effortlessly feminine the redhead appeared. ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ *** ~~~ ning hall sat in the stern of the ship, overlooking the indigo-colored Mediterranean twilight. There was a constant din of silverware and chatter from diners in various stages of their meals, as the staff clattered about replenishing the buffet table against the unending tide of hungry guests. A row of chefs busily tossed made-to-order pastas as a line of passengers patiently waited. Off to the side, another chef stood at a carving table, carving slices of roast beef and ham. Further along were numerous self-serve stations featuring everything from fruits to fried rice, and cabbage rolls to curries, meant to satisfy the varied tastes of the thousands of guests on board. A group of children shrieking with joy at the cornucopia of cakes, pies, and pastries that lay on the dessert table, before congregating beside the ice cream station. A few children, already well-fueled by the sugary desserts, zoomed by as the two women wandered the large dining hall, trying to find an empty spot as they each carried full trays of food. "It's so crowded! Maybe we should just carry these outside?" he suggested, already having spilt half his soup as he navigated the fray. His slender arms were beginning to tire, he realized, from the weight of the tray. "Yeah, I think you're right," Tamara agreed. "Let's take these back to..." "Isabelle!" a man's voice pierced through the racket. "Over here!" They both turned, as they saw Trevor standing up, gesturing to them. He was seated at a long table with 4 other guests, but thankfully there were a couple of empty chairs. "Who's that? He looks familiar," Tamara asked. "Um...someone I met while you were writing." he replied as a faint blush crept to his face. Despite preparing himself for the possibility of running into Trevor, he didn't expect it would occur so publicly. He didn't even have the chance to tell Tamara yet! "Well making friends are we?" Tamara teased, unfazed. "Tell me more about him afterwards - I'm just glad we found some seats!" Smiling politely, he nodded as they made their way to his table. "Looks like you guys were having a tough time finding seats. You can join us, if you don't mind!" "We don't mind at all! It's awfully generous of you!" Tamara thank him, as they took a seat. "Yeah, but one of us is going to have to change!" They all turned to a young woman stood up, her sharp eyes locking onto his. Her light blonde hair framed her fair face as it rained down her collar bones, modestly veiled by a blush-colored cardigan. Underneath she was wearing a navy blue dress with a high neckline and spaghetti straps. Essentially, she was wearing the same things as he was. Oh shit! In all the romantic comedies he's seen with his wife, whenever two women at a social gathering shows up wearing the same thing, it always ends in screeching brawls and fistfuls of hair flying about. Worse, he realized, was the fact that she must be the friend who was about to get married, judging by the large solitary diamond perched on the silver band around her ring finger. "Um...." he squeaked, completely flustered. This must be Sarah! What do I do?! I have no clue what to do! As he looks pleadingly at Tamara for some guidance, Sarah's expression slackens as a mischievous smirk creeps into her face. "I'm sorry I couldn't resist! You look amazing - great taste in wardrobe if I may say so myself! I'm Sarah!" she introduces with a soft southern drawl. "Hi...I'm Isabelle," he said as the Compulsion softly tickled the back of his mind. Setting his tray down, he offered his hand to her, but she was having none of it. "Oh c'mon over here - we're practically dressed like sisters already!" She exclaims as she gives him an affectionate hug. "Why don't you have a seat to join us - the more the merrier! Besides, any friend of Trevvy is a friend of mine!" she added, grinning impishly at Trevor. "Trevvy?" he asked, arching an eyebrow as Trevor shrugged behind her. Soon, they were seated, finishing their meal and contributing to the clamor of the dining hall with conversations of their own. Trevor's childhood friend Sarah, turns out to be great company. Easy-going and effervescent, she had started her career in marketing recently before meeting her fianc? Richard. Richard was the perfect foil for Sarah. He had a Scandanavian complexion, with a square jaw, stout neck, and stern features that belied his thoughtful introspectiveness. He endearingly listened on as his fianc? and the group flitted from topic to topic. Occasionally, he would chime in, with a one-liner that would floor the rest of the table in howls of laughter. Otherwise he got up a few times to fetch items from the buffet for his future wife - a cup of coffee here, a small cake there. Julie and Mia were Sarah's girlfriends from college. Julie was the more bookish of the two, wearing a simple cream silk button-up blouse with blue jeans and ballet flats. A pair of black rimmed glasses perched on her slender face, framed by shoulder-length brown hair. Wearing her heart on her face, she was always first to giggle at a joke, and just as quickly blush to Megan's teasing. Mia was a petite Latina firecracker that was even shorter than his current height. Her eyes were an intense brown that darted about expressively, emoting almost as loudly as her voice. A thick carpet of black curls flanked her face before dangling to her waist. When she got excited - essentially the entire duration of the meal, she would whip her hand over her head to brush the hair back, before bringing it back in front of her shoulders. As their conversation meandered from topic to topic, he found it easier to simply talk about his own life and background rather than trying to create a whole new identity for himself. Soon he felt naturally engrossed with the exchange with his new-found friends. Even Tamara was having a good time, warming particularly quickly to Mia as they playfully sassed at one another. As the dining room slowly cleared, they agreed to meet up before disembarking on the next day's shore leave. Soon enough, it was only Tamara and him, two girls strolling hand-in- hand slowly back to their rooms, giggling amidst hushed conversations to each other, enjoying the afterglow from their previous impromptu dinner party and recounting the day's events. Tamara laughed mirthfully while he recounted his bikini mishap, her eyes twinkling devilishly when she mentioned Trevor's timely rescue. "You were fawning over him even during the competition! It was sooooo cute," Tamara gushed. "I was not!" he defended, as convincingly as he can muster. To his ears, it came out more like a whimper. "For the record my lady, I find him cute too. I'm a big girl, I can share. Just saying." "Oh stop it," he chuckled back. "We're just friends. Do I look that that kind of person to you?" "I don't know, what kind of person are you?" Tamara replied, arching an eyebrow. "...well if we're going by what you said this morning...someone easy?" he deflected. The past few days have a period of existential conflict, as he wavered from being comfortable in this new skin, to questioning whether he was really in control. One minute, he enjoyed submitting himself to Tamara and the next, he was easing into old habits as he shot the breeze with Trevor. All while struggling with bikinis and dresses. "Well you're the one swooning over boys in speedos," Tamara teases back. "Hey!" he retorts indignantly, stomping ahead in feigned anger to keep things lighthearted. It was not the right time to unpack those heavy things, he decided. "Sorry, sorry," Tamara giggled, "you win you win!" ~Maybe we should just see where things go from here,~ he reassured himself. Giving Tamara's hand a small squeeze as he shot her a smile. "I'll let it slide just this once." A warm blush appears on Tamara's face as she looks down at the radiant redhead. Brushing her scarlet bangs behind her ear, Tamara leans down and gives her a light peck on the nape of her neck. She emits a small squeal from the ticklish sensation, a musical sound that makes Tamara sigh contentedly. "C'mon," Tamara found herself saying as she skips ahead, redhead in tow. "It's getting late and I've got plans with you back at my place."