Annie and her Granny Chapter 6
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Annie And Her Granny - Epilogue free porn video
Annie and her Granny
By Susannah Donim
Epilogue
Will Annie and her new mother-in-law live happily ever after?
Looking back, I'm surprised how easy it was to take over my mother's life,
or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that she took me over. I
suppose a certain amount of 'personality bleed' is inevitable if you are
living as someone else day-to-day. I looked like her; I sounded like her;
through constant practice I now stood like her and walked like her; and I
reacted to any stimulus exactly as she would have.
I was probably 90% Ingrid and only 10% Steve now. I spent my leisure time
doing things a middle-aged woman would do. I cooked and did my share of the
housework. I played Bridge and tennis. I went Ballroom Dancing, floating
round the dance floor in the arms of strong men. (They had to be to lift
me.) Annie and I went dress shopping together. We had occasional meals out
and went to the cinema and the theatre.
I remembered how knitting had relaxed me when I was Dolly, so I bought
needles, wool, and some patterns, and started on... another cardigan.
(Stick with what you know.)
I went out for dinner with Maggie and 'The Girls'. I got a lot of sympathy
for being a singleton, but the stories the others told about their husbands
made me glad I didn't have one.
I was a little afraid I wouldn't fit in, but I soon found I had a lot in
common with them all and had a great time. We swapped recipes, make-up
secrets, shopping tips, medical emergencies, and outrageous sexual
experiences. (I would have to ask Annie to help me with anecdotes in that
area. She couldn't come to these outings, of course. They weren't for
girls of her age; only for us mums and matrons.)
The Girls admired my new cardigan and I was proud to admit I had knitted it
myself. Beth sniggered and said she thought you had to be an old lady
before you could knit. I didn't tell them that I had been a Granny when I
had learned.
I got used to being ogled by men in public places, which made me feel
flattered, while at the same time a little uncomfortable. I suddenly
realised that this was precisely the contradictory reaction of all
attractive women throughout history. My education in 'how the other half
lives' continued apace. I got my first wolf whistle when passing a building
site in town, and I loved that, while trying to appear scandalised, of
course.
Kathleen's texts remained brief and uninformative. They really only ever
contained two unambiguous pieces of information: that their journey was
doing everything they had hoped for in their relationship, and they weren't
coming back yet. She said very little about where they were or what they
were doing, but reading between the lines I got the impression they had
settled somewhere. I wondered whether they were living as mistress and
maid, rich lady and companion, sisters, or lovers. Whatever, it was pretty
obvious they weren't heading home anytime soon.
But I found I no longer cared about being trapped as my mother. I'd got
used to life as both Mrs Jones and Mrs McLaughlin. Being a woman in the
eyes of the world - even a middle-aged woman - was no great hardship, and as
Vera had pointed out, I was very lucky in both my job and my domestic
circumstances.
* * *
As she had promised, Annie bought me a pretty tennis dress and we played
together as two ladies. She had been right that my prostheses handicapped
me enough to offset the advantages of my masculine muscles. Even though my
ungainly physique amused the spectators as I scuttled around the court, I
could still cover the ground better than most females at the club -
hopefully not suspiciously so. Alas my generous boobs - sorry, breasts -
got in the way enough to completely bugger up my service action.
Playing tennis was important as it was virtually the only exercise I took
now. I could only play squash on those weekends when I was Steve and
divested of my prosthetic encumbrances, but it was no fun getting
slaughtered by opponents I used to beat. That was partly because I was out
of practice, and partly because spending nineteen days out of every twenty-
one shaped and loaded up like a plump matron completely destroyed my
reactions, to say nothing of my sense of balance.
Since to all intents and purposes I had become my mother, it was important
that I didn't forget that I was still Steve underneath. But Annie
continually reminded me, at least at bedtime and every third weekend. Steve
appeared just often enough for no one to suspect that my wife might have
killed me for my money. I was comfortable as either of my personae, but
increasingly I was happier as Ingrid. She was more real to me now; Steve
had become just play-acting.
Also when I joined my old friends as Steve I found I didn't fit in. I
didn't enjoy boozing and talking about football, and I was rubbish at video
games now too. Yes, it was partly being out of practice, but mainly I just
couldn't take it seriously anymore. I found I was comparing myself - my
Ingrid self - with the pneumatic damsels in distress we heroes were supposed
to be rescuing. Suddenly I found the games too violent and disgracefully
sexist. Being a middle-aged lady most of the time had changed my
priorities, I suppose. In fact, I found I could barely remember what Steve
used to do for fun.
I seem to remember going to a lot of parties, which reminds me: we're going
to the Fancy Dress party again this year - as Beauty and the Beast. Annie
has been experimenting with increasingly elaborate Beast prosthetics. I
tried to set a limit on it. I didn't want to wear anything too heavy, but
she laughed and said that wouldn't be my problem. My problem would be
managing Belle's elaborate ball gown...
* * *
I now played Bridge regularly with Jane Campanella and she had become a good
friend. (I heard that Harriet was disgusted when someone mentioned that
Jane was playing with me because she wanted to, and not because I paid her.)
We entered the County Ladies Pairs that summer, qualified easily for the
Final, and won the whole event. I had never aspired to be a Women's Bridge
Champion, but I was quite proud of the achievement. It certainly didn't
take me long to quash any qualms I might have had about entering. After all
I was a woman now in every way that mattered. I had no unfair advantages
over the other ladies by virtue of my real sex. Bridge is a cerebral, not a
physical game. I would have refused to play in the England Ladies Trials
though, but entry wasn't on offer to the winners this year.
I drove us to and from Peterborough for the Finals weekend, and Jane
suggested we stop for dinner on the way back at a country pub we both liked.
"Just lock the trophy in the boot," she said. "We don't want it stolen - at
least not till we've engraved our names on it!"
We settled down at a quiet table in the corner and talked about some of the
hands we'd played.
"I think you had more difficult decisions than I did over the three
sessions," she said, referring to the weekend's Bridge, "and you got most of
them right. I must say it's relaxing not having to mastermind the bidding
and the play to compensate for my partner's weaknesses. That gets so
exhausting!"
I allowed myself one glass of wine, as I was driving. Jane indulged in
rather more, which might explain how she came to say what she said next.
"I'm actually enjoying my Bridge again, playing with you. I haven't really
had that feeling since I broke up with Mary Jo..."
That was her American International partner. She'd mentioned the famous
Mary Jo Kupperberg many times.
"...and I know I wouldn't have won this weekend if I'd been playing with the
original Ingrid. What happened to her, by the way?"
Shit! What? What?!
"I... er... I don't know... What do you mean 'the original Ingrid'?"
"Come on, babe, I know you're not the same person who played with Dolly last
year." I must have looked terrified. She rushed on. "Hey, don't worry,
I'm not going to tell anyone. What could I tell them anyway? Everyone else
seems totally satisfied that you're Ingrid, and you look exactly like her...
exactly, like her. It's spooky, actually."
"So what makes you think that I was a different person last year?"
I had cold chills running down my spine by now. This was the first time
anyone had shown any suspicions...
"Your Bridge. Firstly, you're a much better player than the previous Ingrid
was, but also I'm trained in 'Table Presence'. I notice people's 'tells' -
mannerisms, nervous habits, twitches, tics, what you look like when you're
thinking, and so on. That can be just as helpful in Bridge as in Poker."
She took another sip of wine, pausing to gauge my reaction. I tried to
remain inscrutable but my heart was pounding, the blood pumping loudly in my
ears.
"The most noticeable difference is speed of play," she went on. "I only
played six hands against the other Ingrid last year, but I saw that when she
didn't know what to do, she just guessed and played quickly, like most
amateurs. Having played many hours with you, I know you think much more
deeply. You hate guessing, as all good players do. You count the hand -
it's surprising how many decent players don't do that. It's a bit of a
chore but it pays dividends. Also, you look for any subtle indication as to
how the cards lie, any straws in the wind, bids not made as well as ones
that were, opening lead choices... All that means you play more slowly."
She paused again, clearly expecting me to comment.
"I think maybe your 'Table Presence' might just have an overactive
imagination," I said.
"I don't think so, sweetie. Look, I don't care - as long as there's nothing
sinister going on."
Did she just need reassurance? Could I do that without blowing everything?
"I can neither confirm nor deny your supposition," I said, carefully and
pompously, but the cat was out of the bag now.
"Fair enough, but I'll still take that as a yes. So what should I call you?
What's your real name?"
"My real name is Ingrid," I smiled. "I'm quite used to it now. I probably
wouldn't answer to anything else."
It seemed she didn't suspect that whoever the person under the disguise was,
she was at least another woman!
"So what happened to the real Ingrid?" she asked. "Is she still alive?"
"Hell's teeth, yes! You don't think I killed her, do you?"
She smiled, then shrugged, but said nothing.
"No! No, this is all her idea," I said. "She's gone away with her ex..."
(I specifically avoided saying 'husband'.) "She's hoping for a
reconciliation, but Ingrid also needs to be here in person for her business,
so I'm minding the store for her."
"You must be a really good friend, to put your life on hold and take over
hers."
"We are... very close," I said, "and I wasn't giving up anything worth
having."
"Well, your disguise is amazing. How on earth do you do it? Plastic
surgery?"
"Trade secret, I'm afraid. No one else has guessed. Please don't tell
anyone."
"Of course, I won't. No one would believe me, would they? I've no real
evidence. Anyway I want to keep playing Bridge with you. We need to find
some decent teammates and start playing national events. Then the next
Trials, then..."
I might have to talk her out of that. Bridge players aren't rock stars but
I still needed to stay out of even the tiniest bit of limelight.
* * *
The business continued to flourish and both Annie and I were working full
time. Also we had to recruit assistants for both Vera and Sharon, which
wasn't easy, particularly for Vera whose job was highly specialist, to say
the least. My main concern was finding girls who understood the need for
discretion. Through Daisy I managed to find a solicitor who came up with a
suitably worded 'Non-Disclosure Agreement'. One of the new girls said she
didn't realise she needed to sign the Official Secrets Act to become a
hairdresser. I had to channel my mother to give her a stern look, rather
than burst out laughing.
Annie's efforts at breaking into movies were also bearing fruit. She won a
contract to do make-up special effects for a new horror movie. We brought
all the actors to our studio for their 3D imaging sessions, then Annie and
Vera applied their prostheses on set in one of the film company's trailers
which we fitted out specially.
The Producer was very pleased, and the actors were delighted that they
wouldn't have to spend hours in make-up every day (having had to get up at
four in the morning for the privilege). Fitting our prosthetics was much
quicker. The downside was that they had to stay as monsters for the
duration of the shoot, or two weeks, whichever was the shorter. That wasn't
satisfactory either, so Fred promised to try and find a new way of attaching
prosthetics that would allow them to be removed every night. The movie
hasn't been released yet, but we've heard on the grapevine that Annie has a
very good chance of being nominated for a BAFTA for the make-up, maybe even
an Oscar.
So life was good, which of course is precisely when the unexpected happens.
I was working in my office when Angie called from Reception. I quickly
checked my calendar. I had no meetings planned for the rest of the day.
"I think you'd better come down, Ingrid, if you don't mind," Angie said
apologetically. "I've explained to this gentleman that you don't see anyone
without a prior appointment, but he's insistent. He says that you'll want
to meet him if I just tell you his name."
"Which is?" I asked, sceptically.
"Treacher."
"I'll be right down."
* * *
Frank Treacher turned out to be charming in person. He smiled and shook
hands warmly when I stepped out into our Reception area and introduced
myself. His voice was deep and refined with no trace of an accent.
I took him upstairs to my office, collecting Annie on the way. Whatever the
man planned to threaten us with, my wife needed to hear it too, as a fellow
Director of the company. I also asked Dolly if she could arrange some
coffee and biscuits. I told her who my guest was and suggested she might
bring the refreshments in herself, rather than tasking one of the junior
catering staff. It might be instructive to see his reaction to meeting her
properly.
"So how can we help you, Mr Treacher?" I asked when he and Annie had made
themselves comfortable in my office guest chairs.
"Well, I think maybe we can help each other, Mrs Jones."
So it was to be blackmail, was it? Anger was rising within me and must have
reached my face, but my mother would not have lost her temper. She would
have remained cool - frigid, in fact - so I did too. But Treacher must have
read my reaction.
"A business arrangement, I assure you," he rushed to say.
Annie and I said nothing. He took this as encouragement to continue.
"I assume from your recognition of my name, and your willingness to meet
with me, that you are not unaware of my previous engagement..."
"Your hounding my grandmother, you mean?"
Annie had not been trained to maintain a stony silence when that was what
was needed.
"That's putting it a little strong, isn't it?" he said, turning to her. "I
tried never to intrude. To be honest, I wasn't sure whether you had even
spotted me."
Annie snorted, but I suppose we might not have if George hadn't warned us.
As it was, we were onto him from the outset - not that he needed to know
that now.
"But you're satisfied there was nothing suspicious to see?" I said.
"Dolly's life was perfectly normal and innocent...?"
"Oh yes, absolutely," he said. "How is she, by the way? I saw she had an
accident. Not too serious, I trust? She was only in hospital for a couple
of days, wasn't she?"
"Indeed," I said. "Merely for observation. A shelf collapsed and some
kitchen utensils fell on her head. They just kept her in to make sure she
didn't have concussion."
"That's a relief," he said. "I was terrified it might have had something to
do with my following her."
There was a knock on the door.
"Well, you can ask her yourself," I said.
"And apologise," Annie added.
"Come in," I called.
Dolly came in, wheeling her trolley. The aroma of hot coffee wafted in.
She saw Treacher immediately, but didn't acknowledge him at all. He stood
up.
"I think I owe you an apology, Mrs Thompson," he began.
"Do sit down, Dolly," I said, "and join us."
I played waitress, pouring the coffees and passing round the biscuits, while
Treacher attempted to ingratiate himself with Dolly. I thought this was
ironic, given that he had never actually followed her - only me, disguised
as her.
"Harriet Bairstow was my client," he went on. "She believed there was
something suspicious about your and Mrs Jones' success at the County Ladies
Pairs and engaged me to look into it. I advised her that merely following
you around was very unlikely to reveal anything, but she was determined.
She said that if I didn't want to take her money she would find someone else
who would. So I agreed. The private investigation business has its ups and
downs, you see, and things hadn't been going too well lately."
He had the grace to look a little ashamed at this point. No one
interrupted. We all looked at him expectantly. He paused to take a
mouthful of coffee, but surrounded by fierce, stony-faced women, he
obviously felt impelled to continue.
"I kept telling Mrs Bairstow I was sure there was nothing to find, but she
insisted I continue." He turned to me. "She said she was curious about
your business, Mrs Jones, and suggested I focus on that. So I started
watching these premises when Mrs Thompson led me here. I eventually noticed
that a lot of ordinary-looking men went in, and a disproportionate number of
exotic-looking women came out."
So that was it. This man knew enough to ruin us. It would be blackmail.
Oh well, we've had a good run, and he certainly wasn't going to get away
with it unscathed.
"So you broke in and planted listening devices to find out more of what we
do here," I said.
He looked alarmed, as well he might.
"What? No! No, no, I..." he stuttered.
"We have video," I said quietly. "We automatically film everything in our
studios. You're clearly recognisable, planting bugs."
He slumped in his chair.
"I think it's called 'mutually assured destruction'," Annie said. "You ruin
us; you go to jail."
"I don't understand," he said. "How would I ruin you? I don't want to ruin
you!"
"You couldn't," I said. "My daughter-in-law is exaggerating." I gave Annie
a warning look. She subsided a little. "Everything we do here is
completely legal. We don't break into other people's houses and plant bugs.
But our clients require discretion - just as a Private Investigator's do."
He nodded. Obviously he was beginning to understand why we had never called
the police after his break-in, but he was shrewd enough to realise that was
still an option.
"So, assuming Dolly is prepared to accept your belated apology..." She
nodded, still managing to keep a straight face. "...perhaps you would like
to explain why you're here?"
"Well, according to my enquiries - my discreet enquiries - you have the
ability to change people's appearance; that is, to make someone look exactly
like someone else...?"
He paused, obviously hoping one of us would confirm his theory. None of us
spoke.
"I should stress that this is partly based on the unusual number of film
stars and other celebrities who have been appearing at parties and social
events in the vicinity." Pause. No response. "Even dead celebrities."
I suppose we should have expected something like this. Still...
"And what makes you think we have anything to do with that?" I said.
"It's just a theory," he smiled. "Like Mrs Bairstow's theory that another
lady - a much stronger Bridge player, begging your pardon, ma'am - might
have substituted for Mrs Thompson in the County Ladies Pairs Final. Of
course, there's absolutely no evidence of either theory..."
"But?"
"...but I saw several Marilyn Monroes coming out of this very building, a
Judy Garland as Dorothy, a very large Shirley Temple, and at least one
Margaret Thatcher. I have photographs, which no one else need ever see,
especially Mrs Bairstow, and which I will happily destroy, because if my
theory is true, such a service would be of great use to me just at the
moment..."
Oh now we were getting to the point. I wondered what shady deal he was
wanting to involve us in.
"I doubt we can help you, Mr Treacher," I began, but he interrupted.
"...And might help me save a life," he added hurriedly.
What?
"What?" I said.
"There have been death threats to a local dignitary. I've been asked to
help. It occurred to me that if you were able to disguise a skilled
operative as this... dignitary..."
"He could act as a decoy, and the police - presumably aided by you - might
be able to apprehend the culprit?"
(That was a phrase my mother would have used, I noticed. Steve would have
said, 'catch the bad guy'.)
"She."
"I beg your pardon?"
"The threats were made against the Lady Mayoress, to persuade her husband to
cooperate."
"And do what?"
"No idea. I suspect it's something to do with council contracts, or
planning permission, or something. The Mayor has only told me what he
thinks I need to know. He's been to the police, of course, but he had no
concrete evidence - the threat was verbal, delivered to him alone in a dark
corner of a multi-storey car park. So all the cops could do was advise him
on improving his home security, and maybe send a couple of extra constables
along to any public functions he and his wife were due to attend."
"So how did you get involved?"
I couldn't help asking. I was fascinated with the whole situation.
"He and I go way back. I helped him out a while ago when someone had
managed to get some photographs of him with... someone he shouldn't have
been with. The family's stinking rich, but the money's hers, not his. He
couldn't afford a messy divorce, politically or personally. To be honest, I
think he may be a bit of a crook himself."
He stopped, hoping for a response. I needed to think. I turned to stare
out of the window. I could hear Annie crunching chocolate biscuits and
fidgeting.
"Supposing we were able to do what you're asking, disguise someone as
Honoria," I began tentatively, "do you have a 'skilled operative' in mind?"
"Well, no, not really," he admitted. "I'm pretty much a one-man-band and
tough lady detectives don't grow on trees, as it were. It's kind of an
unsuitable job for a woman."
Annie snorted again. Dolly laughed.
"If we were to provide such an... agent, it would be expensive," I said.
"I imagine it would."
"Very expensive. I mean, there would need to be - what would you call it? -
danger money too."
"Money's not a problem," he said confidently. "The Mayoress is frantic.
So's the Mayor, surprisingly. I can only assume Lady Honoria has been very
careful with her will." He chuckled.
"Let me think about it," I said, getting to my feet, and extending my hand.
He took it. We shook.
"It's been fascinating to meet you, Mr Treacher."
"Frank, please. May I call you Ingrid?"
"I'll let you know my decision by this time tomorrow," I said, ignoring his
request to be friends.
"Thank you for listening anyway," he said. He took out his business card
and placed it on the desk. "There is some urgency about this. Honoria is
scared to go out."
I accompanied him to the front door and watched as he got into a new BMW 1-
series. So he'd upgraded from the little blue Fiesta. He must have made a
fortune out of Harriet, even more than Jane did.
I went back up to the office. Annie and Dolly were still there, talking
excitedly. They stopped when I came in, and turned to me.
"I hope you're not thinking of doing this," Annie began.
"It's much too dangerous, Steven," said Dolly.
Being called 'Steven' threw me for a moment. I had only been 'Ingrid', 'Mrs
Jones' or 'Mrs McLaughlin' for weeks now.
"Honoria is tall, about my height," I said. "She's actually a little
slimmer than I am; I mean, than my mother is."
"You might get shot!" Annie said.
"She's got lovely clothes," I said dreamily. "You should have seen the
frock she was wearing at the Garden Party! And her hat!"
"Or kidnapped, and then shot!" she persisted.
"It's a lot of money - you heard him. We could practically write our own
cheque."
"You can't do it!" Dolly said.
"Why not?" I said. "Look, you two, this girly stuff is all very well, but
don't forget there's a man under the dresses and the lingerie and the make-
up. I need a little excitement now and then. Being Ingrid has become
routine. I need a new challenge."
"You could enter some dance competitions," suggested Annie.
"Or you could take up embroidery or crochet, now you're so good at
knitting," suggested Dolly, who might not have been entirely serious.
"I mean a challenge beyond dancing and dressmaking. Besides..."
"Besides, what?"
"I think I'd make a great Mayoress. The Mayor may not want Honoria back
afterwards!"
Afterword
I've always wondered: if you find yourself living someone else's life,
looking just like them and having to react to everything just as they would,
what would that do to you? Would it stop being just an impersonation?
Would their personality take you over? Would you actually become them?
This seemed to happen to Steve when he was stuck as Dolly for a month. It's
not surprising is it? If you dress as an old lady; if you have an old
lady's face and body; if everybody - even your family and friends - treats
you as an old lady; and if you spend your work and leisure time doing only
things that an old lady would do... Well, it wouldn't be surprising if you
became an old lady in your mind too.
It seems to be happening to Steve even more now he is living as Ingrid,
perhaps indefinitely. As a hard-working lady CEO she has no time for the
frivolous pastimes Steve used to like - pub crawls, sport, video games. She
even finds the "muscly barbarian rescues nubile, big-busted maiden" type of
video game unsavoury and sexist - just as his mother would. Of course,
Ingrid 2.0 is a Steve-ified version of Ingrid, as shown by her desire for a
new hairdo, brighter make-up, and more modern clothes (though still only
ones suitable for a middle-aged matron, not a young woman of Steve's actual
age).
It sounds like she won't miss being Steve, and would be happy to be Ingrid
full-time. I wonder what would happen if she were invited to a social
function over a weekend when she was supposed to be Steve? Would Steve have
to skip a weekend; i.e. remove the prosthetics for hygiene purposes, then
put them straight back on again?
I also wonder whether it has occurred to Annie that she fell in love with
Steve, not Ingrid. If Ingrid's personality takes him over, how would it
affect their relationship? Would she continue to see Steve underneath? Or
maybe she will continue to love Ingrid 2.0 because of her fetish for
transforming her husband? Talking of which, she has threatened to make him
spend time as her wife. When might that happen?
The big cliff-hanger is Treacher's offer. It sounds very much like Steve
might take it. He is clearly attracted to the excitement of another
transformation, not to mention the danger. Not many twenty-year-old men get
the chance to be the Mayoress of their home town; to become a rich woman,
with beautiful clothes, a big house, exalted status... oh, and a villainous
husband too. What's not to like? I can just see him in a posh frock
declaring the village fete open, can't you?
Happy trails,
Susannah
PS Many, many thanks to everyone who has taken the trouble to comment on
'Annie and her Granny'. I am well aware that my work is not typical
Fictionmania fare, and I really appreciate any comments that let me know
someone out there is enjoying this stuff!
Marisol
- 23.12.2020
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