A Friend In Need (Part 2 Of 2) free porn video

A FRIEND IN NEED (Part Two of Two): A short story by Tamsyn In his efforts to help both of them, Ryan pushes ahead with his plan to persuade Dylan to become Holly again. It leads to a most interesting evening that surprises both of them. It was Saturday evening, with neither of the flatmates feeling particularly inspired to go out. Dylan's occasional nights at some girl's place seemed to have come to an end, while Ryan had been spending much of the day in front of his laptop, working hard on his Master's degree. These days, he thought, he and Dylan were getting more and more like an old married couple, long past the honeymoon stage and with the fizz gone from the relationship. They were sat in the lounge, watching a trashy alien invasion film on Netflix. The hero worked at a radio-telescope observatory and, every so often, Ryan would desultorily mention that it was not "how they did it in real life" or that "it wouldn't happen that way". "What's the latest on your search for a date for your do?" Dylan asked him from his armchair unexpectedly. "Do I have to contact an escort agency for you yet?" "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Ryan said. "Hey, you could take a man with you," Dylan exclaimed. "It isn't 1970." "Any ideas?" Ryan asked him, one eye on the telly. "I'd go. I'm not working that evening." The trap was closing, Ryan thought. "You? With all us nerds talking about quark stars and phase angles and boasting about the length of our telescopes?" "It's a free meal. With booze." "And how cool would it look like if I had to bring my flatmate along as my plus one?" Ryan asked. "I mean, that's just as bad -oh, come on! You cannot send a message into orbit with a transmitter in that configuration! What a load of crap! Sorry, where was I?" "You were being cool." "Oh, yeah. Like I said, that would be as bad as going by myself. 'Hi, Ryan, this your date?' 'Nah, it's my flatmate.' 'Oh, you sad bastard.'" Dylan was silent for a minute as an alien scout ship zeroed in on the hero's location. "Fair point," he said eventually, realising he could not argue with Ryan's point of view. They watched the film in silence for a minute, long enough to see the hero's best buddy get fried by an invader's laser weapon as he tried to buy time for him to send a computer virus through the radio telescope to the invading fleet. "Oh God, this is awful," Ryan announced. "Wanna find something else?" "Can't be arsed. Just as well leave it on." "Okay. Beer?" "Yeah, go on." Dylan disappeared into the kitchen, coming back a couple of minutes later with an open bottle of Doom Bar in each hand. He passed one to Ryan. "Thanks." Ryan took a swig. "I do have an idea," he said tentatively. "What? About the piss-up?" "We-ell," he replied, stretching the word out. "You want to go for a free nosh, and I need a plus one. The answer's obvious, isn't it?" "What?" "We need Holly to come out of retirement." Dylan looked at him, surprised. "Eh?" "It's the perfect answer." "Why?" "Well, for a start I'll look very cool with a gorgeous blonde on my arm. Second... I'll look really cool with a gorgeous blonde on my arm." Dylan just looked at him blankly, the film totally forgotten. "I'll even buy you a new dress," Ryan added. "And shoes. And even a handbag if you like." "I don't know if you've noticed something," Dylan told him, pointing to his shorn locks. "They do these wonderful things called wigs, I believe," Ryan told him patiently. "I'm not up on the scene, I admit, but they're quite good, so I'm told. I'll even buy you one of those if I can choose the colour." A slow realisation began to dawn on Dylan. "You bastard," he said. "You've been planning this all along, haven't you?" "A-ha!" Ryan grinned triumphantly. "There it is!" "You're going to tell me you never went to the charity shop now." "Oh, you're too quick for me." "Where are they?" "In the attic." "You prick." "Whatever." Dylan felt a stir of anger at his smugness. "I told you I was done with all that. Holly's gone." "And now you're getting all fit and having your hair cut to look like a marine? Move over Schwarzenegger." "Yes. So?" "How's it going so far?" "Fine." "If you say so. I notice the trips to the gym have eased off though." "I've been busy." Ryan laughed. "Bollocks." "I have!" Dylan was indignant. "You haven't," he told him scornfully. "You've had plenty of opportunity." "And how do you know? You're not here all the time." "No, but I normally empty the washing bin, and I haven't seen any of your smelly gym wear for a couple of weeks." Dylan was silent at that. Ryan continued, his voice full of concern. "Look, I know that what happened was awful, but you told me you've been crossdressing for, what, ten years? You don't want to stop doing something you like because of one shitty experience. Trying to build yourself up into some kind of muscle man ain't the answer. And sorry, matey, but you don't have the build for it." "You saw what state I was in. It was terrifying!" Dylan interjected. "I don't want it to happen again." "Well, no, of course you don't," Ryan agreed. "And your phone call frightened the life out of me. But what you're doing isn't the way to deal with it." "So what do I do?" Dylan asked angrily. "Learn from it," Ryan told him. "Look, I might not have been the only black kid growing up in Woking, but it didn't stop a load of racist shit coming my way from the local thugs. And some of it physical. The only thing to do is to stick two fingers up at 'em and carry on. It's a clich?, but it's true when they say what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger." "I didn't feel very strong." Dylan's voice was quiet. "No, but trying to beef yourself up isn't going to do it either. Look, just imagine Holly, dressed up to the nines, oozing sex appeal, walking up to that arsehole in a pub, telling him that he didn't know what he was missing before giving him the finger and telling him to fuck off before walking out wiggling your backside in a way that would make any red blooded male in there jizz all over their trousers." Dylan couldn't help smiling at the thought. "Ah!" Ryan shouted, pointing at him. "Got you!" The younger man sighed. "Okay," he said, realising his defeat. "I guess you're right. I did try to get all macho, but I got bored with the gym and those protein mixes are bloody foul." "They make you fart a lot." "I'd noticed that as well." "Look, if I'm honest, you haven't been yourself since you were attacked. And that's understandable. But Holly's a big part of you, and she was here a lot more than Dylan was. Shutting her away is only going to do more harm. And I have to say that I miss her too." Dylan looked puzzled by that. "How d'you mean?" "Don't get me wrong, we get on very well, but having Dylan here all the time can drive anybody around the bend. Holly's a bit calmer." "Really?" Ryan was surprised. "You never noticed?" Dylan shook his head. "No." "Interesting. You're a different person when you wear a skirt. I don't just mean the way you look, but the way you act. Everything. Probably, you've being doing it for so long that the change is automatic and you don't notice it. It's deeper than just acting. It's a total change." "I never realised," the younger man admitted. He thought for a moment. "That might explain a few things." "Like the way you've been acting like a miserable git these last few weeks," Ryan suggested. "Maybe." "She's your, what's it called, yin to your yang." "You make it sound like I'm bipolar." Ryan shook his head. "No, but you started wearing women's clothes when you were younger, and created Holly as an avatar to enable you to do so. You've become so used to her being there that without her, you're missing a huge piece of yourself. She's an important part of your life and you've been lost without her. You've been showing the classic stages of grief." Dylan fell silent, and Ryan could see that he was trying to process what he had told him. "I never thought of it like that," he murmured thoughtfully. They were silent for a moment, as alien spacecraft exploded all around the world and the hero walked out of the control room to see his girlfriend running across the car park towards him. "Okay," Dylan announced as the end credits rolled. "New dress, shoes and handbag. And a decent wig and probably some nails. And, I have to tell you, it'll cost you." + + + Later that evening Dylan lay in bed, lost in thought. Ryan's words had given him some ideas he had never considered before, and the more they circulated around his head the more sense they seemed to make of the way he had been feeling since the attack. He picked up his mobile from the bedside cabinet, flicking through the many photographs he had taken of himself as Holly over the years. There were plenty of selfies, and others with Tessa or Harry, or both, and they demonstrated how he had evolved her look and improved his skill over the years. Ironically, the last shot was a selfie taken before he had gone out that final evening, Holly smiling broadly into the camera, wearing the t-shirt and the pinafore dress. He looked at the photo curiously. It was him, of course; the same eyes, the smile, the wrinkling of the nose, the fair hair... a face he had seen in the mirror every day of his life. But could a set of clothes and cosmetics really make such a difference? He had never before thought that Holly had been a different person; he had always considered her to be just another side of him, one wearing a dress, and Ryan's description of how she differed from him was surprising. He simply hadn't noticed the transformation that had come over him. Neither Tessa nor Harry had mentioned such a thing, but perhaps they had been too close. That night in Hazleton was not the first time he had lost a fight; his slim build had often led to him being picked on at school, and more than once he had ended up sniffing the playground concrete courtesy of another boy's fist. But never had he been attacked like he had been outside the pub, and as far as he was concerned it was all down to his stupidity when Holly was asked if she wanted a drink. If he had just left it at one, he thought, and sighed deeply. If he had not gone on elsewhere... If he had not gone with Mark to Hazleton... If he had not responded to his kiss... If. If if if if. One of Dylan's school teachers had been fond of saying that 'if' was the most important word in the English language. He sighed again. If he had not been such a fucking idiot. Basically. And in more ways than one, he considered. Wanting to stop being Holly was a decision taken in the heat of the moment, very vulnerable and shaken and with bruised ribs, a black eye and nostrils bunged with dried blood. He could see it now; as far as he had been concerned Holly had, to all intents and purposes, died in the that pub car park, beaten to death by that arsehole. He shivered at the thought. Ryan was right; he had been grieving for her, and as he looked back, he could see now that he felt her loss more keenly than had it been a member of his family. She was indeed a huge part of him, and they had grown so intertwined over the years that just separating the two of them was impossible. The loss of her made him incomplete, and no number of sessions at the gym or picking up girls would replace her. He had been an idiot to think otherwise. But worse, it had been Dylan himself who had killed her, not Mark. It had been him who had nailed down that coffin lid, and he had been wrong. So wrong. It was time to bring her back from the dead. + + + Dylan normally lay in bed most of Sunday morning if he was not working. Though he was not at work that following Sunday, he was up and about early. Things to do, he told himself. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and had a really close shave, removing what beard he had. A shower followed, during which he shaved his body and limb hair as well, everything except a little patch above his penis. After throwing on a t-shirt and jeans he climbed into the attic and retrieved the bags that Ryan had put there months earlier. Before long Holly's belongings were back where they belonged, neatly hanging in the wardrobe or folded up in the drawers. Several pairs of shoes and boots were lined up under the bed or in the bottom of the wardrobe, and her make-up and jewellery and other accessories were back on the dressing table he had bought a little while back. Dylan looked in the mirror and studied his head. His hair was still very short, and would not do at all. There was an eBay wig supplier in Didcot, he knew, and though it was a Sunday morning he wondered if he could persuade them to see him. He found their phone number and gave them a call. Ten minutes later he was cycling around to see them, having asked very, very nicely on the phone and catching them in just the right mood. When he got back to the flat Ryan was out for his run and he quickly changed into Holly, putting on familiar garments and items. Red bra and knickers, breast forms in and his tackle tucked, a long-sleeved black t-shirt, black tights and a pair of cut off denim dungarees, and a pair of battered high-top Converse trainers on her feet. She combed out the blonde wig and carefully put it on; it was very similar to her normal hair style, but a little longer and with an ash blonde colour. Then it was on with some light make-up and some jewellery; a pair of hooped ear rings, some bangles and a couple of rings. As she was looking at herself in the mirror, she heard Ryan arrive back after his run. He disappeared into the bathroom and, while he was showering, she put some bacon under the grill. She hummed to herself as she busied herself around the kitchen. Holly hadn't felt this happy in a very long time. Rebirth was a wonderful process, even allowing for the events beforehand. This, she knew, was the answer to Dylan's low mood, and she wished it hadn't taken so long to realise it. She knew she had Ryan to thank for it, and smiled at the surprise she was going to give him. She had considered just wearing some sexy lingerie, but that would probably give the wrong impression and make Ryan run a mile. In any case, it probably did not matter what she was wearing, only that she was here, making some breakfast while her man had his shower and- Her man? That caught her by surprise, but before she could think about how natural it seemed to think of him in that way Ryan appeared, wearing a sweatshirt and chinos, fresh and clean after his shower. "Coffee's up," she told him, putting the bacon on the bread, and looked up to see him just standing in the doorway, gazing back at her. She felt a sudden giddiness, a feeling of lightness in her heart. "What?" she asked, a smile on her lips. His shook his head, and grinned. "Great to see you back, Holly," he said. She sat down at the table, shaking some HP sauce onto her bacon butty. "Yes, well, you might regret it," she told him. "Why's that?" he asked, taking the seat opposite. "You're taking me to Bicester Village after this," she told him. "The outlet centre?" "No, the golf club," she said sarcastically. "Of course the outlet centre." "Why?" She looked at him, all innocent. "I believe a new dress was mentioned. And shoes... and a handbag." "Well, you somehow managed to get the wig sorted," Ryan said through a mouthful of bacon sandwich. "On a Sunday morning as well." She raised her eyebrows and sighed. "Oh, you na?ve little thing. You don't honestly think I'm going to wear this hairstyle to your little soir?e, do you, sweetie?" "No?" "No." She smirked. "You'll need a new suit as well. And a tie. I do hope your credit card is feeling up to a little exercise, Ryan. Now eat your butty. We have work to do." + + + Ryan fiddled with his bow tie. "Don't," Holly told him warningly. She straightened it. "It's fine. Leave it alone." "I hate wearing ties," he grumbled. "Too tight." Her eyes widened. "Oh, you think you're making sacrifices?" she asked, waving a manicured hand at herself. "Okay, okay," Ryan muttered. "You made your point." It was the evening of the awards ceremony, and they were standing outside the function room at the very smart hotel in Oxford where it was being held. Ryan would not admit it, but he knew he was looking incredibly smart in a hired black evening suit and dress shirt, shoes gleaming in the lights and his bow tie now at the right angle. Normally one for wearing two or three days' worth of beard on his face, he had even had a proper shave for the event at Holly's urging. "Very James Bond," Holly had told him admiringly when she'd seen him in the suit earlier. As for his companion, Ryan had stood, open mouthed, when he opened the door to his hotel room to see her standing there. As promised, he had bought a new outfit for her, but had not seen her with it on before now. She was wearing a scarlet bateau-necked dress with a lace-covered bodice, the knee length skirt flaring out. A pale grey silky pashmina hung from her bare, milky smooth arms, drooping down her back, and she wore a pair of skin tone silk stockings and red strappy sandals with a four-inch heel. A matching clutch bag was held in her hand, her acrylic nails long and also painted red after a visit to the nail salon. Her dark brunette wig, shot through with light, caramel-coloured highlights, was long, most of it pulled back and secured with a clasp, allowing the curls to tumble down lazily and drape over her right shoulder. A few locks had escaped to hang either side of her immaculately made-up face, smoky eye shadow complimenting her dusky red lips. Long earrings with a Celtic design dangled from her lobes. "Holy shit," Ryan eventually stammered. "You're stunning!" "Well," she drawled, her voice husky, walking past him, her look screaming femininity and leaving a scent of expensive perfume in her wake. "I heard that somebody wanted to look cool with a gorgeous blonde on his arm. You've got a brunette, but nobody's perfect." "You are," he told her. "Nobody will notice me with you there." "That's the point, hun. Just think how jealous they'll all be." And she cast him a seductive look that made him go weak at the knees. Shit, he was getting an erection. About his flatmate. His male flatmate. "Shall we, um, go?" he asked awkwardly, trying to ignore it. "After you, babe." Ryan could not doubt the pride he felt at escorting Holly into the dinner, arm in arm. She certainly did cause heads to turn as she entered the function room, a look on her face that told everybody that she owned the room. And him. Gracefully she allowed herself to be introduced to his colleagues, revelling in the looks of lust from the men and envy from the women. Elegantly, she took her seat at the table, Ryan pushing in her chair behind her. As he went to take his own seat a friend of his whispered in his ear as he passed, "You lucky, lucky bastard!" He said nothing, just smiled and sat down next to her. She was making small talk with those seated on the same table. "...oh, we're not a couple," she was saying to an older woman, the wife of another researcher. "Ryan was best friends with my brother before university. He always had a crush on me then, so now, who knows? I am available, as they say." And she gave him a look so coy that he felt himself blush to the top of his head, and made the others laugh. The evening proceeded as planned, with the awards being given out at the conclusion of the meal. Holly clapped politely as they were announced, and gave Ryan a big kiss on the cheek when he returned to the table after receiving his. It surprised him, as too did the hand that rested on his leg throughout the speeches, fingers idly stroking his thigh. Holly gave no indication otherwise, and he pulled at his shirt collar uncomfortably, knowing full well that she knew exactly what effect she was having. After the speeches the attention turned to the dance floor, the partition that ran through the centre of the function room being opened and folded back. A band had set up on the small stage at the far end, with a girl singing, and they played throughout the rest of the evening. Ryan and Holly danced together, with the former amazed that she could move as she did on those heels. She had a wonderful sense of rhythm. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked her at one point. "Oh yes," she told him. "I am so glad you convinced me to bring Holly back." "You realise every woman in this room hates you?" She laughed. "And every man is absolutely jealous of you." She put her arms around his neck. "They all wish they'll be the one screwing me senseless later rather than you." Ryan wasn't entirely sure how to take that, and at that moment the band switched to a slow smoochie. With a smile, Holly put her arms around him and rested her head against his chest, letting out a sigh of satisfaction. He hid his awkwardness at enclosing her in his arms, telling himself that it wasn't really a man under the feminine shape. That was why he was feeling the way he was, he told himself as they moved together, and enjoyed holding her protectively. A curious warmth spread through him as he realised that it was not the only feeling either; there was another as well, but he wasn't sure what it was. It couldn't be love... Could it? Whatever it was it was wonderful, and he stopped worrying about it and instead decided to enjoy the feeling of Holly against him, her head resting on his chest, her arms around him, her breasts pressing against him, and he lowered his head so that his cheek rested against the top of her head. They remained on the dance floor for most of the evening, revelling in the contact of their bodies against each other. It was towards the end of the evening, however, that Holly suddenly froze, looking at the band, a shocked expression on her face. She was just about to say something, gazing up at Ryan, when they had turned slightly and her attention was diverted towards the stage. "What?" Ryan asked, concerned at the change in her demeanour. "The drummer," she said, white faced. "What about him?" "He's the bastard who beat me up. Mark." Ryan followed her gaze, watching the man on the drums. He looked quite normal, dressed in white t-shirt and blue jeans, engrossed in the music was band was playing. "Do you want to leave?" he asked. She thought for a moment. "No," she said eventually. "Fuck him. I'm enjoying myself." She returned to the dancing and, after a moment, so did he. Eventually the band came to the end of their set and, with the music now coming from the sound system instead, started to pack up. Holly, casting a cold look at Mark, excused herself to go to the toilet. Instead of going down the corridor to the ladies, however, she turned in the other direction and made her way through a door marked for staff only. If she was correct, a left turn here should bring her out to the back of the stage and... Yes! Straight to a pair of fire doors leading to the outside. The band were moving their gear out through here and directly onto a battered looking Transit van. Suddenly unsure of herself, she moved into the shelter of a doorway and watched as the four guys and the singer went back and forth in what was obviously a well-rehearsed routine. It had seemed such a good idea back in the function room -in Ryan's arms. That thought made her shiver. She sighed. Why was she feeling like that about him? She couldn't believe she had been stroking his thigh earlier. What was that all about? And dancing with him... why had it felt so good resting against him? Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Mark laughing, and she felt a surge of anger at the sound. She watched Mark talking to the singer. It was obvious that they were together, and they kissed, their intimacy punctuated by a couple of ribald comments from their bandmates. Holly suppressed her anger. She suddenly felt supremely confident, and walked down the corridor to the fire doors boldly. "Hi," she said, stepping out into the night. "I just wanted to thank you. I thought you were great." She looked at the singer. "You've got a beautiful voice and-" She broke off, putting a note of surprise into her voice. "Oh, Mark! I didn't realise that was you on the drums!" He looked at her, confused. He obviously did not recognise her. "Are you together?" she asked them, looking from one to the other. "That's really sweet. How long?" "Couple of years," the singer replied automatically, a note of uncertainty in her voice. "Do I know you?" Mark asked. She smiled and stepped closer. "We met a few months back," she said. "Don't you remember? The pub car park at Hazleton. You were groping me." Recognition suddenly dawned on him and, as he looked at her with a sudden start, his girlfriend shot him a sudden, sharp look, a hundred questions in her narrowed eyes. Still smiling, Holly placed her hands on his shoulders gently and suddenly, violently, launched a knee directly into his groin. Mark's eyes bulged, his mouth gaping open, and he went down like a sack of potatoes. As he lay there clutching his throbbing testicles, breath gurgling in his throat, face twisted in agony, Holly squatted beside him and looked down at him contemptuously. With his girlfriend and the rest of the band frozen in shock at the swiftness of her attack, behind her, in the corridor, Ryan had appeared. He hurried down the corridor concernedly, before coming to a puzzled halt, trying to make out what was going on. "You don't know what you were missing," Holly hissed at Mark. As he looked at her through a fog of pain, she raised her middle finger in front of his face. "Now fuck off." She straightened up and smiled pleasantly at his girlfriend, who was looking at her in utter astonishment. "I'd find somebody else if I were you, sweetie," Holly advised her. She sashayed away, wiggling her ass sexily and, just before stepping indoors, looked back at the group alluringly and blew them a kiss. "'Night, boys." As she joined Ryan in the corridor Holly realised how much she was trembling. "Want a drink?" he asked. "Yes please," she replied shakily. "A stiff one. And no smutty remarks either, please." Ryan followed her to the bar, where she ordered a vodka and lime. Deciding he'd had enough for one evening he just went for a coke, and they sat at the bar to drink them. "So?" he asked. "Feel better?" She took a drink, the rim of the glass chattering against her teeth. Adrenalin was pumping around her body, but she could not help it as a feeling of delight flooded through her along with the warmth from the vodka. "Oh yes," she said, enjoying the sensation. "Much better." "I'd wondered where you'd got to," Ryan said. "Then I put two and two together." She took a long pull on her drink, savouring it. The tremors were subsiding, and in their place a sense of exultation was rising. She laughed; she'd faced that bastard and gotten her own back in the best way possible. "Well," she said. "I had to go and tell somebody that he didn't know what he was missing and to fuck off." "So I noticed. Right in front of his bandmates." "And his girlfriend." His eyes widened. "Really?" "Really. Who now knows he's a two-timing shit. And on top of that, who would believe him now if he told them I wasn't a woman?" She beamed. Ryan laughed. "Especially looking like that." "I wonder if they've got it on CCTV," she mused. "I'd love to see it." "Probably best not to ask," Ryan told her. "Probably," she agreed reluctantly. Having exorcised that particular ghost, and with the vodka adding to the wine and champagne she had drunk earlier, Holly felt a renewed sense of daring. She smiled as a fresh idea came to her, the thought exciting and scaring her equally, and she drained her glass. "Well, after all that, I think I've had quite enough for one evening," she remarked. "Walk me to my room?" Ryan nodded. "Yeah, why not?" They left the bar and took the lift to the third floor, walking side by side down the corridor. Holly's fingers were brushing against Ryan's, and he could feel his heart pounding with nerves. And anticipation. At the door to her room she unlocked it and turned to face him. "Thank you, Mister Campbell," she said sincerely. "What for?" Ryan asked. She reached up and straightened his bow tie. "For not giving up on me and making me see sense, and pushing me into this. And as an extra bonus, putting me in the right place to get some satisfaction." "The person you were becoming after the attack wasn't you," he told her earnestly, and tapped her on the chest. "This is you. In any case, thank you, Miss Franklin." "Thank me? Why?" "For making me look really cool this evening. And it was so much better than bringing that boring flatmate of mine or turning up on my own." "The pleasure was all mine." She smiled up at him. "Got a kiss for the girl then?" He rolled his eyes and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "No, she said softly, looking at him with deep, earnest eyes. "A proper kiss." And before she could change her mind she leaned up and kissed him on the lips. Ryan stiffened momentarily, taken by surprise, and then he was returning the kiss, tongue pushing into her mouth, forcing a slight whimper of joy from her. He could taste alcohol on her tongue, and he felt an excited rush of desire. Somewhere, deep down, he could hear a horrified voice telling him to stop, that underneath this stunning visage it was Dylan he was kissing, but at the same time he realised that he did not want to stop, his passion rising. When their lips finally parted, they looked into each other's eyes, a multitude of thoughts and emotions being exchanged in a simple gaze. Neither could quite believe what had just happened. Holly as the first to act, pushing the door open with her foot. "I want you to be the one screwing me senseless tonight," she whispered. He looked down at her. "We may regret this tomorrow." "Who cares about tomorrow?" she replied, her voice trembling. "Let it look after itself." He threw away the last of his resistance and allowed himself to be pulled into her room, shutting the door behind him.