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The Other Mirror. By Tanya H. My name is Saskia Ann Longbeck, often called Sal, and once upon a time I believed myself male. To maintain this charade I wrapped myself in deceit and denial, I made a pretence of my life and pushed deep any idea that I could be anything other than man. What I made for myself could be boxed off three ways; Loneliness, for I never wanted anybody close in case I blurted how I really felt; austerity, I chose to have little so I couldn't afford what I shouldn't have; impermanence, so I could never grow roots allowing me to gather more than I could carry. I travelled a lot, stretching a gap year of journeying into three years living from a back pack and doing whatever work I could find across three continents. I pretended enjoyment of the notion that I was leaving no footprints, not trace of my duplicitous life. I mimed happiness, but in reality I found this prolonged denial deeply lonely, but it wasn't until I saw myself properly in a real mirror that I realised how hollow I'd made myself. Mirror, mirror on the wall... How often have we heard that line through Disney and mythology? I make no claim to be the fairest of them all, but the woman I see every time I lean in to attend my make up and dress my hair always recalls my stunned response the first time I saw my female reflection in a very magical mirror. Remembering that wide-eyed, open mouthed expression of surprise always lifts a smile to my lips. I'd always been a slender boy, with some throw back to a Roman conquerer in my brown eyes, olive skin and thick, black hair, but to see a woman's reflection in a mirror! That's when I saw, and wept for, the bleak life I'd created. But I don't mean to talk too much about that day, not yet anyway. I want to tell you about the Other Mirror; the one Hazel, Lizzie and I speculated about in the days after I was mirrored and while I was learning to be Saskia. I should explain; Hazel (serene, beautifully elegant and generous) owns a secluded, Cotswolds hotel. In that hotel's room thirteen is an old, full-length, carved wooden mirror that every so often frees a woman trapped inside a man. Lizzie (wonderfully ginger, freckled and Liverpudlian) is an occasional barmaid, receptionist and waitress at the hotel, and a full time soldier. Both Lizzie and Hazel were men until they looked into that mirror and it freed them. Impossible of course! Until it happens to you it is hard to believe, but Hazel, Lizzie and I are the living proofs. There are others too; Hazel keeps in touch with them all - like some kind of extended sisterhood. That was four years ago, four incredible years of learning to live as a woman and learning to love living as a woman. All that man time seems like a dream, distant and unreal. Now I live in a pub. Actually, and I never get tired of saying this, I live in my pub. For all the bars I've worked in I never once imagined that I would one day have a pub of my own or that I could ever be the landlady of a looming, rambling, former coach house stuck on the grey edge of a wonderful Northumbrian moor. But I am that landlady and when I learnt of the Other Mirror I'd been landlady of the Black Cat Inn for almost three years. Evidence of my gradual acceptance into village life came from two directions: First - I was invited to join the Women's Institute. To decline them would have been professional suicide. Second - after two summers serving ale and sandwiches to the village cricket team I'd been invited to join them - only their second woman in one hundred and fifty years! I can hardly bat or bowl, but I'm a sprinter with good hands who can take awesome catches close to the boundary. And they were desperate. My ownership of the Black Cat was owed to torrential Northumbrian rain, horribly aching feet and a very generous friend. The feet weren't mine, even though I first walked into the Black Cat during a lengthy hike southwards along the Pennine Way and my soles were a little tired. They belonged to Gary, the landlord of the day. His nickname was Gouty Gary and the deep lines etched into face and the sorrowful slant to his brows showed the world how he suffered with his feet. The pouring ran was common enough in Northumbria, especially in the summer, and had driven all the campers (me included) into the Inn's shelter so Gary had been suffering with the extra work, and regretting not paying for extra staff. After a long wait to have my glass refilled he had turned those eyes, and all their years of despair my way and said, "You look like a bright lass. Come round here and give us a hand serving these thirsty bastards." I stayed the whole summer, drawn by the minimum wage, a free room and the chance to walk as much of the local moors and valleys as I fancied. Wonderful. Gary had been a good employer, treated me well, he never flirted or tried it on, and I'd grown to like him - like a grumpy, but loveable uncle. Even so, I was stunned when he sat me down after closing time one night, when I was due to move on again, and offered me the pub at a bargain price. "I'm right browned off with it, lass; proper tired of it, Saskia. Got me eye on a nice caravan in a nice park near Saltburn, I have. You're a good lass, you know what makes the Black Cat tick. How about it? Wanna give it a go?" "What experience have you at running a licensed premises?" the bank manager had asked, without looking at the business plan Hazel and I had drawn up. He didn't actually finish the question with, 'young lady,' or 'sugar tits,' but the words and condescending attitude hung unspoken between us. Fat twat. I'd love for him to stop by one afternoon, drawn from the bypass by the promise of my Sunday carvery, or home-cooked pies or fresh battered fish. I could serve him and his fat family dairy ice cream (from Gracie's farm up the valley) in the ice-cream parlour I converted from the old stables and show him the four-star rated shower block in the camp site I made in the paddock. Then I could cheerfully point out that his fat bank hadn't made a bit of money from any of it after he'd turned me down. Hazel had lent me the money herself. Anyway, enough of that - welcome to the Black Cat Inn; my pub. I had my rooms in the attic, under the eaves where presumably embarrassing family lunatics or inconvenient first wives were once kept. My dressing table was before the window to give me distracting views over the fells and forest and it was there, on the night of the Other Mirror, that I bunned my hair, painted my lips and darkened my eyes ready for another night pulling pints in the bar. Even before I was overtly female I considered myself a feminist and as I evolved into a successful businesswoman I balanced those ideals with the product I sold to my regulars, campers and visitors. Consequently much more often than not you'd find Saskia pulling pints, mixing cocktails, clearing tables and serving food with her legs showing under a shortish skirt. Even without much in the way of a chest, I tended to wear figure-hugging tops for work. I didn't mind if people had a look, as long as they never stared, or made comment. And if anybody touched! That's when you'd see a five and half foot woman ejecting some bastard from her pub. That night I wore an almost knee length skater dress in royal blue, sheer black tights, a creamy cardigan and maroon baseball boots; despite my late start in womanhood I am confident, elegant even, in towering heels - just not for a long evening behind the bar. At the appointed hour I drew back the bolts and swung open the pitted, well- old front door for whatever customers might be thinking of a pint or a meal in my snug establishment that autumn evening. First in were the three lads, Josh, Paul and Rob, from McQueen's garage just up the lane. Tuesday evenings they came in for a pint and game of darts after work. I had a good relationship with Josh McQueen; he kept my Land Rover on the road for me. The Land Rover, called Hobart, was much older than me and came with the pub - there was a picture of a back-arched black cat painted on each door. An actual black cat came with the pub too. Gouty Garry had pointed out the cat when I'd first agreed to work for him. "I don't know much about cats," I'd said looking at the animal in question, which had stared back without a flicker of interest in its orange eyes, "but that is not a black cat." "Yes it is," Gouty Garry said with a wheezy grin. "Must be. This is the famous Black Cat pub and there's always been a black cat here." "It's a ginger tabby!" "You'll come round, lassie." Not only were all the cats who lived in the Black Cat, black cats they were all called Thomas. When a slight grey and white kitten turned up outside the shower block one afternoon and moved in there was a village outcry when I started calling her Dizzy. The Women's Institute and Young Farmers threatened me with a crippling boycott if the grey wasn't immediately renamed. As much as I like my principles, I like to pay off my debts, so she became Thomas. Once she and the original, ginger Thomas had stopped snarling and spitting at each other both Thomases got on just fine. Anyway, I digress. I'm something of a rambling story teller; my regulars might tell you I'm a typical woman, always talking too much, but what do they know. After the garage crew started their darts a family came in from the campsite to warm up by the fire before dinner. They brought Cluedo with them and were soon tucked into working out who had murdered Rev Green in the library with the lead pipe. There followed enough folk to make it a steady evening, but they were all overshadowed when Jake walked in. Obviously I didn't know his name was Jake then, I'd never seen him before, but even so when I saw him there shrugging off his coat I was washed with such a feeling of warm familiarity I smiled and said hello like a long-lost brother had just walked in. The smile I got in return was as bright and dazzling as the one I bestowed, before a look of mute incomprehension marred his smooth, wonderfully proportioned features. I bet I was frowning too, because other than the fact that he was hot, in an elegant, posed manner, there was nothing familiar about him at all. Despite that rush of 'knowing' him, I didn't know him at all. But I did know that feeling. Remember I told you that once I believed I was a man? That wasn't because some kind of twisted, wicked witch of a step-mother had forced me to live as a boy, then a man. No, nothing as simple as that - I had been an actual man, with a cock and balls and beard and cum and hairy legs and testosterone in abundance and all the other good stuff that comes with manhood. Until one day, backpacking along the route of a road, old before the Romans ever stared greedily at Britannia, I happened across a mirror in a lovely hotel and from it a woman looked back at me and the man-dream was finished. Next morning I'd walked down from my room, dazed and ravenous, into the hotel reception with my room key clutched in one moist, trembling hand - in case anybody decided this strange, black-haired girl was an opportunist rather than a paying guest. However, nobody minded me; not the receptionist who had checked me in the day before, or the Old Duffer with the newspaper who had conversed with me about the rugby in the bar after dinner. Then a tall, ginger lass, covered in freckles and with a Liverpool accent I couldn't get to grips with wandered in from outside. Her name was Lizzie and she'd been serving me behind the bar last night; from her glow and running kit she'd been enjoying a run around the lanes. She said hello to the receptionist, commented on the weather to Old Duffer then saw me - the nervous, brand new girl. And that's when I felt the warmth that Jake aroused in me. When mine and Lizzie's eyes met and she smiled such a smile of welcome I knew that putting the man-dream behind me was going to work out fine. "I was hoping to pitch for the night," Jake said, that day in the Black Cat. He was dressed for hiking, his kit was worn and comfortable - good quality. His voice was warm, drawled and American. Never having crossed the Atlantic, though I had met and spent time with many US citizens on my travels, I couldn't have said where his accent was from. He offered his hand. An amused air surrounded him, I almost expected a spark or crackle when I took his hand, but nothing had happened. To be fair, I'd felt nothing from touching Lizzie either, or indeed Hazel when I met her later that most memorable day. "Jake Carlton." "Saskia, most call me Sal." "I like Saskia better." "I answer to either. Give me a moment, I'll show you where you can pitch." Leaving the newly arrived Wendy, Grand Vizier of the Women's Institute and my Head Barmaid, to supervise I waited for Jake to shoulder his kit and led him to the camp site. We weren't ever so busy that week, two caravans, one mobile home and three tents, so he had room to find himself a secluded spot. "Love your dress," he said after I'd waved towards the showers and loos. "Suits you, moves well around you." When I turned he was smiling a disarming smile. Coming onto me? You get used to it, being a landlady, but there was something deeper than that. "Listen," he went on as I thanked him. "We've met, I'm sure of it." Tucking a stray lock of hair behind an ear I watched him a moment. His smile faltered under the scrutiny, his eyes turned to the floor. "I've heard better lines." He snorted. "I would have done better if I was just..." His words tailed off. "Something about you." I had a put down ready, right there on the tip of my tongue, but I let it dissolve away because I could have said the same thing about him. Instead I summoned my prettiest smile. "You'll be sorry if you miss dinner tonight. Shall I pencil you in for a table?" "I've got a meal planned." He gestured to his backpack. "Save it. Are you southbound or northbound?" He brightened at the question - safer ground. The Black Cat sat on the Pennine Way, partly why my campsite, rooms, restaurant and muddy boot friendly tiled floors did so well. "North." "I did it both ways. Like the southbound route better. I do discount for walkers." "It's your place?" A nod. "Nice work. What kind of discount? Funds are limited for luxuries like pub dinners." "How much do you like my dress?" I pulled a coquettish pose and fluttered my eyelashes. Disconcerting familiarity or not, I had decided that unless Jake Carlton had some atrocious habits, like chewing with his mouth open, he wouldn't be sleeping in his tent tonight. Happily enough, for the intimate tingle spreading across my body as the night went one, Jake's table manners were excellent, he was polite and good humoured company so nothing I could see put me off the notion that he would be a good prospect for keeping my bed warm. I don't invite that many customers upstairs, in case you're thinking I might boost my income like that, but I do enjoy sex - much more now than when I was pretending at being a man. I get many offers, partly because I'm easy on the eyes and mostly because I'm single and have a good business, but I am very picky about my partners. As the time approached to ring the 'last orders' bell, Jake had satisfied the criteria with his character, humour, looks and all-round bedability. Beyond that I had learnt he was from Absaroka County in Wyoming, meant nothing to me, and was on leave from his job as a cruise ship steward. Enjoying walking in places where he couldn't see the sea, as he described it. We were sitting at a table, a glass of wine each, enjoying the companionable spectacle of watching the fire die down to embers when I finally broached the idea that had been fermenting since I'd first set eyes on him. "I'm going to be direct, I think I'm allowed - it is my pub." He inclined his head, accepting the point. "I'm going to invite you upstairs, to my rooms." "That is refreshingly direct." "Thank you. But first, I'd like you to answer a question - honestly." Deep breath. "Have you ever looked into a mirror and seen somebody else looking back?" The best I could do. I'd been mulling over a form of words I could use; one that would have meaning to one who knew, but to anybody else might sound like the fanciful notion of a starry eyed girl. I didn't want to spend the night beating about any bush either. I held his eyes as they narrowed. Then sweet realisation dawned in them. "Yes." "Is the right answer." Jake stroked his chin. "And you?" "Same." "Wow. Then... You were a..." "Only superficially. So that means you must have been..." "Reluctantly." We stared at each other a moment. I was searching his features, his lips, eyes, anything for some hint of womanhood. Maybe he was looking into me, searching for the man I'd once been stuck as. Almost as one we laughed and looked away. "I didn't know there was one, for man to woman," Jake said after a moment or two. "We speculated about there being a woman to man version." "We?" "More girls. Never met a man like you." "Where?" I waved towards Way Down South. "There's a hotel I stumbled across in the Cotswolds. In the hotel is a room and in there is this very old mirror..." "I was walking in Scotland, out on the West Coast. You been over there?" I nodded, crossing my legs and self-consciously tweaking my hem. "Real old place, up a lane you'd hardly find if you weren't booked in, and run by some hunched, withered Jock who looked like he'd been there since the Jacobite Rebellion." As much as I wanted to stay, there were tables needed clearing and jobs to do as the Black Cat settled down for the night. Promising I wouldn't be long, I walked away feeling his eyes on me. About to turn and wave, multiple crises of self-confidence ran up and slapped me soundly on the arse - as though the man who had been a woman, with whom I had spent such an agreeable time, was staring at me and finding fault with me. As though I was a pretend woman, as though I was cross-dressing or something; as if I wasn't biologically, perfectly an XX chromosome female. Was my dress too short, my tights too sheer, my make-up too bold? Did I look like a man trying to be some kind of caricature of a woman? Gaining the sanctuary behind the bar I took a deep breath, looked Jake's way and tilted my chin belligerently, but he was looking at his phone. Maybe sensing my stare, he grinned and waved. I smiled back. All was well. "Silly cow," I admonished myself. "What now?" said Wendy. "A crisis of self-belief." "Silly cow." "You can't talk to me like that. I'm your boss." She laughed, happily, and squeezed my shoulder warmly. "Poor deluded, Sal. Don't forget who runs this town or who runs the outfit that runs this town." I tugged an imaginary forelock and went to clear some tables. I couldn't call upon the kind of army you'd need to take on Wendy and the Women's Institute around here. "I love it here," said Jake when I plonked myself by him and fire twenty minutes or so later. The customers had thinned out and only Jackie Furbar and her husband, Malc, monied property developers from Newcastle, were left by the bar chatting to Wendy about their latest development opportunity. "It's like the quintessential English pub without being cheesy or cliche'd." "Could I have it all shipped to the States then, to California or something? To sell the English pub experience?" "You'd have to bring all your regulars with you. For the tourists to take selfies with." "And ruin the special relationship? I don't think so. But, I'm glad you like it." I reached to run my fingers along the old wood of the mantlepiece. "I have never settled so well in a single place before." "Because you're here as the person you have always longed to be?" "Probably." I shifted on my stool so my knee was against his. "Tell me, feed my curiosity, what was the stand out moment after you changed - when you really knew, wow this is me?" Without moving his knee away form mine he leant back and linked his hands behind his head, seeking inspiration from the ceiling. "Well, knowing how you Brits love toilet humour you will love this bit. The first, major, 'wow this is me moment' came the day after I woke up like this. I'd had my breakfast in the hotel, then I went to the bathroom and almost went into the stall - I'd never used a urinal before! But I was very brave, I went to that urinal and took out my peter, is this too graphic for you, pointed him at the thing and just let go. If you must know, I high-fived myself, gave myself a big whoop, and a yeeeeeess!" When I laughed, he spread his hands in mock incomprehension. "Let me tell you, ma'am - that was a big deal for me back then!" "I know, boy do I know that. Little things!" "Hey! It might be little, but it works perfectly and it's all mine and I'm proud of it, okay! Now, tell me yours." I was ready for this, or course I was. So I got my thoughts in order and told him about a night out with a couple of close school friends, Kim and Cole. We'd been planning it for ages, even before I changed. "How long after you changed?" "About six weeks I think, so I was getting pretty used to it. But this wow moment came in a nightclub they'd taken me to. And it was brilliant, I'd known them both at school - me and Kim had even had a bit of a thing at one point, and even they both accepted me as Saskia, like I'd always been Saskia." "But you always had been Saskia," he said, squeezing my knee. I was disappointed he didn't keep his hand there. "So there I was, in this nightclub in Exeter and me and Kim had done that brilliant female thing where we went to the ladies room together. I was a little drunk, but felt amazing; I was wearing really skinny white jeans, my bum looked great in them, a purple top with lots of cleavage on show (thanks to a push up bra - my first time wearing one of those) gorgeous glittery stilettos, my hair all wild and down and free and smoking-hot make up - long , really long, dangly earrings too and I'm stood in the ladies with Kim and we're checking our hair and touching up our lippie and all that good stuff. When it hits me - I'm a woman and it's wonderful and I'm so gloriously happy that I just swept her into my arms and hugged her and told her I'd never been happier." Jake raised his wine glass. I clinked mine against it. "Here's to the power of bathrooms to bring joy." Then he made a contemplative face. "I was never into that kind of girly stuff. Even when I was one." "I didn't go ridiculously pink and frilly, but I did lots of making up for lost time. That may have been the first time I'd worn trousers since I'd looked in the mirror." It hadn't been, but not by much. The ability to wear a skirt in public, during the couple of months I'd spent at her hotel working in the bar and restaurant, while finding my female feet, had been brilliant. "No reason why you shouldn't go girly," said Jake. "Me, I went proper macho. I grew the beard, pumped myself up at the gym, went for the tight tops so the world could see I had pecs and not boobs. I cropped my hair, just stopped short of a load of a load tats. Christ, I was all set to join the Marine Corps! Then..." He shrugged. "Beards are real itchy, and I wondered what kind of self-centred prick I looked like and calmed down. Now I'm just a regular guy." "I'm not a fan of kissing beardie blokes." I rubbed my cheeks. "Prickles." Silence fell between us. Jackie and Wendy cackled uproariously at something Malc had said. He looked cross when I turned to look, but the women were almost crying. "You know," Jake said, leaning forward and keeping his voice low. "When you told me about you and Kim and your lipstick just now; your whole face lit up and you were so radiant - like you were there again. You're beautiful, a really beautiful woman. Up until this evening, I'd never been able to get my head around why anybody could ever want to give up being male and willingly become female. But looking at you, meeting you - I get it, I really do." Heat rose in my cheeks. I'd had many compliments on my appearance since I'd gone Saskia, but none of them delivered so passionately or with such feeling. Without really being able to help myself I leant forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you." "Stop flirting with the customers, Sal," Jackie warned, her voice still full of chuckles. Malc was practically dragging her outside. "Looks like I'm in the spare room again tonight. Enjoy yourself, pet." She waved and grinned before the door closed behind her. Which left me, Jake and Wendy, and she was light on her feet to walk back up the hill to her home. She handed me the cash tray and nodded in Jake's direction as he stirred at the embers with the great, iron poker. "You need a husband, Sal." "I like to try before I buy. He meets the criteria so far, now I just need to see if first, he leaves the toilet seat up and second, can he help me cum." "Sal! The way you talk!" But she was grinning. "A girl needs company. You're okay, you've got that massive farmer of yours to keep you warm." "We've been married much to long for that kind of thing, lassie! Enjoy yourself, but take care." "It will be amazing. You know me, I'm a good judge of men." That came of having been one, but she didn't need to know that." So I locked up; there were some guests in the bedrooms, but they wouldn't trouble me until breakfast and Wendy would be back to help me with that. Picking up a half bottle of wine from behind the bar I caught Jake's eye and nodded towards the stairs. "Do you do this often?" he asked, sauntering over. "Does it matter?" "I find independence erotic in woman." He smiled softly as he said it. If you'll excuse the cliche, something inside me melted and gathered in a most exciting manner between my legs and deep within my breasts. My nipples crinkled awake and made happy points through my dress. "Looks like it's turned chilly," he said, but didn't stare. "Not from where I'm standing." "This has been a really weird evening." His hands coming to rest lightly on my hips made me smile. "Weird?" His fingertips were very warm. I started unpinning my bun. "But good. Really good." My hair tumbled free, I pushed it away from my face. "Stop talking now." "Make me." Though I'm not usually one to do as I'm told, I kissed him. Pressed my lips to his and held them there, melted a little more to feel him open to me; I pushed my breasts against him. I could have taken him there and then; on the bar, across any of the dining tables, beside the embers and it wouldn't have been the first time I'd made a man my own there in the public spaces of the bar. But for all the heat I was enjoying so much as our kiss grew deeper and deeper I needed more from Jake Carlton. Mere sex would not do for this man, I planned on making love with him. As his hand dropped, warm and confident, to cup my bum through my dress, I broke the kiss and made a slight space between us. A frown clouded his face, he tilted his head - questioning; too far too soon? I shook my head, took his hand. "Come with me." He followed, he had to - I practically towed him up the stairs to the guest rooms, then through the door marked 'private' where the narrower stairs took us to my lofty spaces. Making him wait on the landing I hurried through and made the darkness softer, more inviting by lighting the strings of little lights over doors and around mantelpieces, entwined around branched twigs in vases. I poured wine, touched up my lipstick and made myself much taller with glittered, silver stilettos before inviting him inside. "it's beautiful," he said, looking around my living room. He stepped to my bookshelves and ran fingertips along the spines of the favourite books I'd gathered there. The soft light made his face even more interesting. "You're beautiful. I can't believe all this. It's like a dream." My sofa was wide and deep. I sat, crossed my legs, but didn't do anything about my hem. When I patted the space beside me he sat and his eyes followed the lines of my thighs. "It's interesting that you chose those shoes, exciting as they are, when you consider my history." "They're for me, not you," I said and smiled, circling my raised right foot so the glittery shoe sparkled from the fairy lights. Twisting slightly so my knee touched his I brushed my fingers along his thigh then caressed his calf with a pointed toe. "They make me feel..." "Taller, sexier, more attractive?" "More alive." His hand rested on my knee, still warm and so very welcome. "More me." As I moved to kiss him, I was keenly aware of the excited pulse in my labia. He smelt gorgeous, tasted better; I had never shivered so delightfully to feel another's tongue swirling along mine. Hands boldly explored my thighs. My dress became superfluous for it's hem was pushed so high; his caresses made more intense by my very silky tights. When we parted for breath his eyes lingered on my thighs, as though enjoying the contrast between his pale skin and their black nylon. "When I was..." "A woman?" "When I was a woman, I never had any time for nylons. I always wore pants and shorts, but now... I'm glad you wore some." "And I'm pleased you approve." I leant in close, practically purring and kissed his neck. The scent of his shower, lemon and maybe mint, was bright and sharp. After a quick tease of his skin with my tongue tip I started on his shirt buttons. He worked my zip, eased my dress down to bare my left shoulder and started kissing it - his breath was hot on my tingling skin. Another long, passionate kiss left me even more breathless and my dress completely around my waist; his shirt was unbuttoned, his belt loosened when he moved to sit sideways on the sofa, legs parted and pulled me so my almost bare back was against his chest, his inner thighs pressed to my hips. My bra band went loose about my chest, some instinct had me holding the cups against my aching breasts. His chin came to rest on my shoulder, I could sense him looking down as I let the sea-green bra fall away. My dark nipples were full and proud, surrounded by wonderfully crinkled aureoles. Hands crept around underneath them, fingers edging over ribs towards my undercurves and I longed to have his warm skin cupping my breasts, but his teasing almost had me lifting his hands to plant them onto my breasts. I didn't. Let him have his fun. And it was amazing. "Saskia?" "Why don't you stop talking?" "Were you awoke, back then; you know...?" Working through the pleasure to find a sentence was a distracting effort. So I just nodded. Still he refused to caress my breasts, nobody had ever given my ribs and tummy button so much attention. "Did you see them?" Very smoothly his hands rose to take and gently hold my breasts' weight. I signed happily and leant back against him. Something enticingly hard pushed through his trousers into my back. "Did you watch your breasts grow?" I shook my head. He made a small, disappointed noise making me giggle. My pelvis rocked back and forth rhythmically. "I held them, touched them." He started kneading them softly, they way I had done as my flat chest had started swelling. "The nipples went hard first. You should have seen them. My body was as it always had been, but for my nipples." His thumb edges brushed them and my breath caught shrilly. I needed to stop talking, to let him work his magic on my body, but at the time I felt a powerful need to tell him about when the mirror magic had poured through mine. "I had a woman's nipples on my man chest. And the feeling when I touched them!" "But you saw another's reflection, in the mirror?" he pressed. More warm kisses on my neck while his warm hands were helping me enjoy my breasts more than at any other time since I had been transformed. "I saw my reflection. The way I should always have been," I panted. "I did too." He pinched my nipples. "Coming from the shower. Glanced into the mirror, usually avoided my reflection - hated to see a female in it - and saw me, a man. I cried." And as much as I was loving what he was doing for me, to me, I turned inside his arms, kicked off my heels and spread my legs wide around him, pushed myself up to press my engorged nipples into his chest and embraced him tight, kissed him hard - as though I was kissing away those tears of envy and frustration from that night. "You know, don't you?" He held us apart, his eyes were shining, cheeks flushed. "You felt it!" "Of course I did. When I saw her, me, looking out of the mirror I knew I'd been lying to myself and to the world and I could have screamed with the injustice." He grinned. "I want to make you scream now." I dropped my hands to his lap and started unbuttoning his trousers. "Scream? Hmm. What kind of monster have you got in here?" "Why don't you have a look?" There were a few moments of fumbling, as his jeans and boxers and socks joined the tumble of clothes on the rug. He looked beautiful in just his unbuttoned shirt while I felt slightly overdressed in tights and panties - both of which were slick where I was happily leaking. He held my hands and smiled contentedly as I looked down on his erection. It was long and slender, elegantly curved, twitching to his heart's rhythm and wet at the tip. "May I?" I raised my brows. "Be my guest, ma'am." My purple polished nails were unwittingly almost the same shade as the darkest part of his tip. I caressed him with my fingertips at first, as though measuring his heat, and hardness, before I wrapped my fingers around him and moved my hand slowly up and down his shaft. "Will it do?" "It looks perfect." It felt better, but I'd always enjoyed the feel of one, even when the only one I'd ever touched had been my own. "You do that very well," he murmured. "I've had a little practice." I circled my thumb over his tip, it was wet and slick. "And I enjoy it. And I know how it feels, for you. And I know you men enjoy a little visual stimulation as a concurrent activity." His eyes followed my free hand as it came to rest on my left thigh, pale and innocent against the black nylon, gleaming subtly under the soft lighting. My purple fingernails drew his attention as they slowly circled my skin, dipping towards my inner thighs. "You're quite the expert." Heat radiated from my pussy, I could feel it even when my fingers were still a few centimetres away. I couldn't keep my hips still. "Or would you rather watch me play with my breasts?" His lips were parted, breathing rapid, eyes wide and bright. My hand moved a little quicker. As he didn't answer I cupped my right breast, took its weight and caressed it softly, teasing the nipple with my nail tips, pinching it gently - just the way I loved it. "Tell me," I whispered, moving closer. "When you changed, did you see it? Did you feel it grow?" He kissed me, the kiss got a little involved so it may have been a couple of minutes before he replied. "I was like you, I couldn't stop touching it. My clitoris," he laughed quickly, "I don't acknowledge that I ever had one much anymore, was so incredibly alive when I woke that night, I was so wet I could hardly have stopped loving it even if I'd been in a room full of other folk." I nodded, smiled encouragement. The night of my change I had woken so powerfully aroused I was masturbating even before I fully realised what I was doing. "Just fingering wasn't enough. I needed to touch my clit, almost like I was losing control of myself and even then it was swollen, looking like the tip of my pinkie protruding from my pussy. And the more I touched it, the bigger it grew so I knew I had to be dreaming, right? When it was maybe an inch long, I knew something weird was going on, but it felt so right. You understand, don't you?" Another nod, still enjoying a breast, his cock, the wild fire running across my skin, the damp joy between my legs and the thought of him, Jake, the girl, growing herself, himself a cock just by loving his clitoris. Speech was growing more difficult, like my higher brain functions were melting into lust. "What did you do?" I already knew the answer. "Kept playing with it. Got too big more for my hand and I laughed, there I was - jerking off." I pulled back the hand that was damp from his precum, trailed it down his thigh and onto my own. "Show me." Since that mirror had turned me I'd had five, maybe six or seven, lovers - all men - but never had I watched a man play with himself before. Jake sat there, close enough to touch, legs spread alongside my hips as mine were by his and ran his hand up and down that lovely cock with entrancing familiarity. It was more than I could stand. "You'll have to take my tights off now." "Just when I'm getting started." "You do look gorgeous, but I think it's time these tights came off." He just smiled, in a teasing way and didn't stop his hand's eye catching motion. "Pantyhose is a much nicer name," he commented, that smile so attractive on his lips. "Tights sounds so stifling, don't you think?" "They do feel very stifling right now." He clearly wasn't going to help me with them, probably for the best; never having had a passionate encounter while wearing tights, or even pantyhose, I wasn't sure of a sensual way of removing them. After a moment or two considering my options, heavily distracted by the wonderful feel inside and out of my breasts and the hypnotic movement up and down of his fingers about his cock, I stood and turned my back to him. Hooking thumbs into my tights's waistband I slowly eased them and my panties down over my hips and bum, bending forwards as I did. With pornographic images I may once have looked at inspiring me I left my hosiery just below my bum and bent forward a little more, knowing my engorged pussy would be on show. Giving him an couple of heartbeats to enjoy the sight, I ran my fingers over my bum, between my legs and teased myself with a finger tip along my pussy. "You're a woman of many talents, Saskia." His voice sounded clotted. I replied with a satisfied moan as the first joint of my finger, almost with a mind of its own, parted my lips and found the opening to my very very wet vagina. It didn't take any effort at all to let the finger go deeper. "When you changed, Saskia, how long did you wait before you started fingering yourself?" I had to consciously slow and steady my breathing before I could make words, that finger needed slowing too. "While I was. Still. Changing." I gasped. "I played. With my cock. As long. As I could." More panting. Steady, Saskia - he needs to hear this. "As it shrunk. Stayed hard. But, all the sensations. The loveliness. Stayed, was concentrated in what. Was left. Until I couldn't. Hold it anymore. Just a clitoris left. So happy. Watched and felt my slit form. Fingers already. Wet. I found my vagina. Forming. Fingers followed inside. Getting deeper as I grew deeper." A shrill cry left me as a bolt of pleasure shot from my pussy. Another finger went in. I was struggling to stand, knowing I was going to have to finish pushing my tights down so I could sprawl, legs open on the sofa with him. The sofa creaked as he shifted. Warm hands lay on my hips. A hard, wet tip brushed the back of my hand that was so beautifully busy. I took the hint, moved it out of his way and he steered us gently so I could kneel on the sofa, my forearms steadying me on the sofa's back. "Do I need to wear something, Saskia?" "Taken care of." His cock head was already lined up so I pushed my hip back slightly and took him inside me. He wasn't more than an inch deep before I was crying out again, shuddering, throwing my head back then forward so my hair spilled all around my face, crying again and again as a most wonderful orgasm split me. By the time I had finished cumming he had buried his full length into me, holding himself still while his lovely hands caressed my bum and hips and waist. Squeezing my pussy tight around him, hauling in deep lungfuls of air while my skin glowed molten hot, I murmured a quick thank you. "Is it my turn now?" "I think I could probably manage another." He started moving inside me, very very slowly. "I'll do my best." The second one was better than the first. I started losing count after that. When my alarm sounded time to get up to help Wendy with the breakfasts, I was tangled with Jake and he was tangled in my hair. I managed to silence the alarm and extract my hair, without scissoring any of it, without waking him. I allowed myself a moment to simply stare at his lovely face, relaxed as it was while he slept. It was hard to imagine him as a woman - a stubble shadow darkened his chin and his features seemed to pronounced to be feminine. Holding my hair back I stooped to kiss him, no response, so I watched him a moment more. I couldn't remember ever having found a man so beautiful. Was it because I knew of his change, that he had been a woman? Did that shared experience make him more attractive to me? I kissed him again. Ghosting from under the covers I tiptoed to the toilet and had a long, long pee. I didn't look so attractive between my legs this morning, I'm sure you understand what I mean. As I occupied the whole of the pub's attic rooms I didn't need a en-suite, and could have a long, very hot shower without disturbing Jake. I went into the living room to dry and braid my hair, smiling at the intimately discarded clothes still surrounding the sofa; there was still a warm, sexy air to the room. But I had to dress in the bedroom and did so as quietly as I could. Normally I grab the closest bra and panties, but that morning, still glowing internally from last night, I chose a matching set in chocolate brown, with cream lace trim. Instead of the usual tights (pantyhose) I treated myself to sheer, nude and prettily lace topped hold-ups. While settling the first one's lace top around my left thigh the wispy hairs under my plait started to tingle. Suspecting Jake was more awake than he was letting on I turned slightly so he had a better view as I drew on the second stocking, then took a moment to sensually run my hands up and down the leg, as though checking for wrinkles. When I peeped his eyes were tight shut. So I stood rather than sat to do my make up, pushing my satin clad bum towards the bed as I leant towards the mirror to brush on mascara and eyeliner, then a soft shade of dark pink lipstick. Some rustling from the bed behind me may just have been the normal movement of a sleeper under the covers; or something else... I shrugged my way into a dark blue, scoop necked top and then stepped into a flowing, calf-length floral pattern skirt with an enticing split down the front. Heels would have been nice, but not with breakfasts to serve so I found a pair of tennis shoes patterned with tiny daisies. More rustling under the covers. He was definitely awake and his hand looked very much like it was over his groin. In order to fasten my shoe laces, in a most unladylike fashion, I put my foot onto the rail at the bed's foot; my split skirt fell away allowing a perfect view along my thighs to the dark satin over my pussy. As I tied the second shoe I caught him peeking. "Enjoying yourself?" I raised my brows, but didn't move my foot. To be honest, I was quite enjoying myself. "You are a very talented lady." With a fluid motion I seized the quilt and whipped it clear of the bed. As I suspected, he was enjoying himself and commendably didn't try to cover his erection, or the hand grasping it. In fact, once he was bared his hand resumed its slow movement. A superior smile warmed his face. Sitting on the bed beside him, letting my hand fall carelessly onto his thigh I said, innocently, "I was only getting dressed." "You are perfectly feminine, casually beautiful and disturbingly erotic." Which was probably the best compliment I'd ever received from a masturbating man. "Stop talking now." His smile turned into a grin. "Make me." What else was a girl supposed to do? I bent over, pushed his hand aside and, loving the mingled smells, then tastes of our lovemaking last night, I showed him another skill I had enjoyed learning since I'd started living as Saskia. **** Wendy turned in surprise when I breezed into the kitchen a short time later - she was bent over the oven getting some sausages baked. "Saskia Anne, I didn't expect to see you up and about just yet, and looking so vibrant. I imagined you'd creep down a little later on looking all wrung out and maybe walking a little bow legged." Which won her a smile. "I slept the sleep of the righteous, Mrs Allen. And, in response to your concern, the lady garden is most content, thank you." "I'm pleased to hear it. And Casanova? How is he? I did wonder if he might be coming down to help with your eggs." She had a little giggle at her boldness. "Oh, him? I broke him. He's in some kind of coma." "And?" "And, Wendy?" "Is he, did he?" I laughed. "He is very suitable, and yes - he did. But I think he'll be gone today. Shame really, I'm sure you'd have enjoyed a go." "Saskia!" She offered me a cup of tea, but I declined; the lingering aftertaste of Jake's cum was too special to wash away. As we worked through the breakfasts together she commented on how chirpy I was; I even managed to lift fleeting smiles from the rather dour Sussex couple who had acidly commented the night before that The Black Cat was the only part of Northumberland they had actually liked so far. "Amazing what a sleepless night and plenty of exercise can do for you so," Wendy said when she caught me singing while unloading the dishwasher. There was nothing particular I could isolate as being responsible for my good humour; after all, Jake wasn't the first man I'd enjoyed bedding and he certainly wouldn't be the last. But there was a connection between him and me, more than just attraction. We were both more than we had been, we were better than we were. And we were magical! Each time I heard the stairs creaking I felt a lovely spill of excitement, but it was getting on for mid-morning before he ventured down for some toast. We kissed, respectably and I patted his bum as he walked through to the dining room. "Stop objectifying me." "Stay. A couple of days." I didn't ask again, it would have been awkward. But he stayed a little while and it was mid-afternoon before we walked down the lane together, towards the ongoing Pennine Way; I had swapped my tennis shoes for walking boots. We held hands companionably. "If you pass this way again..." "I will. For certain. I'm going to head back to the States, but in a year or two, maybe three. Will you be here?" "In the lane? Probably not." "At the Black Cat, Miss Picky." "Miss Piggy!" "Don't you Brits take anything seriously?" "Kiss me goodbye. I have things to do." He held me tight and I felt the first stirrings of arousal, from him and in me; the kiss went on for quite some time. A group of cows watched us curiously. "Yes, I'll be here." I was slightly breathless, again. My cheeks were hot. "And you won't need to book a pitch for your tent." He smiled. "And if you're married by then?" "He'll be sent away for a couple of nights." He bent to kiss me once more. "Go well, Saskia." "And you, Jake. Enjoy." "Every day." I stood and watched him until he turned and waved at the bend by the bridge and then he was gone. Even so, I skipped all the way back to the pub.