Melissa Won't Let Go. Chapter 4, Eliza free porn video

Melissa Won't Let Go. By Tanya H. -4- ELIZA. My dreams came horribly full of men and cocks. I spread my legs, my mouth, my tits eagerly for them, hitched my skirts, pulled aside my panties; I made it easy for them to take me and fill me even as I hated what I did, what I lusted for. A passenger in my own humiliation. Awareness came back slowly - grey light of dawn or dusk, a weight of bedclothes on my body, a warning of peeing. Fear rode me too; that I'd open my eyes to some grim brothel; that Lora and Mrs Singh were part of my entrapment. My eyelids felt so sticky I struggled to open them, my arms too heavy to lift. Some other weight shifted on the edge of the bed I lay in. "He's coming round." It sounded like Lora. A cool hand brushed my brow. "James, can you hear me? It's me, Lora." More feeling returned - most unwelcome. I groaned with aches and pounding hurt rising up from my body; like I'd just staggered from a car crash or a pummelling from some angry sumo wrestler. Another groan - the thunder of blood past my ears aggravated the raging headache behind my eyes. "Hello, sleepy," she said. That wonderfully cool hand pressed to my forehead again. "Some water?" Somehow I hoisted myself a little to slurp at the beaker she offered. Cold, soothing water washed at the greasy fur coating my tongue. "More, please," I croaked, voice like rust. Footsteps whispered over a carpet and a faint scent of cloves came to me. I hadn't dared to open my eyes, but when I wriggled my eyelids free of sticky there was Mrs Singh leaning over me, curiosity shining from her face. "How are you feeling?" "Awful." "Good. That means you're recovering." Wondering what I might be recovering from I gave up fighting my weighty eyelids and must have gone back to sleep. Next time I woke it must have been night, for darkness filled the room aside from an electric glow filtering around the almost closed door. Aches came at me again, but not so forcefully and the headache had faded. Trying to move I felt trapped under the covers before realising somebody was stretched out on top of the bedding alongside me. The ambient light was enough to show the pink hair tumbled on the pillow beside me and despite everything I smiled. Lora snored delicately, on her side with her back to me. Somebody had laid a stripy blanket over her. In an ideal world I would have lain still, listened to her whiffling breaths and perhaps dozed off myself. I felt warmed by the notion that she thought enough of me and had been worried enough to have stayed with me. Despite only having met her a couple of days ago, in disturbing circumstances, I was pleased to see her. But this wasn't an ideal world. In this world one of my many aches stood out with strident, painful urgency - if I didn't get out of bed and find a loo pretty quickly there would be an accident. Lora must have been a heavy sleeper, for I wriggled to the edge of the bed without disturbing her. The slow, controlled movement brought protests from my joints and further alarms from my bladder. When I got myself upright and was able to confirm the growing suspicion of what had gone wrong while I'd been asleep. There was no time to sit and sulk though, not unless I was to repay the hospitality shown so far by urinating over the carpet. Standing carefully, I moaned under my breath as my knees protested. Looking down, I pushed a long, silky curtain of black hair away from my face and found my body clad in a soft, sea-green, cotton nightshirt. It hung down to mid-thigh, but wasn't baggy enough to conceal the rising shape of breasts on my chest. Even if it had been that baggy, I could still feel their weight. Perhaps I was dreaming; I felt wooly, insubstantial - half asleep. Were it not for the dull aches in my joints and the fire in my bladder I might have thought the whole experience a dream. I'd become a girl again. A girl busting for a piss. I had to navigate around the bed to the door, keeping my small feet light - despite everything I didn't want to wake Lora. At least she looked peaceful. The room looked bland, impersonal, like a hotel. Outside a few doors led from a short corridor. I found a small sitting room and kitchenette before the last door revealed a clean, stark-white bathroom suite where I could hitch up the night shirt and sink down with a big sigh to let myself go. And swear under my breath at smooth, olive thighs, neat vulva and black curls. The more I pee'd, the more I felt the throbbing in my limbs and the cool tiles under my feet, the more I decided I probably wasn't dreaming. When I was done I lifted the nightshirt further to find a flat tummy, round hips and a well defined waist before I stared down at a pair or round, full, but proportionately small breasts, tipped with dark pink nipples. In comparison to all the women I'd been since reading Melissa's curse I was much more slender, and younger, than the nurse, but older and darker than the schoolgirl. The woman looking back at me from the vanity mirror over the sink might have been Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese or Thai - I couldn't tell, but she certainly wasn't me. Her cheekbones were high, her elliptical eyes hazel brown, her shining black hair straight and shoulder length, her lips pleasantly ready to smile, even with the dismay filling me. Footsteps whispered on the hall carpet, but I didn't turn away even when Lora's hands fell light on my shoulders. "I wanted to tell you, to break it to you gently. Sorry, I fell asleep," said Lora from the doorway. "How long was I out?" "We brought you here six days ago." Another sigh. Six days. She looked a little tired, the girl in the reflection - red eyes with dark circles beneath them. "How long will it last this time?" "Mrs Singh is going to explain, she's still working on it." "That doesn't sound encouraging." "She has the answers." Six days! I had small, even and very white teeth - the canines were a little long giving me a slightly feline look. My nose was petite, probably better than the big conk I'd worn before. Was I going to stay like this? "She knows what she's doing," Lora said. "Where are we?" This voice felt light and very soft, people might struggle to hear it. "It's a flat over the shop. Mrs Singh keeps it for, just in case. Like this." "Am I stuck like this? Tell me?" "I don't know." She led me back to the bed, I didn't try to stop her when she encouraged me to lay down and pulled the covers to my chin. She even scooped my hair aside so I wouldn't tangle in it. She sat on the edge and smiled. "You'll get cold," I said. "I'm okay, I've got a blanket." "Would you mind... I hate to ask... I could really use a hug." "James, this isn't over yet." I thought she was probably being kind, but I did need some contact, more so in that moment than I could ever remember. I hadn't had any real human to human contact since things had turned really bad with Melissa and right then I needed a hand to hold. Lora carefully eased under the duvet. as though I might change my mind at any moment. For a few seconds we both lay on our backs, staring at the ceiling then I rolled towards her, put an arm and a leg over her, buried my face in her shoulder and squeezed her tight. Tears welled up, I don't know why. She felt good through, lean and clean and warm. She put her arms around me, held me close and some time later we both fell asleep again. Mrs Singh woke us with coffee and toast loaded on a wide tray. As she swished open the curtains I squinted into the fresh, morning light. Lora struggled upright beside me, her cheeks shining pinker than her tatty plait. "We didn't..." "You look sweet together," said Mrs Singh, raising an eyebrow so my cheeks warmed too. "How are you feeling, James?" She chose a coffee mug to put on the cabinet beside me, it smelt invigorating. Lora got one before Mrs Singh sat on a chair by the window. I shrugged. The dream of long, midnight hair, breasts and slender brown fingers persisted under the sunlight. The image of the oriental girl looking at me from the mirror returned. "I suppose I'm feeling better than I would if I hadn't called Lora." "Very positive," Mrs Singh said. "I have shuddered to think how it might have ended up, but I am very calm now. You are out of the woods." The coffee tasted hot and strong, I tried to ignore those slim fingers cradling the mug and the heart's rapid pattering in my chest. "What happened?" First she passed me some toast, buttered and thick with marmalade. She waited until I had taken a bite; I hadn't realised quite how hungry I was until that first crunch. "My grandfather was a bomb disposal engineer in World War Two," she said after a moment's consideration. I glanced at Lora, but she lifted her eyebrows in what I took to be an affirmative way. "He dealt with many unexploded bombs in our cities after the Blitz. You are familiar with this period of history?" I nodded. "He told me that when the Germans realised that our people were successfully defusing their delayed action bombs they introduced countermeasures - anti-tamper devices to induce the weapons to explode when my Grandfather and his comrades were attempting to make them safe." A light bulb must have appeared over my head. as I understood what she was getting at, for she smiled. "It is the first time I have seen such a thing, an anti-tamper device, in a curse. It recognised what I did to remove your curse and must have activated some kind of deeply buried subroutine. I have no idea what the end result would have been for you, you were certainly in a mess when Lora got you here." "But it didn't go so well," I said in my cotton-soft voice. "You are alive, and seem to be yourself - mentally at least. We tried to pull you back, from where you were going - to regain your previous body. We could not do that. Instead, to avoid killing you, we tried to push you through - to the other side of the attack. In doing so, we saved your life, but could not save your gender. After a few hours your body stabilised like this, in the shape of the rather attractive young woman you present as now." I found myself holding the coffee cup so tight my knuckles blanched, even through my darker skin. They shook so much Lora reached to take the mug from me. "So... When Melissa realised you'd broken her curse, she activated this... countermeasure?" Mrs Singh nodded. "I had no idea she could feel so..." "Love is a powerful thing," said Lora. "Even when it turns bad." Which may have been a reference to her own Mum. "It is possible she had no control over this countermeasure," said Mrs Singh. "It may have been embedded within the original curse. However it came about, it makes me fear for Melissa." At that moment I didn't have it in me to feel anything positive for Melissa. The anger really ignited a few minutes later, after I'd asked what would happen to me next. The calm, sorrowful expression on Mrs Singh's face told me everything before she spoke. "I'm so sorry, but I'm certain you're not going to change again, we lost count of how many you went though, but you have been like this for the last five days. I don't think your body could take any more upheaval." Though I had suspected this outcome from the conversation with Lora during the night, I might have been shouting and raging for about ten minutes before I finally collapsed onto Lora's shoulder. Melissa had killed me. If she couldn't have James, nobody could. James had gone - forever. I had no home, no job, no identification. As far as the government was concerned I did not exist - no driver's licence, bank accounts or national insurance number. I didn't even have a name. No family, no friends (very angry at that moment, remember?), no car, no books, no Facebook profile, no email address or mobile phone number. All anybody would see was a Chinese girl and if I came to the light of the authorities I'd be deported if they could agree on which part of the world I could be deported to. I cried a lot. When I tired of crying I lay on my side in that bedroom, with the curtains closed thinking dark, despairing, lonely thoughts of suicide and murder, or murder then suicide in the dark. Time passed, maybe a few hours, in which I plodded lonely trails from self destruction to what might have beens; a sex slave without a body or actions to call my own, endlessly transforming for whims of men paying to bury their cockin me; some mutated freak mixed from different women and one man. After that time had passed, it might have been midday by then, I got my thoughts into a more positive order; because those horrible outcomes remained what might have beens. I was okay, I might be changed but I was in good, if female shape. Best of all, when I opened my eyes and uncoiled from the misery I saw I wasn't alone - I hadn't been alone; I had a friend. Lora looked up from a book - she perched cross-legged on the chair in the corner where she had been most of the time. "I've finished feeling sorry for myself. For now." My voice came croaky. "I think I would have been chucking furniture around the room." "Being a..." I faltered. "Girl?" she offered, helpfully. "A girl isn't the end of the world, is it?" "Something I have aspired to most of my life. Most of the actual girls seem to manage okay." "You sat with me." A half smile with a quick glance to the carpet. "I thought you might like the company." I watched her a moment - acres of a long black skirt were tented over her knees in her cross-legged position, matched with a long sleeved black top. Were it not for the pinks of her loose hair she looked very austere. Standing I stretched, winced at the smell rising from my armpits and made my stiff legs cover the few paces so I could sit on the bed right opposite her. "You're an actual girl." "Actually, no." "Actually, yes." I reached and took her book from her, laid it beside me and held her hand. "You must be. When you sat beside me on that bench on the Hoe, I didn't turn into your fantasy chick. So you must be an actual girl." Then the door swung open and in came Mrs Singh, smiling warmly to see me upright on the bed's edge. She waved a piece of paper triumphantly in my direction. "No time for canoodling, girls," she said, making my cheeks hot again. I dropped Lora's hand like it was about to bite me. "Nice to see you up." "Girls!" "Better get used to it, Eliza." "Eliza!" "Best I could do at short notice, or at least the best my contacts could do at short notice." She handed me an official looking, but dog-eared rectangle of paper - a birth certificate. I read the name of the person whose birth it recorded. "Eliza Lorraine Mackie?" I sounded dubious. "It could have been worse." "Eliza's a pretty name. A purple and pink name," said Lora, twirling some of her cerise locks around a finger suggestively. Eliza's parents were recorded as Kevin John Mackie and Lorraine Leila Mackie, nee McNiven, of 39, The Steps, Stirling in Scotland. Working through the maths told me she had just turned twenty one. "This is me?" Mrs Singh nodded, looking a little smug. "I'm Scottish? But how, is this a real document? Where's the real Eliza?" "You were adopted by the Mackies, the details of how an asian girl was placed with them are unclear, but you were. The whole family died in a car accident on the Edinburgh bypass nineteen years ago." "I'm a dead, adopted Scottish girl!" "The correct term for a Scottish girl is lass or lassie," said Lora helpfully. "Eliza Mackie is probably better than being deported. The current government is very hot on that," said Mrs Singh. I looked at the dead girl's birth certificate - a new identity, a new body; a new life! After a long, deep inhalation followed by a cathartic sigh some uncertainty fell away - people were doing things for me - illegal things - but they were looking out for me. I looked from Lora to Mrs Singh and wondered what the catch might be. "Thank you," I said to Mrs Singh. "I really didn't know what was going to happen to me." "Oh, we're not heartless here, are we Lora? We wouldn't have turned you out on the street without even a name to call your own." "Not while you still have some work in you at any rate." "But, there is some unfinished business - significant business, not just tidying up," said Mrs Singh slowly, never taking her eyes off me. "I may need your help, Eliza." The first time my new name had been used directly towards me. Eliza Mackie - how long until I reacted to that name as instinctively as I had to the old one; the name Melissa had stolen from me. "I think it's probably the very least I could do, after this and everything else you've done for me." "Very good," said Mrs Singh cheerfully. "Tomorrow we are going to see Melissa." The thought of seeing her again made my belly churn. I couldn't have faced her on my own, but the 'we' of 'we are going to see Melissa' which started off as me and Mrs Singh very quickly and firmly had Lora added to it. "Are you sure?" Mrs Singh asked after Lora had jumped up from her chair, practically ripping her skirt, and plonked herself next to me - chin tilted aggressively - to announce she was coming too. She put her arm around my shoulder and practically dared Mrs Singh to say no. "We'll leave tomorrow morning, it will be best, Eliza if we can get all this sorted out so you can move on." said Mrs Singh. Moving on. Learning to be a woman, making a whole new life. As a woman. I nodded. The prospect seemed easier with Lora's arm around me. From some fold in her sari Mrs Singh produced a small black shoulder bag which she placed beside Lora. "Take Eliza shopping, there is ?500 in there, don't go crazy. Next week, Eliza, we will arrange bank accounts and the like in your name, we'll start looking for work for you. You can have this flat until you get sorted. The taxi will be here at eight in the morning. Don't be late." "Are you okay?" Lora asked when we were alone again. I enjoyed the feel of her arm over my shoulders; feeling brave and a little needy I laid my head on her shoulder. "It's a roller coaster." "You're riding it well." "I don't like roller-coasters - I worry about them going wrong." "But they hardly ever do." Her shoulder moved as she breathed, her fresh scent surrounded me. "Lora? What am I going to do?" "The world is your oyster, Eliza." "Eliza? How am I going to get used to that?" "One day at a time." "I don't like oysters either." "What do you like?" I didn't say the first thing that came to mind, but I did snuggle a little closer so maybe she'd guess. Maybe she was this friendly to all the cursed she rescued, maybe she liked me as one girl to another - even though I didn't really feel like a girl, was that how she saw me? Another girl? The confusion was enough to make me sigh, though I didn't pull away and she seemed content with me resting against her. As if that wasn't enough, before I could venture out into the wide world's afternoon I had to put on some of her clothes. A sentence I never expected to write about a woman I counted as a good friend. There were black leggings, a loose pullover - with long sleeves and crew neck - in a dusky red colour, very short socks, a pair of white tennis shoes, a sports bra and a pair of sea-green knickers. These would, she assured me, give a smooth and line-free outline under the leggings even though the pullover would hang over my bum. Maybe thinking my reluctance to put them on came from a different place to my new gender she smiled encouragingly. "They were a gift, I haven't worn them - bit narrow - so they're okay. Okay?" I might have stared at them for a moment or several. "I'm about to cross a line here." "Don't tell me you never wore women's knickers? You know the proportion of men who end up in A&E wearing panties is comfortingly high?" "Maybe once or twice," I admitted quietly. "Sorted. Crack on then." "You'll have to turn your back." "I have seen it, you know - your tuppence, while you were thrashing around a couple of nights ago." "Tuppence! How old are you?" "Well, think about it; a vulva sounds like something a middle class family and Labrador uses to weekend at their second home in the Lake District." "Stop spoiling it, I'm crossing a line, remember!" She turned her back. I stepped into her panties and pulled them up and under my night shirt. "Crossed the line?" "All the way," I said, letting the night shirt fall and picking up the sports bra. Going out into the wide world felt different this time. Perhaps because I knew I wasn't going to change back into what I had been I didn't feel so anonymous. Keeping my eyes down, like I really was some demure Asian woman, I hurried alongside Lora. That billowing black skirt didn't slow her one bit. She'd put my hair into a high ponytail so I was conscious of it bouncing and swinging behind me, but that just became part of the other attention grabbing movements this body made. I told myself it could have been worse, a recurring theme for me - I could have ended up in the shape of that plump nurse the caretaker had enjoyed so much, or that orange porn actress. I was young, healthy (hopefully) and female. Female! "Lora?" I needed a distraction. It felt like the whole world was staring - natural paranoia, or the pink haired company I was keeping. "Whats up?" "Why do we have to go and see Melissa. You understand I'm not that keen." "Mrs Singh's worried about her." "Why? After what she did to me." "A curse takes power," she said. "The bigger the curse, the more power it takes." "Makes sense." (Like having magical curses made any kind of sense!) "The amount of power gets included in the curse's cost." "How much would a curse like that one have cost?" "At least ten thousand pounds. Give or take. There are a lot of variables and you can give up stuff in lieu of actual cash. A few years of your life, the colour of your hair, eggs if you're female, sperm if you're a man. All sorts. Some of the costs can be offset if the curse delivers something to the individual who laid the curse. Are you following this? Mrs Singh thinks that every time you were transformed into some bloke's wet dream and threw yourself at him, the power of your orgasm went to the curse layer." "I didn't have any orgasms." The frustration I'd felt during each bout of transformation-sex was part of the crystal clear memories I carried. "Exactly. Harvested - lots of power in a good orgasm." "Great!" "Now, as your curse-layer is generally an unpleasant kind of person they'll build in some terms and conditions; if the cost of their work is offset by something like orgasm denial. In case the curse is broken, so their investment is protected." We halted at a pedestrian crossing; beautifully, blissfully oblivious motorists trundled past. It seemed very ordinary to have to press the button to activate the crossing, I quite enjoyed it. If only the rest of my day could be that ordinary. "Mrs Singh thinks Melissa is going to be messed up by the small print of the contract to have you cursed and she wants to check up on her." "I'm struggling to find much enthusiasm for helping Melissa out." "But you're basically a decent person and agreed to help, yes?" I shrugged. "Probably." "If you hadn't agreed, she wouldn't be nearly as helpful. I mean, you wouldn't have been cut adrift with nothing beyond the name she found for you, which I think is a pretty cool name, but she tends to like helping good people." Which gave me some more to think about - as if trying to get my head around this new construct called Eliza Lorraine Mackie and Melissa's curse backfiring weren't enough. Until I realised we'd got to the shopping precinct; Lora stood beside the door to a New Look shop and waved me in like a grinning concierge. We ended up looking in three or four womens' clothes shops, but my mind wasn't on it. Not because I didn't want to buy any clothes - as a practical sort of person I recognised that I couldn't go on borrowing Lora's stuff; it wasn't because I didn't like shopping either - Melissa had often used me as a sounding board on her expeditions. Instead it was that recurring theme - Melissa. Lora found jeans, trousers, tops - any one of which would have suited my new body, but everytime she held something up and asked what I thought, I mumbled some non-answer while I wondered what Melissa would think if I confronted her while wearing that top or those jeans or trousers. I could sense Lora's frustration, though she kept a smile pinned on, and with an idea half forming I pointed at a garment on a nearby rail - nondescript and conservative in style, blue grey in colour with a subdued pattern. "What about this?" "Oh!" "It's not like I haven't been out in a dress in public before." "It would look great on you. Have they got one in your size?" My size was an eight, and Lora suspected I could get away with wearing tax-free clothes from the children's section - though I'd had enough time as a schoolgirl, thank you. "It's a statement," I said, holding up a size eight specimen. Lora inclined her head. "Sorry for sounding a bit thick, because I can only come at this from the direction of a long-repressed woman; what does your statement say?" "Fuck you, Melissa." She frowned for a moment, then grinned. "I like it." "If I have got to stand in front of that bitch, whatever trouble she's got herself into, I am not going to be cowed - I am not going to be James struggling with what she's done to me - no matter how I actually feel. I am going to stand there, in this dress - casually feminine - so she can see that she didn't beat me: she got dumped, I am cool like this, that I am cool being Eliza." Before I could move I was in a fierce, rapid hug - with the dress squashed between us. Then she held me at arm's length and grinned some more. "I am really liking Eliza. Go and try it on before you change your mind." But the olive skinned and night-haired girl looking back at me from the changing room mirror, naked but for another woman's underwear surely wasn't me. Trying on a dress! When would I ever see that face and not be shocked to be looking out of it. Did those ears stick out a little bit too much? "How is it?" Lora asked from outside the cubicle. "Perfect." Though I bought it without trying it first. Marks and Spencers had a bewildering choice of bras for a newcomer like me. According to my personal shopper I could forget any of their clothes - much too fuddy-duddy for girls like us - but their bras and tights couldn't be beaten outside posh, London boutiques. I choose contoured, t-shirt bras in white and black along with relatively plain knickers. Then I caught her trying to slip a pair of hot-pink opaque tights into my basket and had to chase her off with threats to scream for security. A little later on, in a much cooler shop, she waved a pair of stunningly high, gleaming black stilettos at me. "How about these?" I was about to try on some plain, black canvas lace-ups. "You've got the legs for them," she said, much too loud for comfort. The effect of those high heels on my feet and ankles held my attention when I slipped them on; I suppose curiosity and the selfish pleasure of putting another smile on her face made me do it. An unwelcome flashback to a Jodie I had been, thoughtlessly elegant in teetering boots, had me sitting hurriedly and reaching to remove the shoes. Then I stayed my hand. My life was not going to be defined by any of the Jodies or Melissa. After wobbling upright again I had Lora steady me and walked a couple of steps, finishing with outstretched arms and a, 'ta-dah' as though I had just perfectly performed something tricky in a gymnastics competition. "Go on," Lora said. The woman behind the till smiled encouragement. "As much as I have appreciated the aesthetics of women wearing shoes like this since I was old enough to show an interest, and as much as I should probably carry that burden forward with my new sisters - not today." "They look fantastic with the leggings. And your legs, you have the legs for heels - you really do." Crossing my legs I made circles with my elevated foot, hardly able to believe it was my foot, that less than 24 hours into my enforced gender swap I was trying on heels. But they did look good. "Not today." Her voice softened. "I could show you how, when you're ready." Learning to survive as a woman didn't seem such a mountain looking over me just then. Returning to the flat, with only a modest collection of shopping bags - enough to last a few days - and without having spent all my allowance - I remained unsure about the terms of repaying the money - I invited Lora in. In fact I lured her in with a bottle of red I got from a corner shop and a promise of pizza. To be honest she didn't take much persuasion and while I poured wine I let her order the food, happy to have her filling the impersonal flat with her bright chatter, welcoming the distraction from the prospect of facing Melissa. So we sat on the living room sofa, feet on the coffee table, scoffing pizza, sipping wine and trying to find something worth watching. "Do I have to like chick-flicks now?" "Christ, no! Apart from 'Love Actually', which isn't really a chick- flick, more a Romcom - you have to watch that at Christmas at least once. Them's the rules, honey!" "We'll fall off that bridge when we get to it. What about Strictly Come Dancing? Do I have to watch that?" "Hell, yes. For the gorgeous costumes if nothing else." "Do I have to do this when I'm all excited?" I fluttered my hands before my mouth. "Never do that again." "Noted." "What's your opinion on hysteria following a broken nail?" "You're hitting all the cliches here, girl. Often that's the job of the newly frocked transwoman." "Just obtaining some clarity around society's expectations." "Be your own person, Eliza. Fuck society." The last two words were edged, bitter perhaps. When I looked she'd stopped smiling, a reminder that I was falling for a complex individual; or had already fallen for her. I'd never experienced such a rapid... What? Was I falling in love with some kind of ex-Dennis? No, I might have been falling in love with an actual Lora, because she was more than what she had been - what people had tried to make her. And she was incredibly good company. Or was I just in a desperate state of emotional turmoil? After all, my brain had been used to testosterone and now had to kick that habit and live with oestrogen. I could be going through some version of puberty again! Who wanted to relive the aching embarrassment of teenage infatuations? I took Lora's empty plate and set it down on the floor out of the way. Then I swung my leg over her to sit on her knee, facing her, my hands resting light on her shoulders. "I couldn't ask for a better role model for being my own person, Lora." Her mouth turned up a little at the corners. "But I'm not colouring my hair pink." "Scarlett would go better with your complexion." She moved her hands, I felt them warm on my thighs through my borrowed leggings - her pink nails stood out prettily against the black material. I became suddenly self-conscious of my breathing rate speeding up, not to mention the wholly unfamiliar sensation of my nipples crinckling hard. I daren't look, in case I drew attention to them, but they must have been showing through my top. And I so wanted to see Lora's pretty nails against my skin; against my breast; teasing my nipples. "Stay the night," I blurted. "That might not be a good idea." "I don't want to be alone." And her eyes were incredibly beautiful. "And I've kind of got used to having you around." "Eliza..." Heat rose in my cheeks. What kind of an idiot was I making of myself? I should get cleared up, get a shower, unpack the pyjamas I'd chosen, stare at the TV until my eyes closed and it all went blank until I had to go back to York and face Melissa. Lora was probably sick of silly, needy me. Starting to swing myself from her knee I found out just how strong she was when she held me in place, pulled me close and kissed me full on the mouth. Did kissing Lora make me a lesbian? More confusion. Lora was an actual girl, I looked like a girl, so by conventional arithmetic if we kissed, properly kissed, that made us lesbians. Didn't it? What a kiss it was too; spiced aftertastes of pepperoni and tomato, faint wisps of her light perfume, the slick intimacy of her tongue in my mouth and the startling, but lovely, nudge of her breasts into mine - her fingers teasing my skin just under my top. A wonderful, long, passionate and ultimately confusing kiss when Lora broke away as my fingers had edged under her top and found her bra's underwire. "Sorry. Eliza, I'm so sorry, I'm not ready." I didn't understand and my expression must have shown it. "I'm not what you think I am." "I don't understand." I'd frowned, then coloured. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry. Lora, I didn't mean anything, didn't think. Oh shit!" I tried to move again, as I was still straddling her knee and once again she made me sit still. "What?" Now she frowned. I shook my head, felt my ponytail dancing over my neck and down my back, acutely conscious of the new, exciting ache in my breasts, the slick sensation inside my knickers. Feeling such a fool I struggled to speak, only able to mumble something about being a bloke, thinking she was, you know... interested in me like that, not knowing how it was for women. Really sorry, misunderstood - won't happen again - shouldn't have pushed it, confused - messed. My eyes stung, filled with tears and I hated what had happened to me with such passion right then I pulled from her; I might have run from the room crying had she not caught my hand. With options running out I slumped to the carpet by the sofa, almost touching her foot, and wouldn't look at her. "Oh you silly. It's not that. Eliza, look at me - please. It's not you. Not you pushing; oh, what a bloody... Eliza, look at me." When I did she tried to smile, but her heart wasn't in it. I saw her about to offer something - it's not you, it's me - to try and take the sting from what I'd done. Ironic that she should have to take the woman's role in this, trying to let some bloke down gently. "I kissed you, remember?" "I still - " "Eliza," she interrupted. " - shouldn't have, I mean we only just met and -" "Shush! What did you do? Sweep me off my feet? Reduced me to a swoon? Silly mare. We've clicked, haven't we? I'm not like this with everyone I meet - lots of the people I bring to Mrs Singh I don't even like, but you..." She took a breath, held it a moment. "I could really fall for you." "Eliza? I wanted to kiss you, I wanted to kiss you last night when you asked me for a cuddle." "I wouldn't have minded," I whispered. "I needed you to touch me just now. You really... turned me on. I wanted to touch you... Eliza, it made me really uncomfortable - physically, you see. Oh shit, I'm just going to have to say it. I haven't had the operation yet - I'm the problem." Which came like a bucket of ice water over the head on a summer's day. Stunned into silence my battered awareness could only retch up the notion that I had just French kissed a man. When I didn't say anything for one second, then another which stretched into ten, she said, in a dull, lifeless voice, "That pissed on your chips didn't it." Such were my levels of internal chaos at that moment I could have turned and run from the room, locked myself in my borrowed bedroom and pulled the bedclothes over my head - like that would have cut out the internal bedlam. I did stand, but I didn't turn from her. Squaring my shoulders I faced her, but she stared fixedly at her fingers white about her knees. I dropped onto the sofa beside her again, so my shoulder was against hers and I could feel the tension screaming through her tendons and muscles. My hand looked small and dark when I laid it over one of hers - I lifted it, kissed it and then laid it on my knee. "I'd be in bits without you. Not just you finding me, like you did - right before that honking pervert took me away. Sticking with me. My head's in a mess of different directions right now and you've been the best friend I could ever have wished for these last couple of days and this time last week you were a complete stranger." "But..." Her voice sounded hollow, she squeezed her eyes tight shut. But she had a penis. I had kissed her, I had touched her; I had turned her on - given her a hard-on. I'd never knowingly done that for anyone before. And I wasn't sure how I felt about that, not while struggling to come to terms with what had happened to mine. But, and this was a big but, Lora didn't deserve to end the day she'd given me feeling like this. What would Eliza do, I asked myself. Eliza wasn't about to leave her friend feeling like shit. She felt cool and stiff when I pressed my lips to hers, but I felt her gasp at my touch. So I kissed her again. Until eventually she relaxed.