Ny-lon free porn video

NY-LON By Circe Part 1: New York The late afternoon sun dappled the apartment with an orange glow, streaming through the large windows onto the pale floorboards and casting long shadows across the cream furniture. The living room was perfectly neat and tidy, even the clutter of a few fashion magazines were tasteful in their arrangement on the light oak coffee table. The apartment was still and quiet, save for the sound of the plasma television - tuned to CNN - and the snuffle of occasional sobbing. Mark crouched on the floor, tears streaming down his face as he convulsed. His hands trying, and failing, to keep his head up as he processed the news. "No word yet on any survivors..." A bright red stain shocked across the cream sofa, the red wine already seeping into the fabric. The wine glass lay shattered on the floor, where it had bounced, next to a crumpled up piece of paper. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be true. * * * * * "Fuck!" Mark swore under his breath as the aircraft juddered underneath him, jerking his complimentary glass of wine onto his suit trousers. He sighed, setting down the plastic glass onto the tray table and fished for a napkin. This would not be enough. He reached up and pushed the call button as he dabbed at his sodden trousers. "Hi, can I help you?" "Yes, please..." Mark looked up into the eyes of the stewardess, and stopped, momentarily forgetting the dampness in his lap. Her eyes were startling - crystal-bright blue sapphires that glistened and shone in the artificial light. They sparkled. She looked at him and smiled with those eyes. "How can I help?" she prompted gently, in her cut-glass English accent. "I've spilt-" he said haltingly. Forgetting the power of speech. "Wine." "Oh, you poor thing. Wait a moment." He turned to watch her walk up the gangway - her skirt shifting as she swivelled her slender hips, slipping against the sheer nylons she wore. She disappeared behind a bulkhead and he turned back, taking a deep breath and straightening up in his business class seat. He heard her come back: the click of her heels and swish of her skirt announcing her presence a split second before the sweet perfume she wore. She lent down over him, the swell of her bosom straining against her white blouse inches away from his face. He looked down to see her patting a paper napkin on his thigh - soaking up the wine in a practiced motion. Her fingers were long and elegant, immaculately finished with a French manicure and unadorned by jewellery. Was it his imagination, or did she give his thigh a squeeze? "There you are," she said, standing upright again and smiling. "No harm done. Shall I get you a refill?" "What's your name?" Mark asked. "I'm Natalie. Anything you need just ask." * * * * * The baggage claim was busy with tired passengers, waiting for their suitcases by the plastic carousel. A young woman near Mark chatted loudly into her iPhone, arranging a pickup and complaining about the flight. Two toddlers were running around, glad of the chance to stretch their small legs. Men and women smiled indulgently as they wove in between them. The carousel lurched into life with a beep and the gathered passengers crowded round, hopeful that their bag would be out soon, and then the promise of a taxi, a bath and bed. Outside the airport, New York beckoned. Mark stood back, watching everyone. He was home, and in no hurry to claim his modest suitcase. Absently, he fastened and unfastened his suit jacket as he stared at the doorway, conscious of other passengers wheeling away their possessions one by one. The crowd thinned, and he noticed his case on the conveyor as yet unclaimed. He waited. The doors slid open, and his patience was rewarded. The cabin crew walked in formation into the baggage claim, their small black leather cases trailing behind them as they strutted and smiled and laughed in their red skirt suits. He spotted Natalie instantly, and was not surprised that she was at the centre of the group, tossing her long blonde hair[Ghostly W1][Rachel Wi2] as she laughed. She was tall - taller than the other girls, but not by much - and walked with poise and elegance, her long limbs gracefully arching through the air. She turned her head as she walked, and her eyes met Mark's: her face registering the connection with a smile in his direction as she listened to her colleague. She tilted her head, and turned back to her friend, whispering something and holding her hand up against her face. The next thing Mark knew, she had broken ranks, and was walking towards him across the now-deserted baggage claim hall. "Is everything all right, Sir?" she asked, adding a playful inflection on the final word. "Uh yeah, great I was just waiting," he said. "On my bag," he added, lamely. "Is that it?" she asked, pointing at the solitary case currently orbiting the platform. "Oh," he replied. "Why yes it is. Well spotted." She laughed, and Mark was suddenly filled with courage. "Would you like to go for a drink? Or dinner? Or marry me?" Natalie's expression changed, as she looked at the young businessman as one might react to a kitten. "That's really sweet but-" "Seriously, you're what, flying back tomorrow? Staying in some cheap motel killing time between flights. What have you got to lose? I've already lost my dignity." Natalie smiled, her glossy red lips sliding back over perfectly even white teeth. Her sapphire eyes danced as she looked through him. "Nat!" One of the flight crew called as they stood around in a huddle near the exit. "Go on without me, I'll catch you up," she called back to her friend, her eyes never leaving Mark's. "Get your case and you can buy me a coffee." * * * * * The apartment door opened, bathing the hallway in the blue light from the stairwell. Sat on the floorboards with a displeased expression, Mark's cat regarded its owner as he stuffed his keys back in his suit pocket and wheeled his suitcase into the corridor. "Hello FiFi," Mark said, crouching down to scratch the Bengal behind the ears. "FiFi?" Natalie said as she walked into the apartment, towing her case behind her. "You called your cat FiFi?" "That was her name when I was given her. She doesn't seem to mind. Believe me, it's pretty embarrassing calling for her when she climbs out onto the roof." "Hello FiFi," Natalie said in a babyish voice, squatting down and swinging her legs to one side. She held her hand up to the cat's nose and let it sniff her fingers. Satisfied, the cat rubbed her cheek against the extended digits before flopping down on the ground in a puddle of fur. Natalie delicately tickled its fuzzy tummy. "She's very cute. Who looks after her when you're away?" "I have a cat butler," Mark replied, shedding his suit jacket and turning on the lights in the large open-plan loft. Natalie giggled, standing upright and smoothing down her skirt. "A cat butler. Americans." "Hey, you guys have actual butlers. What would you like to drink?" "Tea?" she asked hopefully, slipping off her suit jacket and hanging it on the wooden coat stand. "Don't you want a drink drink?" "I don't drink drink. Thank you; though don't let me stop you. What a beautiful view!" She hugged herself and walked over to the large windows, taking a deep breath as she looked over the lower east side. "Isn't it?" Mark stared at the woman from across the room as he dropped a tea bag into his favourite mug. He watched as she stepped out of her red heels, wriggling her stocking toes on the cold wooden floor as she audibly exhaled. He looked away to pour himself a glass of wine, and when he looked back she had moved, curled up on the cream sofa, her feet tucked under her red knee-length skirt. "I hope you don't mind," she said as he handed her a hot mug of tea. "I've been on my feet all day." "I don't have any milk." "So I see. It's fine." She took a deep breath. "Sorry, this is maybe not what you had in mind when you asked me back here." They had gone for coffee at the airport, and talked over their Starbucks lattes (his Tall, hers Tall double shot no foam hazelnut), making introductions and shaking hands properly. Natalie had insisted on that. They had made small talk, chatting about air travel, and airports before moving onto other topics - a shared love of 20th century art, the latest exhibition at MoMA. Mark had been amazed at how easily he had talked to this goddess - a girl who he ordinarily would never have spoken to, because she would never have given him the time of day. After an hour, he had suggested they go back to his apartment. He was amazed that she had agreed. "Well, since you don't drink, I can't get you drunk, so bang goes that plan." She laughed, wriggling in the couch and patting the empty spot next to her. "Sit." Mark did as he was told, taking a sip of wine and setting the glass carefully on the floor. He turned his head and looked at her. "What are you looking at?" "You." The kiss was tentative, her parted lips softly brushing against his, her breath hot and sweet. She tasted of strawberries. "If you keep looking at me like that," she whispered, "you wont need to get me drunk." She shivered. "It's a little cold in here." "Hold on," Mark stood and practically sprinted through to his bedroom, gathering up his duvet in both hands and bundling it through to the living room. Natalie was fast asleep, her eyes closed, her lips curled into a smile. Silently, Mark draped the duvet on top of her, retrieved his glass and turned out the light. * * * * * "I'm sorry," the letter began, "that I fell asleep on you, but I was so tired. Thank you for giving me your blanket and that lovely sweet kiss. Your sofa is very comfy, and your cat is very friendly. Hope I didn't wake you. Nat x." Mark held the letter up to his nose and took a deep breath. It may have been his imagination, but it definitely had her scent. He read it again, lingering over the "lovely sweet kiss," and replying it in his mind. It was later, when he was in the shower thinking of her that he realised they hadn't swapped phone numbers. * * * * * "You're obsessed. You know that?" Mark hurriedly minimized his web browser at the sound of his friend's arrival - The flight arrival times for JFK airport clearly visible. "It's been what, a month? She'll have been back and forth to the US hundreds of times, and she's never..." "Never been to my apartment. Yes, thank you. I know this." "I'm just saying. I don't think she's sitting at her desk pining over an arrivals board." Mark swivelled round in his chair. "I'm not pining. I'm just... You didn't see her Dan, she was a goddess." "So you've said," Dan smiled. "Come on, it's after six. Time for beer.[Ghostly W3][Rachel Wi4]" Mark shutdown his computer and put on his suit jacket. * * * * * The bar was busy, standing room only for suits on Friday night. Dan and Mark stood in the middle of an ever-shifting pack of colleagues, friends and strangers. Conversations were brief, shouted and punctuated with the occasional apology as a drink sloshed against someone's clothes, or a foot was accidently trodden on. "Why do we come here again?" Mark shouted. "Everyone comes here," Dan replied, downing the remains of his beer and setting the empty glass on a nearby table. "Same again please." Mark nodded, finishing off the remains of his drink and leaving Dan in the throng. He worked his way through the crowd, carefully picking routes of least resistance. The queue at the bar was three people deep. He picked his spot and, pulling out his phone, shifted his gaze between the tiny text on his screen and the bar staff, hoping to catch their eye. He had no luck, and waited instead until his time came - creeping towards the bar with everyone else. Finally he reached the bar, and slipped his phone back into his suit jacket pocket, ready to order. As he looked around, he noticed someone familiar. He could just see her in profile, at the other end of the bar, but he was certain it was her. The same long blonde hair, same height, same face. He couldn't be sure until the barman spoke to her, and he heard her unmistakable English accent reply: "Gin and tonic please." "She's here!" "Who?" Dan asked, gratefully taking his drink. "Natalie." "Who?" "Natalie! The girl. The Girl. Air steward. Girl of my dreams. That girl." "She's here?" "She's at the bar. Or was." Mark took a drink. "Oh Jesus." "What?" "I'm going to talk to her. Wish me luck." Mark handed his colleague his glass and checked his appearance in a nearby mirror, before working his way back through the crowd. * * * * * The cat leapt off the white bedclothes just in time to avoid the giggling couple, who crashed heavily locked in a passionate embrace. Her body pressed against his as they kissed and groped, and Mark was already rock hard when she snaked her fingers down over his groin and he felt her smile. "For me?" she asked, drawing her fingers up to her mouth in mock shock. "You haven't seen anything yet." She pulled away and began to unbutton her blouse, revealing the creamy white of her flawless skin and large round breasts, supported by an ivory half-cup bra. The blouse was cast aside with a smile. Wordlessly, she reached over to Mark and undid his tie before easily unbuttoning his shirt and tugging it out from his trousers. She threw it over his head, and kissed him, pressing her lingerie-covered breasts against his naked chest as she scratched her nails down his back. Mark closed his eyes and slid his hands up her back towards the thick strap of her brassiere. A sudden performance anxiety kicked in and the thought of scores of failed attempts, which led him to skip the hook and eye fastening and go straight for her shoulders, where he gently slid each shoulder strap down. "Coward," she giggled. "Unzip my skirt then." With great ease, Natalie reached behind her and unclipped the fastener, squeezing her body against Mark's chest to keep her underwear in place. Mark found the tiny zip at the waistband, and tugged downward, feeling the tight skirt release as it moved down the swell of her bottom. As he did so, he felt Natalie undo his trousers and slowly pull down the zip at his fly, releasing his cock to spring to attention in his boxer shorts. "Okay," Natalie whispered. "I'm going to take my skirt off, and you're going to take your trousers off. Let's meet back here in about ten seconds." "All right," John whispered back. "One, two..." He kissed her as they parted, and watched as her brassiere fell onto the bed as she rolled. She bucked her hips and tugged her skirt down her thighs, giggling as she wriggled it down her pantyhose-clad legs. She kicked the skirt away, laughing as she turned her head to watch Mark's progress. "Sweetie," she smiled. "What did we discuss?" Mark knelt where she had left him, trousers stretched across his hips and bum and with an enormous erection. He stared at the vision in front of him. She was even more amazing than he had imagined. Her large breasts were obviously natural, as they moved against her chest, rising and falling as she breathed. Her tummy was tight and slender, her hips round and curvy. She wore only her control-top sheer pantyhose and a pair of skimpy ivory panties, barely visible through the thick, tight nylon. "You're looking at me like that again." She turned her head back and stretched out on the bed, basking in his gaze. "It's the tights isn't it? Are you sure you're not English?" He laughed, breaking the spell and rolled over, tugging the suit pants down his legs, and pulling off his socks in one motion. "You might as well take your boxers off too. They're not hiding anything," she said. "I'll show you mine..." "I knew it. You just wanted to get into my knickers," Natalie smiled, sitting up and wriggling the hose down her thighs as Mark quickly tugged down his white Calvin Kline boxer shorts. She carefully worked her pantyhose down her slender legs. As the taut fabric slackened, she plucked at her toe and pulled, slipping the nylon down and off her foot. "Why don't you have a try?" Mark crouched in front of the English beauty and gently stroked her thigh as he worked the nylon down her leg. She lay back and purred as he moved, tugging the flimsy hose down and off her foot. He slowly massaged her feet, careful not to tickle her as she wriggled her toes in appreciation. "Thank you darling. Now come here." Mark stopped and kissed her toes, accompanied by a delighted giggle from the bed. He kissed her ankles, one after the other, as he stretched up, careful to only touch her lightly as his hands and lips crept up her smooth white legs. He felt her thighs moving apart as his hands moved around her hips, and heard a gasp as he kissed the inside of her thighs. "Darling..." He lingered just a moment before moving up her body, kissing her sex through the skimpy panties as his hands gently squeezed her plump derriere. He felt her relax as he kissed her belly button and his hands travelled up her tight slender middle. He pulled himself up, and was careful not to press down on her, as his lips moved to her nipples - gently kissing and sucking as he felt the flesh beneath shifting and trembling. He looked up, and saw her eyes were closed, her lips parted in a half-smile, half-gasp. Carefully he slid further up the bed, and kissed her shoulders, her neck and her chin before finally, gently, touching his lips against hers. He felt her smile widen under his lips and a hand scratching his back as she pushed her lips forward, pressing them against his hungrily. He was surprised when he felt her wrapping her fingers around his cock, and then disappointed as she let go almost as soon as she had touched him, simply moving his hard member from sticking into her thigh to resting on top of her belly. 'There, that's better," she said between kisses. "That can't have been comfortable." She wrapped her arms around him and shifted her weight, rolling on the bed and pulling him with her until she was on top. Unlike him, she lay on him with her full weight, pressing her small frame against him. "My turn." Mark felt her slide out from his grasp as she snaked down his body, kissing and licking his chest and nipples as she went. She flashed an evil smile as she traced a pointy fingernail down his stomach, tantalizingly close to his engorged cock. Her fingernail moved across the base of his shaft and then up the middle, causing Mark to twitch. "I have a question," she said, her voice a whisper as her finger moved slowly down and up the length of his cock. "Oh?" Mark answered, struggling to appear nonchalant. "How horny are you?" "Um." "Yes, I can see your beautiful willy is very excited to see me. I'm asking: if I were to, say, open my lips and take it in my mouth and suck, would you cum?" "Uh." "Because some boys," she went on, her fingernail slowly scraping along his balls, "some boys get excited and cum and then lose their... excitement. And I really, really want this inside me." She bent down and puckered her full lips, softly kissing the head of his twitching cock. "We could," he said, swallowing as he felt her lips part and take him in her mouth. "Oh God. We could do both, I was going to say, before you, oh God!" He shuddered as her warm mouth enveloped him, gasping as her fingers found and squeezed his balls. She moved her lips slowly, down a surprising amount of his length before moving back up again, sliding his dick out with a wet kissing noise. "Yummy," she said, looking up at him with a mischievous smirk. Her expression changed for a moment as she looked at him. "Mark, do you think I'm pretty?" "What? Yes, God yes you're amazing." "That's a start," she grinned, opening her mouth wide and taking him inside again. "You're beautiful. Your eyes were the first thing I noticed. And your hair: your long amazing hair. And your ass." "What about my ass?" She asked, looking up at him with a different expression now. Hungrier. Mark realised what was expected of him. "How it, oh God, moved in that skirt you wore. It's so perfect and, fuck me, peachy I just wanted to ahhh, just wanted to squeeze it and oh my God." She was working faster now, her lips sliding up and down the length of his cock as she sucked. As he talked, he felt her scrape her teeth against him as the pressure built up. He knew he couldn't last long. He realised she had stopped touching his balls, and had slid one of her hands away. He felt her buck and realised that she was pleasuring herself too. "And your ass fuck is even better than I Jesus imagined. Pert and round and I want to fuck you, fuck me, oh God." Mark shuddered as he came, feeling amazing as he squirted into her mouth, her lips clamped down around his cock. "Shit, sorry." Suddenly extra sensitive, he gasped as he felt her every move. She carefully slid his deflating cock from her mouth and kissed it fondly as she let it fall - sticky against his stomach. She pushed against his prone body and rolled off him, sliding up the bed beside him until their faces were level. She kissed him, and he realised she had swallowed his cum as he tasted the smell on her lips. "So," she said, resting her fingers on his chest. "You want to fuck me in my arse? That's a bit forward for a first date, don't you think?" "I'm sorry. I came before I could get to the rest of you." "I was surprised you didn't start with my tits. Don't you like them?" she asked, her face falling. "No, no they're amazing, perfect..." She drew a finger up to his lips. "I was kidding." "I'm not. You're perfect. I want to describe all of you." She grinned then, a silly girlish grin that showed all her teeth and made her eyes sparkle. She kissed him, pulling his face to her and practically ramming her tongue into his mouth. He rolled over into the kiss, moving one of his hands over her breast and caressed the warm, yielding flesh. "I'm not going anywhere," she said, shifting into position and wrapping a leg around him. "Well, not until four tomorrow." * * * * * "You don't mind?" Natalie asked, drawing her silk dressing gown around her as she sat down to breakfast. "Mind what?" Mark asked, looking up from his New York Times and taking a slurp of orange juice. "You know, my being on cabin crew, having my flat in London, that we only see each other once a week." "I don't mind you being an air hostess.." "Cabin crew," she corrected. "Working on a plane," he teased. "No, I just look forward to when I hear that key in my door." "Aw, that's very sweet." Natalie reached over and kissed him on the cheek, taking a slice of toast in the process. They had continued seeing each other every time she was in town. Once a week, sometimes weekends, sometimes not, she would fly into town. She was there so regularly that it made sense for her to have a key, and to move some of her things in. She had joked that now she had a flat in London and an apartment in New York. Mark set down his paper and looked at the woman in front of him, buttering toast in her red silk dressing gown. He couldn't believe his luck: that this goddess of a woman wanted to be with him. She had arrived at nine last night, looking as wonderful as ever in her uniform. A quick kiss and a change of clothes and they had gone out for dinner to celebrate their six month anniversary. The sex when they had gotten home had been as passionate as that first night. "I think maybe it's not a bad thing," Natalie said, taking a drink of coffee. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that." "Are you saying you'd be bored of me if we lived together?" "We do live together." "Yes, but... If you lived in New York. Or I lived in London." "You'd move?" She asked, putting down her toast and looking at him with a curious expression. "You'd move to London for me?" "I'd move to Mars for you." * * * * * The news reports continued, even though they had no new information. The London to New York flight had gone down after engine failure, they thought. The flight had gone down at sea, so there were no shots of wreckage they could show, not helicopters to send to circle the rescue effort. The plane, and everyone on board had vanished. Mark couldn't cry any more. He lay on the floor, curled up in a ball, unable to move. That had been her flight. She was on that plane. According to her schedule, she was working. And now she was gone. His brain circled around these facts again and again, not wanting them to be true. The cold truth was that he didn't know anyone to talk to who knew her. He didn't have her parent's details, or her brothers, or any of her friends in England. He loved her, and there was no one to talk to. He uncurled himself and reached for the TV remote, turning off the news and plunging the apartment into darkness. He needed a drink. He stopped as he heard a click, and the unmistakable sound of a key in his front door lock. He looked up with surprise as he heard the key turn, and relief flooded through him as he heard the door swing open and the familiar click of heels and squeak of trolley case against his polished wooden floor. "Mark, are you here?" Natalie's voice called out from the hallway. "Oh thank God!" Mark sprinted through to the front door, pouncing on Natalie as she took off her heavy wool coat and squeezing her tight. "Well hello handsome. You miss me?" she asked. She laughed as he held her, returning the hug happily until she realised he wasn't letting go. "What's wrong? What's happened?" She felt him squeeze her tighter, and she realised that he was crying. "Talk to me." He released her, and grabbed her by her narrow shoulders, pulling her towards him and kissing her passionately. "What a welcome," she said with a smile as they parted. "You miss me?" "You're alive," he said, wiping the tears from his cheeks. "Yes," she said, taking off her coat and hanging it on the wooden coat stand. "Yes I am." "I thought... the plane... you were supposed to be on it." "What plane? What are you talking about darling?" Natalie abandoned Mark and her case in the hall and walked through to the living room. 'You don't know?" Mark asked, following behind her. "What plane were you on? When did you land?" "At six. We were a little delayed," she said sitting down on the couch next to the curled up cat and peeling off her red heels. "Ah, that's better. Darling, I don't know what you're talking about." Mark picked up the abandoned remote control and pointed it at the TV, pushing the "on" button. "And for those of you just joining us, we still have no new information about flight BA 57932 which has gone down over the Atlantic. There's a number to call-" Natalie sat bolt upright, her face glued to the television as the presenter repeated the story that Mark had heard so many times. She sat perfectly still, her chest rising and falling as she began to breathe faster and faster. Mark watched as her lips parted and her eyes widened. "Fuck." "I thought you were gone, I can't believe..." Mark began, watching as she absorbed the news. He moved over to the couch and sat down next to her, wrapping his arms around her again and kissing her hair. She felt cold and remote under his grasp, and wriggled free. "Fuck," she said again, ignoring her boyfriend. "I need to, I should, that is-" She stood, leaving her shoes behind as she quickly trotted through to the hallway. "What's wrong?" Mark asked, calling after her as she went. "What's going on?" He rose off the couch and followed after her, turning into the hallway to see her scrambling to put on her coat and pulling at the front door. "Where are you going?" He moved to intercept her, but was too late. By the time he reached the front door she had hauled her case through it and slammed it shut again. "Nat!" He shouted, opening the door and running after her in his bare feet. There was no one at the elevator so he pushed open the stairwell door, finding Natalie's flight case prone and abandoned at the top of the first flight. "Natalie!" he shouted again, leaning over the railing to look down the gap in the middle of the stairwell. There was a sudden flash of red three stories down and the slam of a door. Confused, he righted the case and slowly wheeled it back to his apartment door, which was thankfully still ajar. He would call her, he decided, and find out what was wrong. "Thank God," he said to the empty apartment. "Thank God." * * * * * Natalie screamed. She was dead. Everything had gone wrong in a split second, and now she had to figure out what to do. Her first thought was to go home, but that was impossible - she had no passport. Her second was to go back to Mark, but she had to trust her gut - eventually her darling boyfriend would figure it out. She was stuck with no way out, and her best friend was dead. She screamed again, full of rage at the world. She had been excited, getting ready this afternoon. Another couple of days with Mark would be bliss. She loved him so much, and he was so attentive. Yes, a couple of days of fucking and being adored and then off to London again. Life was great. Past tense. Was. Poor Natalie. She opened her eyes and looked around her. Typically, no one said a word and just bustled on past her. Fucking Americans. It had been stupid to leave her case, but she had to get out of there. Thankfully she still had her purse, and her credit cards. With luck she could still check into a hotel. * * * * * The number rang out again. Mark had called her too many times to mention, and she had never answered. He stared at his mobile phone as he punched in the number this time, hoping that the ritual would make a difference - rather[Ghostly W5] than using his contacts list. The phone rang, and rang. He stood up and walked out of the living room into the bedroom, looking for a hooded sweatshirt to guard against the cold, his phone pressed against his ear. Mingled in with his hoodie was a top of hers - a small purple tank sweater. He pulled it out and held it against his face, breathing in her scent, setting his phone down on the chest of drawers as it rang. He heard a faint ringing sound. With a furrowed brow, he laid down her top and turned, trying to locate the source of the ringing. Her flight case stood proud by the door - where it always stayed when she visited. He crouched down next to it and listened. Ringing. The case was swung onto the bed and unzipped, his fingers quickly circumnavigating the leather perimeter. The top was flung open and the sound intensified. Inside, a transparent overnight bad lay on top, filled with small bottles of makeup, perfume, lipsticks and various bottles and an inhaler. Underneath, red fabric and denim were neatly folded next to a shoe bag. The lacy trim of black panties stuck out one side, and the lacy cups of a black bra were stuffed into each other and wedged against the bottom. Mark unzipped a compartment and took out Natalie's phone. "Mark calling," it read. He hung up his own phone, and tossed hers aside onto the pile of clothes in her neatly packed flight case. Why would she run away like that, leaving her shoes for God's sake? Leaving her phone, her clothes? It made no sense. * * * * * "Thank you so much," Natalie said, watching the young bellboy leave the room and closing the door behind him. She knew he had noticed her lack of shoes, but didn't care. After walking three blocks her pantyhose had begun to catch and tear on the sidewalk. Angrily, she had simply stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, peeled them off and thrown them into the trash. The cold on her bare legs didn't bother her. Alone in her hotel room, she took off her uniform jacket and draped it over the back of a chair before falling heavily onto the bed. "Fuck," she said. "Fuck!" She had loved Natalie like a sister, and now she was gone. Worse, everyone knew she was gone. Before she had walked into the hotel she had popped another button on her blouse to reveal the creamy white flesh of her under-wired boobs - insurance, if her credit cards had already been cancelled. As she had hoped, the boy at the check-in desk hadn't even looked at her face, but the card had worked flawlessly. Lying on the bed, she sighed and buttoned up the blouse again, her perfectly manicured hand lingering over the swell of her bust. She realised she was crying, and her first thought was panic. She had no make-up to fix her face. She brought her fingers up to her eyes to stem the flow, but it was too late. She sobbed, curling up on the bed in a foetal position and howling. It was no use. Natalie was dead and she was in trouble. She might as well change and get out. "Shit." * * * * * It was three in the morning, and Mark was still up. He sat in his bedroom, surrounded by the contents of Natalie's flight case. He had emptied every pocket, unfolded her dress, unrolled her denim skirt and black leggings, and individually laid out every item in her overnight bag. Even her shoes had been inspected, and set out next to each other. FiFi lay curled up in the now-empty case, purring as she slept. He had no idea where she had gone, and no idea who to call. He knew no one she knew. He had scrolled through her phone contacts first, sure that he might find another friend to call, and been surprised that it contained only one listing - his number. He had emptied her overnight bag, arranging each item carefully by height in a semi-circle around the transparent plastic case - worshipers around an idol. [Ghostly W6]An empty bottle of wine cradled in his lap, he surveyed the scene once more, rocking slightly off balance as he reached into the case to tickle the cat between the ears. There was a knock at the door. Surprised, Mark stopped, unsure what he had heard. The house was completely still and quiet, save for the background noise of traffic and an impatient mew from within the leather flight case. Another knock, louder this time. Mark unfurled himself and pulled himself up, grabbing the wine bottle by the neck and stepping carefully around the detritus on the floor. At the door to his apartment he peered through the peephole. "What the fuck?" He opened the door to Natalie. She was a mess - her normally neat uniform was dishevelled, her make-up had run. He looked down and saw that she had no shoes: her feet were black and sore looking. She stood back from the doorframe, hugging herself. "Can I come in?" she asked softly. "Please." "Of course," Mark replied, rushing out to cuddle her. "Don't touch me. Please. Can I come in?" "Sorry, yeah, sure." Mark withdrew his hands and stood back, gesturing inside the dim apartment. Natalie gave him a tight smile and walked in, her arms still tightly wrapped around her middle. "Are you alright?" He asked, closing the door behind her. "I've been so worried. I don't know what's going on." "I just need my bag. Where is it?" "I'm not telling you. Talk to me, what's going on." "Mark," she turned around to face him, glancing into the bedroom as she moved. "I'm sorry, but I've had-" She stopped. "I'm in no-" she tried again. It was no use. "What on earth are you doing in there?" "Oh." He watched helplessly as she dropped her arms and walked into his room, before running after her. "It's unconventional," she said, a smile playing on her lips. "Very Tracey Emin." "Yeah. I was trying to find out how to get a hold of you." "By turning our bedroom into a sixteen year old girl's? What is going on with my makeup?" Natalie asked, stifling a giggle and dropping her arms. "I might have gotten carried away." "Is there any more in there?" she asked, turning to face him and pointing at the empty bottle he was still carrying around. "I can open another. Do you want a drink?" "I want a shower, and clean clothes, and ten drinks, and to feel loved. Not necessarily in that order." "I can do all of that," he said, setting down the empty wine bottle on a nearby chair. "Why don't you have a shower and I'll open another bottle?" "Mark," she began. "No, whatever it is I don't care right now. Shower." "Fine," she said, bending down to gather up her beauty products and stuff them into the clear overnight bag. She looked around at the other scattered clothes and smiled, reaching over to pick up her hairbrush. Mark watched as she stretched up and bundled the items together, leaving them at the foot of the bed. She shed her coat and let it drop to the floor. "You'll have to help me, I don't know your system yet." "It's mainly by color." "Go get wine, I won't be long." Mark turned to leave, and she watched him move slowly out the room. She had wanted so much to hold him, to kiss him and tell him it would be all right. His eyes were red and puffy and when he had opened the door she knew he had been crying all day. Her heart had leapt in her chest. But no, she had to get what she came for and leave again. She opened her overnight bag and checked inside, making sure again that all the bottles were there. She took out the inhaler and gave a sigh of relief. Everything was going to be fine. She could leave now, and... And what, she asked herself. Spend the night alone in a hotel room, dressed as an airhostess? She looked around the room and made the decision to stay. Natalie quickly unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor, unbuttoning her blouse as she stepped out of the garment and moved to the en suite bathroom. She turned the shower on, testing the water and letting it heat up and filling the apartment with the noise of running water. Back in the bedroom she dropped the blouse to the floor, picking up her toiletries bag and taking it back into the bathroom. As the steam formed on the bathroom mirror she applied wet wipes to her face, removing the smeared makeup. She checked her face in the mirror and felt a momentary pang of sadness. Pushing it to the back of her mind, she turned away, reaching behind her and deftly unhooking her bra. She slid the straps down her arms and dropped it to the floor before unceremoniously hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pulling them down her legs. She checked the water temperature, and decided it was fine. She desperately wanted a real shower - to stand under a jet of water and let everything wash away. No time for that now. She sat on the edge of the bath, facing away from the water, and leant back, letting her hair and the top of her head get wet. She counted to five and lent forward again, running her hands through her slightly damp hair. Perfect. She reached for a nearby towel and wrapped her hair in a makeshift turban before standing up and wrapping a large fluffy towel around her naked body. Some droplets of water fell from her hair onto her chest, snaking their way down between her breasts. She swivelled round on the bath edge, dangling her feet in the stream of warm water and watching as the water colored - stained with the dirt of a thousand steps. "Here you are," Mark said, setting down a full wine glass on a shelf in the steamy bathroom. He watched as Natalie, bent over and facing away from him, splashed her feet in the water, working the soap between her toes. He wanted so much to kiss her and hold her. He crept over and bent down, kissing her gently on her long neck below the towel. He felt her move, exposing more of her neck and sighing. Taking that as encouragement, he kissed her again, moving around her neck. He wrapped his arms around her body, ignoring the damp of her towel as it seeped into his shirt. Natalie twisted around, her lips finding his. She kissed him hungrily, forcing her tongue between his teeth and enjoying the passion he returned. His hands delved inside the folds of the towel and found her bare breasts. She gave a theatrical shudder as he squeezed. That he wanted her excited her, and just the thought of his magnificent willy, hard just for her, made her kiss him all the more lustily. She would fuck him tonight, and leave in the morning. What was the harm in one last hurrah? "I'm so glad you're alright," he said, his voice a reverential whisper. "I thought I'd lost you." He felt her shudder, and watched a tear snake down her face. "Hey, it's okay." "It's not. It's really not," she said, shaking. "Talk to me Nat, what is it?" he asked, removing his hands and moving away from her. "I'm not Natalie." "What? Of course you are." "Oh God Mark, I'm so sorry, but I'm really not. Well, I'm half Natalie. It's complicated." "I don't-" he tailed off, not following. "What are you talking about? Of course you're Natalie." "I can't do this," she said with a deep breath, swinging her legs out of the bath and walking past him into the bedroom. Mark stood up and followed her, entering the room as she discarded the towel and stepped into a flimsy, lacy black thong. "You're not making any sense babe." "I have to go," she said, bending down to pick up the matching black strapless bra, reaching behind her and clipping the clasp closed before reaching into each sheer black cup and making herself more comfortable. "This is all, this shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry." "Okay, stop. What the fuck is going on. If you're not Natalie who the fuck are you?" "We were both Natalie - her in England and me in America. But occasionally we'd swap." She hunted around the floor for a top. "What? Why would you do that?" "We were friends, and we needed each other. I had problems with my passport and she helped me." Not finding anything, she picked up the red dress. "This isn't making any sense Nat." "No?" she asked, standing up and resting one hand on her hip. "I don't believe there were no times you didn't think I was being weird. A bit different? Sometimes forgot the name of a friend, or that she was teetotal and I drank? Jesus, we obsessed over all that. I'm two inches taller you know." "Okay, so," Mark said, growing exasperated, "you're friends but you happen to be identical twins." "Oh no, we look nothing alike," she said, gathering up the dress in her hands. "Stop doing," he gestured manically. "What you're doing. Stop it! What the fuck are you telling me?" "Oh darling. I'm sorry, I really am. I have to go," she said apologetically, raising the dress above her head. "I said stop!" Mark grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, snatching the dress away from her and throwing it to the ground. "I don't know what you're trying to do." "I'm trying to spare your feelings sweetheart. You have to trust me," she said, her voice crackling. She swallowed, then cleared her throat, then swallowed again, her eyes growing wide - hunting for the inhaler she'd found moments before. "Spare my feelings? Spare them! I've spent all day thinking you were lost at sea, and then you run out on me, then you show up looking like something the cat dragged in and now you're telling me that you're not Natalie. My feelings are fucked." "Let me go. I need to get-" she said, her voice sounding deeper, raspier. She felt the pressure on her shoulders lessen, and watched his expression change. "I don't want to let you go," he whispered. "I need my inhaler," she said, her voice now completely transformed. Gone was her soft, sweet soprano: It was a man's voice that now emerged from between her plump and perfect lips. Not too deep, not as deep as Mark's even, but not Natalie's voice. "Please," she said, almost on the verge of tears. Mark looked at the woman in front of him with fresh eyes. She was the same Natalie he'd chased, he'd loved, he'd kissed and held. The same long blonde hair, the same sparkling blue eyes, the same soft lips. Her skin was flawless, her figure breathtaking. A beautiful woman in her underwear that he'd just watch her put on. To hear that voice come from this face just felt unreal. "What's going on?" he asked, his hands still on her narrow shoulders, his brow knitted in confusion. "You're a man." He looked down at her again, at the flawless sweeping curves in front of him. "You're a man?" He asked, in disbelief. "I told you, it's complicated," Natalie replied, fixing the man in front of her with her gaze. Trying to hold it together. Trying to assess what was going to happen next. Part 2: London "Hurray up, I'm excited!" Natalie heaved her trolley case onto the table and unzipped it. Inside, hidden under some clothes, was a thick shrink-wrapped packet. Inside, it seemed to be flesh-colored. "Hold your horses," Natalie replied, smiling broadly at her flatmate. "What ever happened to 'Hello? How was your flight?'" "Hello! How was your flight?" the man asked, impudently. The shorts and t-shirt he wore were a stark contrast to the impeccably dressed and made- up woman next to him. He was young and skinny with a shaved head and smooth legs. "Did you get it?" "I got it," she said, handing the vacuum-pack over to him. "And it came with all this." She also handed over another bag, bulging with bottles and cases. "And this." Finally, she handed over another plastic bag, this time full of blonde hair. "I love you, Nat, you know?" "I know Simon," she said, closing the case. "I love you too." * * * * * The bodysuit had been a struggle to squeeze into, even when following the instructions via Google Translate[Ghostly W7][Rachel Wi8]. Neither of them spoke Japanese. It had been important though, they could tell, to get the bodysuit hot and wet, to make it more stretchy. This explained why Simon was naked in the bath alongside the floating empty skin of a woman. "I think," she said, laughing. "Just the suit needs to be in there." "I'm taking no chances," Simon replied, prising open the neck of the suit impossibly wide. "Can I get some privacy? He asked, bunching the suit up, ready to insert his foot. "No," she replied, amused. She watched as he fed his legs inside and pulled the suit up his bare legs, inch by inch until finally his bottom half was transformed. The suit skin was lighter than his, and with subtle padding that started above the knee that changed the muscle tone and the shape, adding curves to his thighs that weren't there before. He wriggled his own backside into the padded bottom of the suit, working the shapely hips over his own and fished down inside the skin to tuck his stiffening member away. Simon struggled into the top half, threading his arms into the thin apertures of the suit and wriggling his fingers through until the torso met his own, and the empty body took shape. The neck finally snapped back into place, covering his own. He tugged at the suit, smoothing down any wrinkles and trying to make it more comfortable. Finally he stood out of the bath, letting the now luke-warm water pour off his body. "I think we should take it back," Natalie said, looking at the transformation. The hips were lumpy, the breasts too tight against his chest, and the overall effect was of a man wearing a flesh-colored wetsuit. It was not what they had hoped. Had either of them been able to read Japanese, what happened next would not have been as much of a surprise. Suddenly, Simon gasped, his mouth gaping open and eyes wide in fear. As the suit cooled to body temperature, it started to activate. He felt himself being squeezed on all sides: what little body fat he had being compressed even further. His arms and legs took on a slender, toned look. His thighs rounded, his buttocks plumped outwards and his breasts expanded. In just a few moments the suit had transformed the man inside into a shapely woman. "Wow" Natalie said, inspecting her flatmate's new body. It was incredible. Flawless. A perfect copy. "This feels really weird," Simon said, tentatively moving his hands and feeling the new tension in his arms. He rested his fingers on his new stomach, moving around to his nipped-in waist and over the dramatic curves of his hips. His lips parted into a huge grin as he grabbed his new fleshy backside and squeezed. "Oh my God Nat, I love your bum." "Turn around, turn around!" she commanded gleefully. "It's not bad is it?" she agreed, leaning in to take a closer look at the fleshy globes presented towards her. Natalie gingerly prodded one buttock and giggled as it sprung back into shape. "Holy shit," she said. "Did you feel that?" "Sort of," Simon said, straining to look over his shoulder. "I felt something. What did you do?" "Never you mind," Natalie said, this time grabbing both ass cheeks and squeezing. Simon squealed. "Felt that! Felt that!" he said, swatting his best friend away. "Cut it out. Pervert." "Oh, sure," Natalie said, smiling. "I'm the pervert." * * * * * The mask was daunting, they both agreed. Which explained why it sat floating in the bathroom sink while the two of them ate take-out chinese food. Next to the cardboard food cartons and prawn crackers, the remainder of the contents of the transformation kit lay scattered: a contact lens case, denture caps and an inhaler. Simon had Natalie's body, covered with a tight-fitting t-shirt and a pink sarong. He was still getting used to it, the way it moved, the way it felt. He kept brushing against his breasts accidentally, not used to the space he now inhabited. When he sat down and felt his new, larger backside expand beneath him he'd repeated the experience a dozen times. It felt new and exciting. It felt, above all, tight. For all the extra curves the suit was literally skin tight. His posture was transformed as a result - it was almost impossible to slouch. He felt like he was puppeteering this body from the inside, and so every movement was deliberate. Even his walk was affected. It was remarkable what being sealed inside the body of a woman had done. "Okay I'm going to do it," he said, reaching for the inhaler and squirting a jet of whatever was inside it down his throat. Natalie put down her chopsticks to watch. Simon swallowed, blinked and then cleared his throat. "I don't think-" he started to say, only to stop and shake his head theatrically. His voice had changed both in pitch and resonance in the blink of an eye. Never that deep to begin with, his voice had lost all its chest bass quality. "Wow," he said, swallowing again. "You've got great tits but that gets a 'wow'?" Natalie said, picking up her chopsticks again. "The body I can feel, this doesn't feel like anything," Simon replied in his new voice. "I don't really sound like you," he said, sounding disappointed. "That doesn't matter," Natalie said. "You sound like a girl." "It does matter. I can't be you but not sound like you." "It is so weird having that voice come out of your face," Natalie said, stifling a giggle. "It'll be coming out of your face soon." "Put it on," she said, turning it into a dare. "No." "Put it on! I want to see." "Fine!" Simon fished the wet mask out of the sink. It was designed to cover his whole head, down to the neck and, made of the same material as the suit, it was extraordinarily stretchy whilst hotter than body temperature. He took a deep breath and pulled it over his head, setting the nose and mouth in place first before tugging the back down over the rest of his bald head. "This isn't so bad," he said from inside the mask. The lips didn't move. "What did you say?" Natalie asked. Like the suit had done earlier, the mask started to tighten as it cooled, shrinking in size to the head of its owner and clinging tightly. He felt his jaw being squeezed, the bridge of his nose clamped, and thousands of subtle little pads falling into place. Like the suit, this had been made for him, and, like the suit, it had been made with Natalie as a reference. It fit perfectly. Which is not the same as comfortably. "Wow," Natalie said, a grin spreading over her face. "Freaky." Simon reached up to tentatively touch his new face. It was smooth but soft, like the skin of the suit. His lips were larger, his nose, somehow, felt smaller and thinner. He had cheekbones and a more pointed chin. The eye holes perfectly matched his own and the edges disappeared into the upper lids. He had new eyebrows, thin and shaped. He opened his mouth, and felt the mask move with him. He smiled, frowned, stuck his tongue out. It was amazing. He had to see. He turned on his heel and walked quickly into the bathroom, turning on the light and facing his reflection on the mirror there. Natalie looked back at him. * * * * * Heathrow airport was bustling, even at six am. Taxis shuttled sleepy businessmen to their gate, and harassed families herded indifferent children towards departures from the tube station. It was a twenty-four hour operation, a vertical village of shopping that also happened to function as an airport. Natalie took the long way to the B.A. staff area, arriving early and taking her time walking through the longue. She was dressed in her uniform - pantyhose, short pencil skirt, white blouse, fitted suit jacket, neckerchief and hat. Her security tag hung around her neck on a lanyard, her blond hair tied up. Her makeup too was out of the staff handbook - red lipstick, a little blush, a little powder, no eyeshadow. The exception were her fake eyelashes, which fluttered as she blinked. Hopefully no-one would mind. Natalie turned heads as she glided gracefully through the airport. Businessmen smiled at her as she walked past, and stared at her swinging backside for long after. Young children looked up at her with awe at this beautiful, peaceful princess. Her walk was a thing of beauty: confident and feminine, sexy but not slutty. Poetry in heels. Inside the suit, Simon had never felt more excited. Almost everything he wore was Natalie's. Her underwear, hose and uniform. Her perfume and makeup too. Even the little stud diamond earrings that caught the light as he walked. "We're sharing a life," she'd said. "We should share a wardrobe." In the interests of research he had tried on everything. The uniforms, sure, but all her underwear, all her cocktail dresses, her tight jeans, her autumn skirts and summer swimsuits. Everything fit more or less perfectly. Their bodies were almost identical. Her shoes were the main exception. Natalie was a women's 5. Simon a men's 8. Natalie took charge of this, simply deciding which of her two-dozen pairs were essential and spending a few hours on the internet finding equivalents in Simon's size. Work shoes were most important, of course, but every woman needs nude pumps, red heels and sandals in her wardrobe too. The other was that Simon is taller than Natalie. Only by a short amount - 2 inches - but enough that some outfits just didn't quite work the same. The leg to body ratio was slightly different, even with the suit and it's amazing padding. Some skirts had gone from 'business professional' to 'nightclub' in those two inches. Again, Natalie took charge and packed those clothes away to give to charity. Nothing should be left to chance. Simon had studied her. He was no stranger to crossdressing and drag - he'd performed as Simone at a local London drag show for years - but this was different. It wasn't to be a parody, or an exaggeration. Just like the suit, and the wardrobe, this was a real woman he was inhabiting. He couldn't rely on big fake boobs and a silly wiggly walk to pass. Natalie, through it all, didn't seem to mind. She was helpful and supportive to this doppelganger in her flat. Her advice started out usually by saying "too much" or "I don't do that, do I?" as Simon slowly changed his habits to match hers. He practiced her smile, how she sat. They both dressed in their cabin crew uniforms and role played the safety demonstration. It was ridiculous, and also wonderful. "Excuse me, Miss?" A businessman spoke to Natalie as she walked through the airport. He was older, maybe in his fifties, with a smart pressed blue suit and matching tie. "Good morning Sir," Natalie replied in her English cut-glass accent . "How can I help?" The two women had talked almost non-stop as they'd practiced: Natalie narrating almost constantly, and Simon copying. He'd thought himself a not-bad mimic, but the throat spray made things difficult. While it changed his voice, he had to learn how to manipulate it all over again. Natalie's accent proved the key. If he didn't think about the pitch or tonal quality of her voice, but just tried to mimic her vowels, he was able to match her much more closely. It wasn't perfect, but, like his height and his shoes, it was close enough that no one would notice. "I'm a little lost young lady. Can you direct me to the executive lounge?" the man said. As he spoke his eyes drifted down to the thrust of Natalie's bosom, tight against her blouse. "Of course, Sir," she replied, using her practiced Natalie smile. Her dental caps gleamed. As she gave him the directions that he surely didn't need, the fake Natalie felt a powerful thrill consume her. Simon had been out in public in drag before, but never like this. The disguise, the suit, was intoxicatingly perfect. He just had to measure up to its perfection. "Thank you, very much," the man said, his twinkling eyes returning from their tour of Natalie's curves. "I do hope you're on my flight." "Where is it you're going, Sir?" Natlalie asked. "Edinburgh," he replied. "There and back today." "Oh, I'm long haul. That's a pity. I hope you have a lovely flight with my colleagues though." "Thank you my dear," he said, continuing on his way. He'd never know how important he was. How validating. He was the first to test her, and she'd passed. She hoped he'd enjoyed it too - that he'd think about her for the rest of the day maybe. Maybe he'd dream about her big round tits and creamy skin or her long, shapely legs in nylons. Bending her over and pushing up that tiny tight skirt and fucking the gorgeous air hostess in her perfectly pert bottom. "Focus, Natalie," she said to herself in a whisper, trying to calm down. Given his predilections it had taken Simon a surprising amount of time to become aroused. The first few days wearing the suit and mask the overriding feeling was constriction and unfamiliarity. Even graduating into Natalie's underwear and spending time with her in various states of undress hadn't done the trick. Normally he'd have been horny just thinking about it, and fully hard by the time he'd wriggled the pantyhose up his legs. Part of it was how tightly and uncomfortably bound his cock was most of the time. The suit's instructions had been graphic, and he'd taken care to follow them. Simon was used to tucking, but this was another level - forced into a tube and squeezed tight between his legs with no chance of escape. There was no tape. This was a full-body chastity belt. In the end it had been a simple thing. Natalie had left Simon alone for an afternoon, and he'd busied himself practising makeup. It had only taken half an hour before he'd abandoned that and found himself naked in Natalie's bedroom, rooting through her underwear drawer for something new to wear. It felt different doing it without her there, forbidden even. It reminded him of his first attempts, rifling through the drawers of the sisters of school friends, full of alien, pretty things. He'd chosen a sexy pair of panties - black with a nude pattern- and had slid them up his smooth, shapely legs when he felt it: The warm tingling of arousal. He took his time pulling them up over his lage, round rear. His hands caressed his new, feminine figure through them, marvelling at how snugly and perfectly they fitted. "God I'm hot," he said out loud, his male voice unchanged for the first time in days. He looked around and met his reflection in the mirror - a topless, curvy blond, lips parted in obvious arousal. "Fucking hell," he said, feeling himself hardening, thickening between those pretty legs. He slid a perfectly manicured hand inside the panties and between his legs, reaching to try and squeeze himself through the suit. Instead he found the strange and unfamiliar folds of a woman, and an increasing amount of pain as the suit prevented nature taking its course. "Hey," a woman called across the departure lounge. A welcome distraction. She was dressed identically to Natalie, in the same uniform. "I didn't know you were on today?" "Afraid so. Singapore," Natalie lied. She sneaked a glance at the name tag adoring her colleagues' breast. Kimberly. Not a close friend, but she recognized the name. "You?" "Domestic this week. Edinburgh and back five times," the woman said, making a face. "Oh I met one of your passengers just now," Natalie said, falling into step. "Blue suit, wandering eyes." "Oh narrow it down!" Kimberly laughed. She stopped walking abruptly and stared at Natalie. "Have you changed your hair or something?" "No," Natalie replied. "Why?" "There's something... I'll figure it out," the woman said, walking away towards her gate. "Same old Natalie. I promise," the fake Natalie called after her. * * * * * "There's a guy over there looking at you." Natalie was celebrating, not that her friends knew it. She was celebrating her first shift, her first flight, her first JFK landing, her first time entering the USA. It had been thrilling, the whole flight, being friendly and good at her job and all whilst wearing a skirt and heels. She'd disembarked after all the passengers, chatted and walked her practiced walk all the way from the plane to the terminal and into the staff area. It was easy. She had arrived in America a new woman. "Where?" she asked Kimberly, looking around the impossibly crowded bar. "Over there," her friend replied, pointing with her eyes and leaning in to be heard over the hubbub. "He's cute too. Oh God he's coming over don't look, don't look!" Natlie turned to look, just in time to lock eyes with the approaching guy. He was dressed in a well-fitting suit and tie, with an expensive haircut. As their eyes met his face lit up in delighted recognition. "It's you!" he said, struggling to make himself heard over the noise of the bar. "It's really you!" "It's me," Natalie replied, smiling whilst wracking her brains. Nat hadn't mentioned anyone in New York. "This is crazy huh?" she said, keeping it neutral. "Crazy," he agreed, breaking out into a laugh. "You don't remember me do you?" "Of course I do," she said, smiling and touching him lightly on the arm. "It's good to see you. That's a nice suit." Mark looked into her eyes with genuine, unfiltered love. Simon had never been on the receiving end of this before. It took him by surprise, and lifted him up. He felt light, giddy, amazing. He'd had men look at him before, both in and out of drag, and both in and out of the suit, but this was different. This was new. "You're just as beautiful as the last time. And you're drinking! Can I buy you a real drink this time? Not just coffee?" "I'd love that," Natalie replied, the word beautiful still lighting her up from the inside out. "I'd really love that." They talked and laughed some more in the bar, Natalie trying not to say anything that would give her away. She needn't have tried - Mark was besotted with her. He was barely on planet earth. They almost parted ways outside the bar, but he had kissed her goodnight. It was a nice kiss, made all the more special by the way he'd touched her face - her mask - with such soft tenderness. He was handsome. He was in love. It was intoxicating. So she went back to his place. * * * * * "You did what?" The two Natalies, almost identical twins, shared a hotel room, despite only paying for one guest. One Natalie lay on the bed, naked under her hotel-supplied white fluffy robe. The other Natalie wore her cabin crew uniform. "He said he knew you," She said, her voice a perfect duplicate of her sister's. She reached up to her throat and untied the bright red scarf and draped it over a nearby chair. "He was very sweet," she added, reaching around her behind and unzipping the tight red pencil skirt she wore. She wriggled it over her hips and let it fall to the floor, revealing her nude pantyhose and black panties underneath. "So, you slept with him?" The other Natalie asked, sitting up. "How far did you...?" "We slept with him," she corrected, bending down to pick up the skirt and fold it before unbuttoning her silk blouse. "Well technically we sucked his cock to stop him getting too close to our fake pussy and then he fucked us up the bum." She shrugged the blouse off her narrow shoulders. Her bra was simple, white and the perfect size for the large, soft breasts it supported. "Simon!" "Uh uh," the other Natalie corrected, holding up a chastening finger. "I'm still you. I fucking love being you." "I like being me too. Hurry up." "I was thinking about this while he was sucking on our tits," she continued, deftly unfastening her brassiere and slipping it off her naked torso. "He might be useful." "Oh?" "His apartment is amazing. It's the perfect place to hide for a couple of days," She continued, sitting down on the bed and pushing the nude hose down over her hips and smooth legs. "Flight gets in, we go there..." "He goes to work." "We swap." "Exactly!" the other Natalie said, sliding her panties down her legs and handing them to her naked doppleganger. "Thanks gorgeous," she said, untying her robe and peeling it off to show her identical body. She took the panties and put them on, arching her back off the bed to wriggled them up over her bottom. "I remember him," she said, getting up off the bed to stand next to her twin. "He's got it bad for us," the other Natalie said. She cleared her throat, the familiar tickle arriving right on time. "A girl could get used to the attention." "A girl could," Natalie said, leaning in to kiss her clone. Her lips met a warm reception, her twin's tongue dancing inside her mouth as the two women held each other, stroked each other. They stayed like this for a time, kissing, stroking, exploring - their hands touching breasts, hips, asses, slipping between round aching thighs. "Next time," Natalie said, pulling away and reaching for the still-warm brassiere. Her twin watched as she expertly put it on, jiggling their boobs into place. "I love being you," the other Natalie said again. This time her voice was different. Lower, warmer. "Come on," Natalie said, sitting on the bed and bunching up the nude pantyhose. "Fine," Simon said, turning on his heel and walking into the hotel bathroom with a swing in his hips. "I don't walk like that!" Natalie called after him, pulling the hose up her legs. "You totally do," Simon replied, turning on the shower reaching up into the curls of his hair and undoing the clasps. As the water warmed up he pulled out clasp after clasp before taking off the wig and setting it down. He stepped into the shower. His hands roamed over Natalie's naked body, caressing, squeezing and cupping as he enjoyed himself. As he waited. He loved the feeling of being her - the heft in her curves, the bounce in her walk. He was always sad to say goodbye. As the water warmed up he felt it start, the change back. The delicious tightness of the suit started to relax, the comforting synchronicity of the mask started to loosen. He let it happen, relaxing as his skin relaxed, feeling the constraints give a little. And then a little more. "How are you getting on in there?" Natalie called, stepping into the steamy shower. She was fully dressed - skirt, blouse, scarf - in the same outfit Simon had worn not too long before. "Fine thank you," Simon said with a grunt, his fingers digging into his neck and pulling it wide. As water filled the gap the suit changed even more, making it easier still to widen and wriggle over his shoulders, down his chest, his ass, hips, legs and feet. Natalie watched from the bathroom mirror, touching up her makeup and applying a spray of perfume. "Is he going to call me?" She asked, as if the transformation behind her were a normal occurrence. "I think so," Simon said, pulling the mask off his face. He was naked now, the shed skin and face of Natalie lying around him. A skinny, hairless, unremarkable man with a large erection. Natalie watched as he stroked his liberated cock, his shoulders relaxing, his body sighing relief while she rolled up her sleeves. She reached into the shower and into the discarded skin - into the back of those gorgeous round breasts - and pulled out two plastic bags, which she set aside on the bathroom floor. Her hand gently circled his cock and stroked him, water dripping on her skin as she pleasured him. "What are you thinking about?" she asked. "He called me beautiful," he said, eyes closed. "He called us beautiful." * * * * * Simon dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, tidying up the hotel room after Natalie had gone. Everything was packed away, the skin cleaned and rolled up in the duffel bag. The two plastic bags and their smuggled contents hidden inside, ready to be delivered the last mile of their secret transatlantic journey to their generous sponsor. Part 3 "I need a drink," Mark said finally, letting Natalie go and moving past her to grab the bottle of wine. Mark simply put the bottle to his lips and drank, deep gulping quaffs until he could no longer stand it. "Do you want some?" he asked, the contents nearly finished. "Sure," Natalie replied, carefully taking the bottle from him. She followed suit, drinking straight from the source, with long, thirsty gulps. She felt Mark's gaze pouring over her while she drank, assessing her, trying to look for flaws - in her posture, her skin, her manner. The inhaler was where she'd left it, on the floor among her makeup. She walked past Mark and squatted down, picking it up and squirting a blast of familiar cold air down her open throat. She didn't get back up, not yet, and felt Mark's gaze on her back, watching her every move. The comforting tingle returned and Natalie cleared her throat. "Hell of a day," she said finally, her voice returned to Natalie's bright, tinkling soprano. Resurrected. She twisted her legs and pushed up out of her squat, turning to face Mark, her nearly-nude body lean and straight. "I'm sorry, this is a lot to take in." "Yeah," Mark grunted in reply, sitting down on the floor among the detritus of her luggage. "You could say that." Natalie stood, considering the silence. The red dress she'd been about to wear lay on the floor, among her other things. Did she want to go? Go where? She was alone, and trapped. "The first time," Mark said, looking up at her. "The first time, was that you or her?" "Don't." "No, I want to know. The first time. Who was that?" "The first time we met or the first time we..." Natalie let the unsaid hang in the air. "Oh this is ridiculous," she added, sitting down on the floor alongside Mark, tucking her legs underneath her. "The first time you met was her. You bought her coffee and she fell asleep on your couch. The first time we made love was me," she said softly, avoiding his gaze. This was new territory for Simon. Before Mark he'd never slept with a straight guy. Never been with anyone that didn't know who he was - his drag just hadn't been that convincing. It wasn't supposed to be. He'd never tried to deceive a lover before. He knew what the caricature was - that men would run away vomiting or turn violent. "She never came back," Mark said, the gears turning in his mind. "After that. I looked forever and she didn't come back. But you..." "Don't," Natalie said again, reaching out to touch him and stopping herself at the last minute. "You did." Mark finished the thought, turning his head enough to look at her. She was beautiful, sitting in her plain underwear, leaning into him. The perfect woman he had obsessed about, chased, kissed and loved. Her skin, flawless in the lamplight, called to him out of habit. Her lips, inches away. Yet she felt both familiar and new. Distant and close. His mind was struggling with remembering that, just a few moments ago, his girlfriend had spoken with a man's voice. Here she was, just like before. "It was you," he said. "She didn't..." "Sweetheart," Natalie said, this time resting her gentle fingers on his arm. "Don't." He was kissing her before she could say anything else, his wine-soaked lips pressing against hers hungrily, his hands on her face, holding her as he leant into her. Natalie let him lead, not sure where this was going. What this was. Grief? Drunkenness? Something more? Her hand stayed on his chest, fighting the urge to follow its usual course to his pants. Familiarity was winning for Mark. This was Natalie, with all her familiar curves and gestures. She smelled the same. She felt the same. He wanted her the way he always did, and his body responded in kind. Despite the wine his cock was hardening, his body excited by this goddess he was kissing and touching. "I want you," he whispered, between kisses. "I want you too," Natalie replied, her heart pounding as his hands moved down to her waist, pulling her into him. She lifted her leg, raising it against his, letting him move between her thighs - her own hands around his neck, her fingers pushing into his hair as they kissed. His hands wandered up her torso, finding her breasts and kneading them through her bra. His mouth left her lips, working down her chest to the tops of her breasts, meeting his hands as he squeezed and fondled. For her part Natalie pushed her hands under his shirt, lifting up until she couldn't any more. Mark stopped, kneeling in front of her and lifted his arms, letting him pull off the shirt while he resumed kissing her - her stomach this time and down to the waistband of her thong panties. He stopped though, working back up again to her lips, his hands going from caressing to grabbing now. More hunger in him. They hadn't had sex like this in a long time. It had become a comforting once-a-week ritual, not as animal as this. It felt like the first time. Natalie pressed against him, learning forward and he grabbed her ass, pulling and squeezing it and her thighs as their lips and tongues danced. She felt him, hard and constrained by his pants and focused on unbuttoning and unzipping him while he pawed at her. Soon his pants were at his knees, his cock stiff and quivering in his white boxers. Their hands roamed over each other, and each brush of his cock sent a thrill through Natalie. He wanted her. He wanted this. She started to massage him through his boxers, stroking the thickening length of him with gentle fingers. He kissed her neck, the tops of her breasts, her mouth, moaning and grunting as her hands touched him. He reached around her back and, with a snap, her bra strap popped, and the strapless brassiere came away. Her large, soft breasts called to him and he answered, cupping them as he kissed and sucked on her nipples and listening to her delighted gasps. She climbed on top of him, letting him feast on her tits while she ground her ass into his crotch, feeling his stiff cock against her. She reached back and felt his dick, stroked it and pushed it into the curve of her backside as she rocked; while he worshiped her. He fell back, and she leant forward, kissing him and pressing her soft breasts against his bare chest. "Oh Natalie," he said, breathlessly, his hands touching her everywhere - her waist, her hips, her breasts. She smiled, wriggled backwards and peeled his boxers down from his impressive cock, climbing off him to take them and his pants off completely. He was so hard for her. She climbed back on, this time his cock in front of her, and started grinding on him, feeling him through her flimsy thong panties. "Take them off," he said, making no effort to help. She obliged, getting off him to slip the panties down her smooth legs and cast them aside with all her other clothes. Mark looked at her, as she climbed back on him. She was a woman. She was Natalie. He reached to kiss her, her hair falling in his face as they pressed their naked bodies together. His hands found her ass, squeezed and fondling while she rode him. He held her, lifting her light body up and they rolled, so that Mark was on top. He travelled down her body, kissing her neck and breasts, her rib cage and belly button, her hips and thighs. "Darling," she said. That was it, he knew, in that moment. That was how to tell the two Natalie's apart. He thought then of all the times they'd fucked, all the ways they'd slept together, mentally cataloguing the times he could remember eating her out. "What is it?" she asked, worry in her eyes, those bright blue sapphire eyes. As if she didn't know. It was cruel, he knew, but his mind did it anyway. Comparing these two people who were one person. It was obvious who he was sleeping with then, and who he was sleeping with now. "Nothing," he said, kissing the side of her thigh once more and working back up her body, stropping again to worship her magnificent tits. He reached down and positioned his ramrod stiff cock at her asshole and pushed inside her. * * * * * It was two days later when Natalie was left on her own in the apartment. Mark had stayed with her, calling in sick and they had talked. They had fucked. They had talked some more. Finally he had to go back to work, and had left Natalie, sleepily, in his bed early that morning. She was sad when she went through the usual ritual, taking off her wig and the perfect skin. She felt like it was saying goodbye, which it maybe was. She hadn't said this to Mark, but she'd known since she'd come into the flat just two days ago. Since the plane crash. Out of Natalie's skin, Simon groped inside her for the two plastic bags that had been weighing heavily these past few days. He borrowed some clothes from Mark, packed Natalie away in her suitcase, and left the apartment. He had to deliver. He rode the subway a few stops, the bags in his pocket, and walked into a large office building, taking the elevator all the way to the top floor. The office that greeted him was familiar, in all its wood panelling and leather. He smiled at the receptionist, as he always did. "I need to talk to him," he said. This was unusual. Normally he left the bags with her and left. "I know," she said, giving Simon a sad little smile. "You'll have to wait." * * * * * Mark knew Natalie was gone before he put his key in the door. He had a feeling. The apartment radiated emptiness. It was tidy when he walked through, as though it had been somehow reset. Dishes were washed and put away. Her toothbrush had left the bathroom cupboard. All that was left of her was her scent and the suitcase that loomed large in Mark's bedroom. He didn't need to open it to know that Natalie was inside. * * * * * "Fuck!" Mark swore under his breath as the aircraft juddered underneath him, but managed to save the plastic cup of wine from spilling. He set it down on the tray table in front of him and turned his attention back to his laptop. "Sir?" A pleasant, irish voice called to him. He looked up to see the stewardess - a redhead, with curls tamed into a regulation hairstyle and bright green eyes. "You pressed the call button?" He looked at her for a glimmer of recognition, but there was none. "Sorry, it must have been a mistake," Mark said, smiling warmly. "That's okay," the redhead replied brightly. The nametag pinned to her breast revealed her name as Niamh. "If you do need anything, just call, ok sweetheart?" He looked at her again, the freckles, the lashes, the uniform. "I will," he said as she left, watching her wiggle her way down the cabin. She stopped at the bulkhead and looked back at him, catching him staring, and smiled.