Losing Evan Discovering Emma The Final Part
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Losing Evan, Discovering Emma Part 6. free porn video
Losing Evan and Discovering Emma.
By Tanya H.
6 - Loving.
Daft really, but in the days between the manicure and the expedition up
Kinder Scout, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about Olivia. I watched
for her in the mornings when she came to work and felt cheated if I wasn't
asked to call her up on the public address each day. A couple of evenings
I chased Clint off my bed and loved myself while closing my eyes and
imaging some alternate-reality where it was Olivia making me arch my back
and cry out in passion. Sometimes I just sat and stared from the window
and sighed for the injustice that meant I, the hopelessly attracted to
women Evan, was trapped in a woman's body falling for another woman at
work.
We had coffee a few times, went for pizza and a beer one night where she
showed me the pictures from the wedding that had taken her to that beauty
salon. She'd looked amazing in a shortish, plum coloured dress and tall,
nude heels.
And I wondered, as I fell further and further into thinking about her, if
I wasn't just setting myself up for some foolishness and should maybe get
some distance between us. Then it was time to ride that train to Edale, to
step out under a watery, spring blue sky and climb Kinder Scout. I enjoyed
the chatter with her, I appreciated the silences when we just walked and
wished I could have met Olivia before I ever met Kirsty Connor.
Wonderful revelation came when she offered me a hand through a tumble of
granite boulders and then wouldn't let it go on the peat lined path just
beyond. We held hands for a hundred metres or so with my pulse racing and
my thoughts whirling and an ache growing in my breasts.
We stopped to admire the view, to watch the shadows of the few clouds
being chased across the sunny sides of Mam Tor and Rushup Edge and she was
still holding my hand, looking at me in preference to the Hope Valley's
glory. I knew then that if Evan had been standing there, holding Olivia's
hand and captivated by the way she was looking at him, he would have known
the moment was perfect to brush a lock of hair from her face and kiss her.
But Emma was standing there with Olivia. Emma was me and all Olivia knew
of me was Emma. That sudden certainty blew confusion aside long enough for
me to brush a lock of hair from her face and kiss her.
And in the moment after that first press of my lips to hers, when the
wonder of moor and crag and cliff had been eclipsed by the softness of her
mouth, I knew that never once had she ever mentioned a boyfriend. Then she
kissed back.
Even a busload of tourists, tutting their disapproval at our display,
couldn't have cooled that kiss and we were both breathless when we parted.
I giggled to see the high colour in her cheeks.
"I knew you'd be a good kisser," she said. In truth I'd half forgotten the
sheer pleasure to be found in kissing, from the pressure of a woman's body
against me, the smooth lines of her face under my fingertips and taste of
her tongue. Olivia was the best, the sweetest of them all so we kissed
again and again and again.
The following Tuesday she came to my flat, I cooked tea and as the moon
overwhelmed the streetlamps through the open curtains we lay together with
our hair entwined over the pillow and limbs tangled together. Lovemaking
had never been so intense, a woman's body had never tasted better, an
orgasm had never blown me apart so completely.
Her fingers traced the outlines of the flowers tumbled over my shoulder.
She'd already been fascinated by the strawberry on my inner thigh.
"I love your naughty strawberry," she murmured.
"Why is it naughty?"
"You really don't know!"
I shook my head as cold fear needled my warm glow. I'd grown so used to
the ink Kirsty had left under my skin I hardly saw it anymore.
"Just add cream," she giggled, and touched it again.
I'd never made the connection, never wondered why Kirsty had chosen a
strawberry for her inner thigh. What would I say if Olivia asked me why
I'd chosen it? Happily the moment passed.
"You're beautiful." Her cheek was so close to mine I felt every movement
as she spoke. From the incline of her face she was looking down my body,
across my breasts, my flat belly, along the line of my legs. Beautiful?
Me? My body was just something to carry me, execute my wishes, see to the
life-support I needed. Could it really be beautiful?
After she had gone, before I walked into the shower to reluctantly wash
her from my skin, I stood naked before the full-length wardrobe mirror in
my bedroom. Normally I either avoided mirrors or gave them just a fleeting
glance; to look at my reflection then I had to move two shirts and a pair
of trousers that were hanging over it. What did I see? A twenty-something
woman of average height, face framed by my thick, bright curls, smallish
breasts, nicely defined waist and round hips and long, lean legs. But
beautiful?
Look at yourself with Olivia's eyes, Emma.
Olivia wouldn't have wanted to make love with Evan. Had we met, in some
alternate reality, we might have been friends and enjoyed each other's
company - become close mates, but I would never have touched her body and
made her cum. Olivia was attracted to me because she saw a woman; she was
aroused by me because she touched a woman. She'd wanted to spend time with
me that first day we met because she was attracted to that woman.
Two nights later we went to a comedy club session at Lincoln's Drill Hall.
It had been a long time since I'd laughed so much. Afterwards we had a
couple of drinks at a pub around the corner, picked up a kebab to share
then wandered back to my flat where we made love slowly, carefully,
considerately, beautifully.
"What happened to you, Emma?" she whispered when were sprawled together
afterwards. Her thigh was across my hips, her arm over my chest, mine
around her holding her close. She traced flowers on my shoulder again.
I tensed - couldn't help it and she felt it. This was the moment I had
dreaded since that first kiss - Olivia and the Great Lie. I should have
rehearsed some method, a script, to manage this encounter, but I had
nothing beyond a whirlwind of thoughts and notions - half-arsed all of
them.
Olivia took my silence for reluctance rather than indecision. Her
detective's head could't let it go though. "I mean, the way you are, the
way you present and then these beautiful flowers, your very naughty
tattoo... the piercings in your ears. It's like, like you're in somebody
else's skin."
Deep breath. "I have other piercings too. Both nipples, one of my labia.
Can't remember which one."
"It was a man, wasn't it?"
A little nod; anybody who hadn't been nestled tight to my cheek would have
missed it. I didn't like to admit it, even to myself, but Kennedy still
trampled my dreams; I didn't want to take Olivia there, even if that was
part of her job. I needed to be more than another victim to her.
"He's in prison." Twisting in her arms so I could see her, and not him, I
kissed the tip of her nose. "He raped me."
Her arms tightened. "I'm so sorry."
"Nothing for you to be sorry about."
"I shouldn't have asked."
"You knew though didn't you?"
"I haven't been checking up on you!"
I kissed her again. "I know. Really, I know you wouldn't."
"It's like you're wearing another woman's skin."
That almost made me laugh, or cry - how perceptive of her, but that was
her work. Dealing with women who had been raped and beaten and abused;
investigating the men who'd betrayed them.
That vision of Kirsty Connor outside my flat that night came to mind The
tight miniskirt, towering heels, perfectly overdone makeup. 'You wouldn't
have liked her."
She lifted herself onto one elbow and her black hair tumbled over me,
satin soft and glorious. "How could I have not?"
"Self obsessed, image obsessed - all superficial. I don't like her."
"Emma!"
I smiled for her, to try and show it was alright - that I was okay.
"I'm a better person for it," I said and wished I hadn't. Not because the
words were for Olivia, and she accepted them by laying back down and
holding me tight, but because they were part of The Lie, and I hadn't
fully thought them through. I was speaking parts of the Great Lie so often
they were blending my life with Kirsty's life and becoming my truth. But
still a lie I couldn't confess to anybody, especially not my beautiful
Olivia.
Next morning, sitting behind the reception desk as the first wave of
headquarters personnel passed me I considered leaving. I could just
uproot, my roots weren't that long, take myself to a different part of the
country. Bristol maybe, Exeter or Plymouth, and start again - keeping my
lives separate; creating distance from the Lie.
"You seem distant today," Janine said, kindly. "Everything okay?"
Olivia came in at her usual time - loose top, tight jeans and ballet
flats, hair wound into a gleaming plait. She waved on the approach,
diverted away from the main doors to drop a Snickers chocolate bar on the
desk in front of me. She liked the way my North Eastern lilt said,
"Snickers."
"Come for tea tonight," she said and waved again as she went off to her
office.
Janine looked troubled as I slipped the chocolate into my handbag. She
peered around in a conspiratorial fashion. "You know she's a," she said
before mouthing, in a comedy over-exaggerated fashion the word, lesbian.
I couldn't help myself. Clapping a hand to my mouth I opened my eyes wide
and she nodded with the satisfaction of the building's top gossip having
scored another goal.
"You'd have thought she'd have mentioned that."
"Well, you know what they're like."
"When we were in my bath together last night."
I could have laughed aloud at the look on her face, but that would have
been cruel. Instead, I gave her a warm smile and said, 'Janine, I'm a," I
mouthed lesbian, "as well."
Her lips compressed. "Well!" Her eyes narrowed. "Well. I think you should
have said something."
"Maybe. But it's not the sort of thing you drop into your introductions
and besides, I never really knew until she kissed us."
She didn't really say much for the rest of the day, but we were pretty
busy and when I wasn't dealing with all the routine stuff that came with
the job my head was spinning a load of different ways as I came to terms
with what I had just done.
Have just come out to Janine - I messaged Olivia on my first break.
No reply came and I wondered if I had upset her - maybe only Janine had
known, though it didn't strike me as the sort of thing she'd be able to
keep to herself.
Instead of a reply Olivia herself appeared at lunch time, moments after I
had been relieved for my dinner. With a big smile for Janine and a bigger
one for me, she led me into the grounds around the building and we found a
bench overlooking the lake.
"How do you feel, coming out?" She squeezed my hand as she said it.
It was a hard thing to quantify. I'd known people who'd done just that -
before. A couple of lads I'd known from school had moved in together and
told me of their mutual love one night in a pub and I'd often thought
about what that must have felt like. But it was different for me.
Admitting I liked girls, that I had a girlfriend wasn't the issue - in my
mixed-up head that bit was perfectly natural. The world-tilting bit came
from admitting I was a lesbian because that really underlined my gender.
Of course, I'd to tick the female box on all the forms i'd completed since
Kirsty, but this went further. Coming out as a lesbian made me more than
female; in my head it labelled me as woman.
Olivia stared at the lake a moment. "I was seventeen when I told my
parents I preferred girls."
"How was it?"
"Not what their ideally groomed daughter should be telling them. I had a
lovely boyfriend at the time as well; good looking, charming, polite -
rich! All the things you want in a friend, but..." She pointed between her
thighs. "Didn't do anything for me. His Mum on the other hand, oh -
gorgeous." She shrugged. "They're okay now, I suppose. Every year that
passes makes them sigh a little deeper and realise it probably isn't a
phase I'm going through."
A flotilla of ducks sailed in orderly formation across the still water; it
was so peaceful sitting here holding my girlfriend's hand - my girlfriend!
I turned to look at her, the profile of her face, the way the breeze
lifted some of the wisps straying from her plait, the sunlight on her
skin. My girlfriend. My lips parted, filling with kisses for her, but some
old-fashioned sensibility held me back. Should I kiss her here, in the HQ
grounds?
"Olivia?"
She turned, smiled. "I love it when you say my name. Your voice, your
accent make it sound like poetry."
Nobody had ever said that about my North-Eastern twang before, but the
pleasure shone in her eyes.
We didn't spend much time together at her place. She shared a house in a
nice village a few miles from Lincoln with two other women, both cops. One
of them was a bit awkward about girl on girl relationships and though warm
enough with Olivia, I think they'd joined up together or something, she
was cool with me. I stayed over one night though, when she was on nights
and the other housemate was away and were able to sit in the moonlight
filling their little back garden listening to the sounds of bottles and
revelry from a nearby pub and two cats screeching at each other next door.
"I got you something," she said after a long, delicious kiss.
"Another beer?"
"In a minute. Here."
She pressed a crimson jewellery box into my hand.
"You shouldn't have."
"Why not? I like to buy things for people I love."
Inside was a fine gold necklace with a delicate, flower shaped pendant.
Beside it were two stud earrings in the same design as the pendant. The
moonlight prettily caught the fine links and curved, wire petals.
"It's lovely, thanks. Thank you so much."
"The shape of it reminded me of your lovely bouquet, on your shoulder. You
don't have to wear the earrings," she said while she fastened the necklace
behind my neck. "I know you don't, anymore - it's just they were a set and
the box would have looked funny if I'd taken them out -"
I stopped her with a kiss. "Will you put them in for me?" I'd said it
before I'd had chance to think it through.
"Really?"
"I'm out of practice." Another bit of the lie.
I pulled my hair away from one ear and offered it to her. There was a
slight pinch as the post went through, reminding me of that prick as I'd
morphed into Kirsty, but other than that they both went in fine.
"They suit you," she said, tracing the gold chain around my neck.
"You suit me."
Another morning, another frank look at myself in the mirror as I got ready
for work. My bra, one of the few survivors of those Kirsty had bought,
it's plain, unadorned cut and nude colouring were looking distinctly
shabby. A little lower down my plain, originally white, cotton Tesco
panties looked dull and grey. The last time I'd undressed Olivia I had
found her wearing a delicate, powder blue, lace trimmed bra and matching
panties that had looked lovely against her satin skin.
I had my nails done again, when the first lot of varnish started to look a
little tatty, because Olivia breathlessly told me, one evening as we made
love, that sight of painted, feminine nails on slender hands caressing her
breasts really turned her on. She liked to watch me playing with myself
too, teasing my own nipples and slowly fingering myself while she watched
with wide eyes and was inspired to touch herself. How could I not continue
painting my nails after such sweet encouragement? And I grew to like it -
I did have feminine hands after all.
When she came in to work next I was almost stunned by the change in her
outfit. Detailed to attend a two day, West Midlands based conference on
domestic violence and stalking, she had swapped her usual casual attire
for a professional skirt suit, with eye catching hemline, and tall, black
high heeled boots. With her hair in a very neat bun and a little make up
she looked every inch the professional. To me she looked absolutely
gorgeous and a long way removed from the giggling girl who, just a few
days ago, had lain in my arms in a tent in an Edale campsite watching the
sunrise through the open tent flaps while we fingered each other.
"Do you like it?" she asked, using her hands to encompass her suit and
giving me a little twirl while Janine pursed her lips.
"You look amazing, Olivia."
"Makes me shiver when you say my name," she whispered and, giving Janine a
finger wriggle wave, hurried outside where her car was waiting.
"Headquarters reception is no place for flirting," Janine said sternly.
"I know, I know. But she does look amazing."
"I did like her boots."
I ordered a uniform skirt from stores. An impulse, a knee jerk response to
something I'd been mulling over since Olivia had given me that necklace
and earrings, which I'd hardly taken off by the way. The skirt hung on my
wardrobe door for two days, a couple of times I took it down and held it
against me, like I were weighting it up in a shop. Once or twice I reached
under the hem and tested the satin lining between thumb and index finger.
It wasn't a trendy skirt, we'd never have sold any like that in the shop
where I'd played at being Kirsty, but it was an easy one to experiment
with. Nobody could criticise the style - it was uniform.
"Are you really going to do this?" I asked myself. Clint was watching,
sneering as usual. The skirt hung in its usual position; a brand new, only
just unpackaged pair of black opaque tights hung from my fingers. Instead
of my usual commando raids on the clothes section in the local Tesco to
buy whatever austere clothing I absolutely needed, I had gone to an actual
womenswear shop on the High Street. Two pairs of pretty panties, one
frivolous bra and a multipack of tights later I had emerged.
By the time I had defeated the tights Clint was bored and diligently
washing his bum. Standing before the mirror, smooth and black from the
waist down, I recalled how much I had admired and enjoyed Kirsty's legs.
Even in thick, opaque nylon they still looked good - woman's legs; legs
Olivia loved. How exciting had it been to have run my fingers up Kirsty's
legs through those sheer tights she'd worn that most memorable night? I
wanted Olivia to be excited by my legs the way I had been. I wanted Olivia
to look at me the way I had at her in her suit and heels and for her to
think I looked amazing. I wanted her to be excited by how I looked and how
I felt.
"Didn't think your sort wore skirts," Janine's look said when she saw me.
She wouldn't have actually dared say anything like that - homophobia is a
difficult thing to explain away when you're trying to find a new job after
being sacked by the Police. She probably didn't even think anything like
that; after the initial shock of my coming out she'd been okay, but having
spent the entire bus trip from Lincoln to Police HQ nervously, obsessively
tweaking and checking the hem hadn't ridden up to bare my arse I was
feeling vulnerable and paranoid about the whole skirt thing.
But it was pleasant and smart to wear, it swirled around my smooth legs in
a distracting manner and nobody batted an eyelid. After all, I was just a
woman wearing a skirt at work. Loads of the women I saw that morning were
wearing skirts like it was the most ordinary thing in the world because it
was one of the most ordinary things in their worlds.
By the time lunchtime came and Olivia actually noticed, I had almost
forgotten the whole thing. She was back in jeans and tennis shoes after
her trip to Coventry, but she did nod approvingly. "Good ankles," she
messaged me later on. "Can't wait to get my hands up that later on."
"You're like a flower slowly opening in the sunshine," she said that
evening while we lay in my bed trying to ignore Clint's purring.
"You're my sunshine."
Next day I wore some of her lipstick to work. She said she liked kissing
me when my lips were satin smooth. How could I resist that kind of
emotional pressure? And it was only a discreet shade. And it looked okay.
More than okay.
As much as that bastard genie had made me a woman, it was Olivia who
helped me to enjoy it. Right after I'd zipped up her dress one evening I
had a sudden, frigid WTF moment when I caught my reflection in her mirror.
"Emma? It's okay. Honest."
I couldn't speak, couldn't turn away from the woman in the mirror and I
remember the last time I'd seen her with her legs gleaming subtly with
sheer, almost invisible nylon, the seams of her tights bold over very
pretty panties, her breasts pushed up by a matching bra of black and lace
and satin. When I'd been too much a gentleman to stare.
The gulf between Evan, the admirer of women in lingerie and sensual tights
to Emma, the wearer of such things yawned impossibly wide with me dangling
in the middle.
"Emma?"
She handed me a dress. I'd already worn it once, in the shop where I'd
tried it on; where she'd slipped into the fitting room with me and kissed
me hard, cupped my breasts and slipped her mischievous hand down the front
of my panties.
The hand that reached to take the dress was a stranger's - slim, delicate;
manicured and with pretty painted nails. It wore a silver ring on its
thumb. My hand? My fingers were numb and tingled.
"I'll give you a hand."
An apologetic shrug was sent her way. "I'm being daft." We'd already
discussed it wasn't the kind of dress Old Kirsty might have worn, based on
nothing more than what she'd been wearing on That Night. Sleeveless and
black, fitted and calf length it did have a bold split up the front, left
side that would rustle seductively and flash my left leg, to a few inches
above the knee, when I walked. I wasn't able to say it was my first dress,
obviously, but Olivia's eyes were soft with compassion assuming my
nervousness around the dress was post-rape anxiety. I hated that more than
the idea of going public in it.
So I stepped into it, with my eyes closed, settled the straps over my
shoulders and felt the dress close snug around me as Olivia zipped it up
my back.
"You can open your eyes now."
A woman looked back at me; a woman in a very elegant dress. It suited her.
She looked good. Olivia's hands appeared atop my hips, she peered around
me and did her wonderful, crooked smile. "You look amazing."
I almost asked for some reassurance - really? Are you sure? Do I look
silly in this? That would have been so shallow I stopped myself. I didn't
need reassurance for the way I looked, I needed reassurance because a very
small, and rapidly wilting, piece of me still felt like a man in a frock.
The visual and physical evidence was weighted very much against that
position.
"Think I need a padded bra." The dress was a little loose over my boobs.
Olivia considered that a moment and shrugged. "Maybe, but not today. I
love your breasts." She lifted her hands to cup them, to squeeze them
gently and then kissed my neck, bared where she had already pinned up my
hair.
"I never used to wear it up much," the hateful lie I'd used to to explain
why I knew nothing about braiding or pins or nets. She'd promised to not
speak to me for a whole day if I ever used hair straighteners on it again.
My body remembered heels, though I didn't go out on that evening wearing
the kind of towering ankle-snappers it had once glided along in - 3 inches
were enough, and felt surprisingly good. Olivia and I clipped our way into
a very nice Indian Restaurant, arm in arm, to meet the remainder of her
team, their boss and boss's boss to celebrate a promotion - I couldn't
remember whose. I knew most of the cops by sight, headquarters personnel
mostly, but not their partners - men and women - whose names were too many
to remember.
It took a while for the tension to slip from my shoulders, back and fixed
smile. Olivia interpreted it as my first public engagement as her lesbian
partner, but that didn't really factor. Despite my limited experience in
skirts I was frightened of making some social spectacle in the dress or
heels. Never having worn very sheer tights before, and they did feel
lovely, I could have cried when I stuck a finger through them after a
visit to the loo. Happily the ladder didn't extend to a visible part of my
leg.
Her team, her boss and his boss were very welcoming though - friendly and
open - and I was accepted into the group of women without murmur as they
admired my dress and shoes, my hair and complexion. Their curiosity about
my girlfriend extended to comparing her work persona with the imagined one
at home. Was Olivia very bossy at home? Was she always grumpy in the
morning? And I found out, from a drunk and giggling Sara Akamba, why
Olivia was out of her office so much she needed to be called back via the
public address so often. In short, she wasn't. It was a team conspiracy to
alleviate very stressful days by having the North Eastern receptionist say
Olivia de Souza over the public address. "It wasn't long after you'd
started," Sara said. "Liv commented on how lovely your voice and your
accent sounded. So, whenever she was pissed off we'd get you to tannoy
her. You never failed to put a smile on her face. Please don't be mad, it
made her happy."
I laughed. Sara laughed too and for the first time in ages and ages I felt
like I was part of something.
"Geordie tannoy girl?" I challenged her in the taxi back to my flat. That
was my nickname in the team, decided upon before any of them had
discovered my name. "You know I'm not a Geordie anyway? I'd have to be a
Newcastle lass for that."
She coloured up, put her hands to her mouth - eyes wide. "Who told you!"
"I'd do anything to make you happy."
The taxi driver almost crashed twice as he tried to watch us kissing on
his back seat, but that only made us laugh some more.
Nova
- 07.01.2023
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