The Little Black Dress Of Joy Part 4 free porn video

The Little Black Dress of Joy. Part 4. By Tanya H. Even though I'd fallen happily in love with a soldier, my relationship with the British Army was, I thought, nicely at arm's length. Nina told me stories of the people she worked with, she shyly told me some more about life on tour, but knowing her regimental mates knew my history grew into a wall I couldn't climb over, meaning I hadn't actually met any of them. Nina may have been disappointed in that, after all they were her other family, but she never pushed it. I respected her for being a soldier, making her career one of service, and for being a combat medic - surely the most selfless battlefield role, but as I said, the Army stayed at arms length. Until one Saturday afternoon, in Windermere, when the Army kicked its way into my life. Nina and I had found a smallish, cosy pub, a short walk from the campsite we'd set up in. Inside we'd found a discreet booth where we felt comfortable enough to sprawl untidily against each other without attracting the kind of attention that might decide we were 'shoving our sexuality down people's throats'. My legs looked good in kaleidoscope coloured running tights, Nina wore more conservative black and we'd slipped off our trainers so we could play footsie when we thought nobody was looking. Between my socks and leggings gleamed a bright, beaded anklet Nina had bought in a trinket shop a little while ago; its twin looked great around her ankle. We'd spent the best part of the day paddling about the lake in a pair of kayaks we'd borrowed, surprisingly good fun - though my back, thighs and shoulders were sore and I'd got sunburnt across the back of my neck. It was there, in that pub, where Nina dropped her bombshell. My face went icy cold and I screwed my eyes tight shut - not wanting to cry in front of strangers. She'd known for five days before she told me. She'd come home on Friday evening as usual, sparkling with energy and we'd made love over and over, in almost every room in the house, before falling asleep in a glowing tangle on the sofa. Every time I made her cum she'd known and hadn't told me. "Pippa, I have to go away." I hardly heard her, I'd been staring with shining eyes at a picture on my phone, taken not an hour before, outside a changing room in a quirky, back street boutique we'd wandered past. I could hardly believe the figure in the picture was my beautiful Nina, wearing a dress! A dress currently folded in a carrier bag by my feet. "Fuck it!" she'd said, twisting to capture as many profiles as possible in the mirror by the changing room. Why it had caught her eye I couldn't guess, but in a parallel with my own tale of spotting a dress in a shop window, we'd gone several paces before halting and going back for a second look. "I'm going to buy it. And wear it." While I'd helped her fasten it, and admired the way it hugged her curves and showed her legs, she'd known the earth-shattering news she hit me with while I lay against her, enjoying a cold beer and the picture of her trying on a dress, her face a mixture of delight and surprise. "Pippa?" Still focussed on the picture of Nina I kept my thoughts on priorities. "What about shoes? You need some gorgeous shoes to go with the dress." "Don't push it! Besides, I have heels - lots of heels, I'll wear the ones I nicked off you." She meant the heels I'd bought that day I'd first worn the magic dress, which were still a little too tight, even for my smaller feet. Then my short term memory replayed her words. "What did you say? You have to go away? Another course?" She took my phone from my fingers, placed it on the table and held both my hands. Her lovely face creased into concern, sadness. She shook her head. "Afghanistan." In the seconds after she said that, when the clatter and conversation in the pub went on, when my heart still beat and I remembered to breathe, I wondered if I'd heard her right. The deathly chill through my face suggested I had. "You've been before. Surely it's not your turn..." "I volunteered. Pippa... I'm sorry. But... It's my job. Some infantry battalion needs another medic, one of theirs broke his leg mountain biking." "When." "January. Six weeks." "How long?" "Six months." Keeping my eyes squeezed shut I tried to find a way past the lump blocking my throat and took myself to the memory of her body the night before, and all the other nights before. How many times had I brushed my lips or fingertips over the three scored marks on her flank where white- hot chunks of roadside bomb had cut her? What if? I wondered. Don't go there, Pippa, I warned myself. But... Then my thoughts cleared. It wasn't about me any more, it had become about Nina and her head being in the right place to go away and do her impossible job. As much as I wanted to run away with her, to some place where nobody could hurt her or take her from me, I could no more do that than I could stop her climbing mountains or simply being Nina. So I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. Though a tear or two did run through my lashes I didn't scream at her for being such a fucking stupid cow for volunteering for that shit; I smiled, sadly, and kissed her cheek. "Marry me," I said, or I thought I'd said it, for the words had come from nowhere without thought or planning, only impulse; just an idea bubbling up from my skull turmoil. With a sudden impulsive burst of movement I found myself at her feet, kneeling before her, clasping her hands in mine while I looked deep into her eyes and caught the edge of a grin growing over her. "Antonia Esme Bridges, will you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?" "Oh, you daft mare," she said, softly, and pulled me back to the seat beside her. Heat filled my cheeks; I'd made myself look stupid. "I didn't m-" "Didn't you?" "I did! I want you to know... Shit - I don't know. I've got your back. I'll be here, waving my hankie when you get off the plane when you come home." What I actually wanted was for her to stay with me. I needed to wake up beside her every morning and to kiss her good night after I'd tasted her body every single night. Not to have to imagine that somebody who didn't know how wonderful she was, but who hated her all the same, would send her flayed, shattered remains to me in a sealed casket. "I knew you'd understand," she said, holding me tight, tighter than was probably decent in a Lake District tourist pub. I screamed inside, long and shrill - digging imaginary fingers into my thighs with the fucked up rationale of my beautiful Nina having to do this. She stroked my hair, kissed my ear and I fought down the anger, hoping she wouldn't notice the stiffness in my shoulders. I could break her leg, engineer it some way - I could do it tomorrow while we hiked; fall into her, knock her down - just a broken leg, a wrist; maybe a few broken fingers would do. Anything to keep her with me. I'd lose her if I tried to stop her, I knew that. Nina had to be Nina and I couldn't change her, couldn't bear for her to change. "Yes," she said. For a second or two I thought somebody had come over and asked her something; another drink maybe. "Being your wife would be wild and ordinary at the same time," she went on, her words rushed together. "We should get married. Oh, wow, Pippa - are we engaged? Are you my fiance? I never thought I'd have one. Are we really going to get married?" Her eyes shone and her cheeks glowed, but her brows had the question mark in them that took me back to that moment when I'd first told her I was a woman, how long ago that seemed, and she'd begged me not to leave her. I wondered how many people had ever seen that deep into her. "We belong together," I said. "I don't ever want to be without you." "I'll never let us go." But as I snuggled into her arms and the conversation moved into where, when and associated detail of us coming together as wife and wife, I knew she couldn't make that promise, not when she'd volunteered to go into harm's way. Every single soldier who'd been killed over there must have made that promise to their loved ones; why would Nina's be more powerful? That well trodden Monday morning ritual came around. Nina's alarm beeped us awake with dawn still way over the other side of the Pennines. We embraced, kissed and ran our hands over each other before she left, back to barracks and from there to pre-deployment training somewhere in Norfolk. I felt like some of her had already gone overseas and sat there in my chill, dark house, absorbed by dark, hot thoughts. Angrily stripping off my dressing gown and pyjamas, I took That Dress down from its hanger in my wardrobe, tested its cool weight and stepped into it. By now I had grown to fit it, aside from the space in its bodice my little bosom couldn't fill; my enhanced hips made the skirt flare properly and the style suited me, though I hadn't worn it for ages. "I'll give it all back, everything," I said to the dress's reflection in my mirror. While tears ran down my cheeks and dripped into the cotton I kept my voice firm and resolved. "Make me back and give all that magic to my Nina. Keep her safe for me." Then I just stood there, eyes shut and I trembled, sick to the bottom of my belly with the anticipation of my vulva closing up, my labia bulging into a wrinkled sack for my ovaries to corrupt and descend into. Maybe twenty, thirty minutes I stood there waiting, but nothing happened. My next pee ran from a woman's body, but I told myself the dress hadn't given all its magic so suddenly before. When I woke on Tuesday as the woman I'd offered to give up, I felt guilty with relief. Later that morning, as I helped Mary-Ann audit some dressings in the store, I felt her eyes on me as I bent to recover a pen I'd dropped under a shelf. When I stood I saw she'd adopted a thoughtful look. "I'm no expert," she said quietly, "but your med regime is really making a difference to you. You're having voice coaching and electrolysis, right?" "Is it working?" I asked, evasively. I was going to have to book some leave where I could pretend I was having my surgery. The planned deceit didn't sit well, but my body had become so clearly female from the waist down I didn't see how I could avoid it. "Completely." Her slight frown persisted, but there wasn't anything else she could do - within policy. "Pippa, are you okay? Is somebody giving you grief?" Taking a moment to tuck the errant pen back into my tunic pocket, I tried to think of the right answer to the wrong question. "I'm getting married." It came out flat, like, 'I've got cancer.' Flatter than it should when the thought of being Nina's 'forever' had the power to thrill. "Congratulations. Or is it? You don't look over the moon about it, if you don't mind me saying." "She's going to Afghanistan in a few weeks." "She? Oh Jesus, Pippa; you do live a complicated life!" While Mary-Ann wrapped me into an angular hug, I cried quietly into her shoulder, mentally kicking myself for letting go, for having to open up to her again. Nina called me on the weekend, as she couldn't get away from her training. Her voice dragged with weariness and soared with competence. I thought of how hard she'd worked on the ward the first time I'd met her, of the way she threw herself so completely into everything and I loved her all the more for it. How could I not? "This is how you get through this," she said. "How you and me get to the other side. Stay in the moment, fixed in the now, utterly immersed in what you are doing right now. That's how, that's what I did, what I do, what I will do." I told myself I wasn't as strong as Nina, I didn't have her experience or her focus. I told myself, firmly, that I couldn't have Nina distracted and maybe making some awful, life-changing mistake because she worried about me. That night I sat in front of the dressing table mirror and wondered what a brave face looked like - I needed to find one; for Nina. Christmas loomed and as usual Hanna, the manager, booked a sumptuous function room at a prosperous golf club on the good side of town. As the date fell at the end of Nina's pre-deployment training she announced that wild horses couldn't keep her away, so I booked us tickets and a double room at the country hotel next door. Standing at the nurses' station with some of the other nurses before the big day I found myself seamlessly wound into the ebb and flow of the conversation around what to wear and who to bring. Only after a few minutes of this, when I'd already admired a photo of the dress Vicki had bought, then heard about the new man Jo was bringing, I realised I was describing the shoes I'd found to match my dress. More than that, none of them cared - their chatter remained light and friendly; no reservations, no eyes darting away to share a silent joke about me. Just a quartet of women chatting absently about a Christmas dinner they were excited to dress up for. When the day came I presented myself in a flowing, plum coloured dress and high-heeled, open-toed shoes, feeling almost as nervous as my first day at work after coming out. After all, these were the people who saw me every working day in tunic and trousers and who'd seen Phil every day in tunic and trousers. They might have seen me in jeans or leggings and a pullover before or after duties, but not like this - balanced carelessly on my heels, glowing with Nina's artful make-up, long earrings brushing my neck, arms bare, skirts rustling around me. Nobody laughed, nobody screamed; I didn't get a standing ovation or any kind of 'oh aren't you brave' kind of comments, just the warm, friendly, seasonal greeting each of them had for the other. I received compliments on my dress, shoes, my earrings and make up, but more interest was shown in Nina's first appearance at a unit social. By this time news of our engagement was out and if that had put me back to the Number One spot on the unit's gossip chart it didn't show. After all, same-sex marriages weren't news any more; one of our receptionists had two mums and Andy, the lead pharmacist, had married his husband only last year. Match-fit and glowing from all her training, Nina looked as gorgeous as ever in slim black trousers, heeled sandals and a corset top, which matched my dress, under a short, bolero jacket. Best of all, under her trousers she wore beautifully sheer, practically invisible hold-ups I had drawn over her legs myself and I couldn't wait to explore her through them later on. We laughed, danced, ate, mixed through the clusters of doctors, nurses, technicians, administrators, cleaners and porters who made up the unit's staff and only Rochelle and her pouchy-faced husband were cold towards us. The following weekend saw me as the object of much curiosity when I attended her squadron's Christmas do in a handsome York pub. Compared to my unit's genteel celebration, more beer flowed, the music boomed louder and attendees became much rowdier, but Nina kept me close, particularly on the dance floor. I wore a shorter, more fitted, white dress with experimental, nude fishnet tights and silver stilettos while Nina turned heads with her 'fuck it' dress from Windermere and my favourite heels. When interested parties made comments about her legs, which she did nothing to discourage, she claimed it was her first time at a party in a dress since her thirteenth birthday and that I had blackmailed her into wearing it. Nobody believed that. She moved effortlessly through them, this stew of army humanity getting loudly drunk, and I enjoyed watching the way they integrated with her. For all her petite size she moved like a predator among them; confident and in control. "Did you really used to be a bloke?" a red faced, glistening drunk asked me, in a good natured fashion at the bar while I waited to be served. "Does it show?" "Not a fucking bit. You're hot as fuck. I'd have a dance with you, only Nina'd disembowel me if I did." "Would she?" "God's honest truth. Made it absobloodylutely clear that if anybody tried it on with you, either flirting or fighting, she'd start cutting." "These people are scared of you," I reported when I sat down with her again. She folded her arms and looked smug. "It's a survival strategy when you're 5 foot and a bit tall in the Army." "Dance with me," I said, offering my hand. The dance floor was crowded, with more energy than style, but as always we made our place and I loved being with her like that. Later, in another York hotel room, we lay quietly together - spooning, her back to my front, my right hand cupping her left breast. Her neck smelt of excitement, sweat and arousal, and her taste lingered over my tongue and nipples. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like doing it with a man?" Nina asked. A squirt of adrenaline cut through my post-orgasmic lethargy before I calmed myself. I knew she enjoyed sex with men, that's how we'd really got to know each other and as we hardened ourselves to her looming deployment she wouldn't be considering upsetting our relationship. I didn't need to get all prickly and imagine there was somebody else. "I suppose I am a little curious, sometimes. Though it's just curiosity. I mean, I like the toys, and the stuff we improvise with, but... I don't know, does the real, organic thing feel different... inside?" "Yeah, it does. Different, not better, just different. Do you, like... find men hot? Some men?" "Not so much. Not when they start flirting with me..." It happened more and more, as my chest got bigger and my hips wider. It was easier to deal with at work; you'd have a patient or one of their relatives, reading too much into my lack of a wedding ring, telling me how pretty my eyes were, or blatantly building up to asking for a date while one of my colleagues would be standing close by, arching her eyebrows in amusement. With female imposter syndrome still having its claws in me, it felt weird having a man coming on to me. "Are you missing doing it with a man?" "I do," she admitted. "I am the world's worst lesbian. Look at me, I'm wearing stockings!" "They make you look taller." Saying something made her look taller was a sure way to persuade her to wear it. "And it's good you don't conform to stereotypes," I added, with such an innocent tone she laughed. "What are you planning?" I wondered, giving her a squeeze. "Nothing real at the moment, maybe something over Christmas. But I would like to." Unspoken, at the end of her sentence, were the words, 'before I go'. For Christmas I had agreed to go with her to Cornwall, to meet her family. Nina had reported her parents and sister were delighted with the news of our engagement, while her surviving grandparent, a very dotty old girl in a Looe retirement home, wasn't so keen. Apparently Nina's same-sex attraction was a fad she would get over when she met the right man. "We should tell her I have met the right man," Nina suggested on the way down. "Then introduce you." "You'll probably kill her trying that." The thought of meeting her family made me nervous; partly because I was out of practise dealing with a family, partly because they were strangers to me - even though Nina assured me they were all lovely, but mainly because they knew about Phil. Having spent my adult life in a state of enforced orphanhood, rejected by those who were supposed to offer unconditional love and support, it came as quite a shock to be dropped into a warm, family environment. Even when Dad, Samantha and I were living together I would never have described our home life as happy and it certainly existed in a different universe to Nina's. Her parents lived in a nondescript, smallish semi on the edge of Liskeard, coincidentally overlooking a railway line. The house looked slightly faded, worn and needing decoration, the small front garden tidy, but not loved. Before we'd had a chance to finish stretching out the relentless miles of motorway we'd endured we'd been mobbed by a chocolate coloured labrador and Nina's niece and nephew, screaming with delight to see their aunt again, demanding hugs from her and offering shy smiles to me. Martha and Julien, her parents followed - all smiles and hugs, even for me - the complete stranger in their midst. Martha squashed me to her vast bosom, kissed my cheek while Julien shook my hand at the same time. All the movement and noise made me momentarily dizzy. "You're even lovelier than the pictures," Martha told me, her arm through mine leading me inside while Nina and Julien brought in the bags. It was worn, comfortable chaos inside, every room glowing with wonderfully mismatched Christmas decorations. I got another squashy hug from Nina's sister, Michelle, before April, Nina's niece, while trying to attract my attention to her cuddly unicorn, tugged so hard at my elastic-waisted skirt she almost pulled it down. Much laughter followed as I snatched the waistband before panties had been exposed, but it was all kindly; I couldn't remember the time I'd been made to feel more welcome. I should tell you about the cake, an engagement cake made out of a big percentage of the world's chocolate output and which would have filled the kind of hat box you'd need for a really ostentatious hat. On the top, amongst intertwined pink hearts, they had written in blue buttercream, Nina and Pippa. Even Nina, who must have been used to her parent's contented acceptance of her sexuality, was rocked to silence while I, practically an orphan remember, actually cried. We were toasted with wine, then Nina made a speech, reproduced here in its entirety, "Thank you," (With a smiley face.) Then the neighbours came around, with their own children, to see what the excitement was about; they got wine too. By the time we settled down for the night, on a double airbed squeezed into the spare bedroom that served as Martha and Julien's study, I felt like I'd been run over, in a warm and friendly way. Nina lay on top of me, her bare breasts happily laid over mine, while our combined weight defeated the airbed and almost had my back touching the floor. Her eyes shone in the faint glow from the streetlamps outside. "What do you think?" she asked. "I see why the Army was so appealing," I said, and kissed her. "That made your squadron's Christmas party look like afternoon tea for the Cheltenham Women's Institute." "It's not always like this. When Mum and Dad have the place to themselves it's very peaceful, Shellie's kids are a bit full on. You don't hate it, do you?" I kissed her some more. "No! These are your people. I love to see you happy." "Your people too now, Pippa," she said slowly. "We share everything, remember?" "But..." "You really need to stop overthinking stuff!" We kissed some more, then I had to roll her off me - the floor being too uncomfortable, which made us giggle. Laying side by side wasn't much better, though the mattress did roll us close together, nose to nose, and left my hip pressed to the hard floor. "You know I love you," she whispered when the giggles were done. "Of course. And I love you back." "We've been invited to a party, in Plymouth - in a few days. Mostly people I went to school with." "Okay, sounds good." "There'll be a guy there, Guy's his name as it happens. We were mates at school, good friends; he teaches PE at a school in Dorset now, he's home for Christmas too. He's more gay than straight, like me - us, but back in the day, we made like we were a thing, to cover up being gay. You know what I mean?" "You want me to throw some kind of jealous hissy fit when I meet your ex? I can do that." "Silly cow! You'll like him, he's really cool." "Nina, if you want to, you know... hook up with him, I know you're thinking about it, it's really okay. Really really okay." "You are the world's best girlfriend. I do, yes. But, more than that - how about if we both hooked up with him?" After a few heartbeats I remembered to breathe. Nina's hand made soft circles on my hip, one of her nipples brushed mine, it felt enticingly stiff and I longed to kiss it, but her words played through my head. "Both of us? Hook up..." "A threesome," she said, bright and direct. Her hand moved slowly towards my bum. All I could think of to say was the very lame, "I've never tried anything like that before." Which made her giggle. She kissed the tip of my nose. "Me neither." Christmas morning came and Pippa got choked up again. A Bridges family tradition had everyone gathering on or in Martha and Julien's big bed for the ceremony of opening stockings. Nina coaxed me in there without too much trouble and I settled nervously on the bed's foot. Having been out and proud and happy in skirts, heels, makeup and the whole feminine nine-yards, to be seen by near-strangers in girl pyjamas made me stupidly uncomfortable. Nina kept close though and the awkwardness soon dissolved in the joyous, festive greetings that rang around the room. Then I was presented with my own stocking, a blue and grey hiking sock bulging with Christmas and 'Pippa' written in a child's hand and illustrated with a smiling unicorn. As my throat closed up and my eyes filled, I tried to excuse myself and then hurried out to the hallway and the bathroom where I sobbed with a hand clasped to my mouth, crowded by chill memories of soulless Christmases with Dad and Samantha. "I told them you had irritable bowel syndrome," Nina said, holding me tight just a couple of minutes later. "They've done all this for me, and they don't know me." "Oh, but they do, Miss Insecure. I've told them all about you." "Now I've made a dick of myself." "Make some farting noises, give it a minute or so, dry your face and you'll be fine." I didn't make fart noises, but I did dry my face and it was fine; better than fine; best Christmas ever, in fact. Getting a girlfriend with a top family is highly recommended. Maybe I could have been nervous in the hours leading up to meeting the really cool Guy, but Nina knew how to get the best from her people and she made it clear she wasn't going to have me stumbling into the meeting like a nervous filly. Despite the passion killing efforts of the failed air bed and discretion needed in a shared house, our love making became more intense than usual. Never one for much speaking as we made love, Nina fed my curiosity with whispered suggestions of how it might feel with a man doing this, or what she enjoyed when a man did that, while her fingers or our vibrator made for a substitute. "Have you told him?" I asked her, the question had been burning me. It was a daft time to ask, in the middle of me doing her lips a rich, wine red. She'd already glossed mine; our unwritten policy meant that if we went out together wearing lipstick we must always wear the same shade. "Worried he'll read you?" I couldn't help glancing into the mirror on the wardrobe door. The dress magic infused into me had gone beyond the limited changes a man taking oestrogen could have expected. To compensate for my little boobs and growing pains in my pelvis I'd lost some width over my shoulders and (inconveniently) dropped two shoe sizes. In the same white dress I'd worn to meet Nina's squadron even my hyper-critical eye couldn't find anything to suggest I'd ever walked as a man. "No. I just don't want him to be expecting one thing and to be surprised when he finds another." She put her arms around me then, standing behind me so she could admire my reflection, before confidently easing a hand under my dress to rest it on the thing in question, her fingers confident through my lilac panties. "He's seen a picture of you." "Which one?" "The one from my lot's Christmas party, you're laughing - almost wetting yourself - that one." "Why did you show him that one! I look pissed." "You don't, you look wild and beautiful - head back, laughing, sparkling (dress ridden up - sexy) and it's my favourite picture of you. Favourite with your clothes on, obviously. Anyway, I haven't told him and he thinks you're the cutest girlfriend I've had." "Your gay ex thinks I'm cute?" "Not just cute, cutest." The party didn't do it for me and didn't stand up well alongside my other festive party experiences. I found it very clicky in a way you might have assumed from Nina's soldier colleagues, not her old school mates. The party's venue, a modern, pretentious mansion on the edge of Plymouth seemed cold and all for show, not a family. But I had Nina, who kept me close and steered me through the groups with cheerful snippets of who'd snogged who at school - and worse, adding some colour to the facades these growing-ups chose to show the world. Some of her old school acquaintances were genuinely pleased to see her, some pretended. That she'd brought a girl as her plus-one didn't raise any eyebrows. Whatever cover she and Guy had tried to maintain hadn't lasted well. By the time she presented me to Guy, after they'd enjoyed an enthusiastic embrace, I'd been prepped, primed and inspired to look forward to the encounter. He shook my hand, then as I dug deep to find a rarely touched reserve of female confidence, I offered my cheek and he kissed it. I'd never done that with a man before and it felt good - another step towards the self-realisation That Dress had started. Trying my largely unused 'Hot Man' scale, I decided Guy was good looking when Nina pressed me for an opinion. Of middling height, he had sleek, dark hair and a good face spoiled slightly by a rugby player's nose; he wore a short sleeved shirt and slim jeans which showed off the athletic lines of his chest, arms and legs. "Aren't you worried I might dump you and run away with him?" I asked when Guy suggested we had a dance. They both laughed. "Girls are a stopover, not the destination," he said, lightly and offering his hand. "There's nowhere you could go where I wouldn't find you," she promised, making a throat cutting gesture. "I never danced with a man before," I said, confidently - mainly to cover the vague discomfort I had around the issue. "I've had enough experience for both of us," he said, with an eye- catching grin. "Nina threatened to stab the last bloke who wanted to dance with me." "Amazing, isn't she? One of the few women I've met who made me wish I was straight. Not that I would ever have had the chance to really get to know her if I had been, you know what I mean though, don't you." "I'm pleased she isn't." My journey would have been very different, and I certainly wouldn't have been here in this stranger's house dancing with this man while my girlfriend watched. As much as he was good company and we enjoyed a shouted conversation over the music, I did find my thoughts wandering. A little later on I'd be undressing under his eyes, he'd be the first man to see my bared breasts. There were going to be lots of firsts. Despite everything, my nipples started stiffening. "Are you still up for this?" Nina asked, holding my hand when the dance was over. He hadn't touched me, we'd just moved and swayed in proximity to each other, but a line had been crossed and I felt good about the plan. I kissed her to show my contentment. "I like him." "You like him enough?" "I trust you." When we'd had enough of the party, that didn't take very long, we rode a taxi through the city to the Airbnb apartment Guy had booked for the night. He sat up front beside the chatty driver, while Nina and I cuddled in the back. A warm, mellow arousal grew steadily through my body and at one point I guided Nina's hand under my dress and laid her fingers over the warm patch at the centre of my panties. Her gasp when she touched it lifted a smile so I rested my head on her shoulder and opened my legs a little more letting her edge inside. Stifling my own response with a gentle nip of her shoulder I closed her eyes and lost myself in the gentle movement of her fingers inside me for the last ten minutes of the ride. I absently wondered how it would feel to have something thicker and longer moving there and felt a little cheated when Guy announced we'd arrived and Nina drew her hand away. He led us up three flights of steps inside a smart flat overlooking the marina and opened the door with a flourish. Our heels' clattering was lost in a thick carpet, fresh scents of lemon and lavender greeted us and, without switching on the lights, he led us into a compact living room with a panoramic window showing us the lights and reflections from Plymouth Sound. Unlocking that window he showed us a balcony where the cold night air toyed with my hem, but couldn't cool me at all. Nina slipped an arm around my waist and edged close enough that nothing could come between us, then dropped her hand to fondly cup my bum. A feather light kiss brushed my neck and my nipples responded. When Guy came back with wine he found us embraced tightly, kissing passionately. I hope he enjoyed the lace tops of my very sheer, nude hold-ups as she lifted my dress to explore my curves. Not that I had much attention for Guy, Nina's kisses came with such intensity she almost drew my breath away; the way her tongue played in my mouth and how she moulded her tight body to mine, and the way she moved against me told of how aroused she was. I'd quite forgotten Guy until a slight touch between my shoulders announced the slow, downwards movement of my dress's zip. As the fabric spread open, further and further down my back he eased it off my shoulders until only Nina's body pressure kept it from pooling around my feet. The chilled, night air swirled over my flushed skin; the lifting goosebumps only added to the electric excitement tingling inside. She pulled away slightly, not enough to let the dress fall, so she could hold my eyes with her own. Her head inclined slightly, asking a question so I kissed her again, biting gently on her bottom lip and allowing my dress to fall. His hands rested on my hips, rocking slightly now. She started slow, circling caresses, lifting and enhancing my arousal. I forgot I was nearly naked on a balcony as I thought of being undressed by these two people; I'd only met him a short time before! The thrill of doing something so new, so wild, flared so hot between my legs I moaned around Nina's tongue and felt her smile. She turned me to face him and I watched his eyes make a long, slow journey over my bare shoulders, my little breasts and their darker nipples standing stiff and proud through my bra and I didn't care that he stared; I wanted him to look at me, for him to see the girl, to want my woman's body. We kissed and the electric words, 'I'm kissing a man' ran through my awareness. A vague, unfounded concern of Nina being jealous faded before it could break my rhythm when I felt her expert fingers unclip my bra. I embraced Guy, pulled him close; my hands made patterns over his back and his arousal touched me, clearly even through his trousers. A car passed by on the road below, there was some shout from the street around the corner and I did become conscious of being topless, my head thrown back, breath coming in fast, explosive gasps with hot kisses moving over both my breasts. Sometimes Nina and Guy paused from teasing my nipples to kiss each other, but otherwise I was the pampered centre of their attention. Hands roamed my legs, I couldn't tell whose, and I opened them, unsteady on my heels and knowing I'd soon reach the point where I couldn't remain standing. Bites teased my breasts and nipples, my gasps became shrill and I made them let me inside where I could sprawl and scream. The French windows stayed open, net curtains billowing in the breeze that ran cooling breaths over my blushing skin. Nina slipped from her dress with erotic grace, her bare legs gleamed in the ambient light coming in with the breeze as Guy helped her panties down. She fell back onto the sofa beside me with a happy laugh and had me unclip then smooth away her bra. She tasted of lemon and Nina when I kissed her shoulder; brushing my fingers through her curly pubic hair I found the slippery heat radiating from within her. My panties, the poor soaked scrap of lace they'd become, fell forgotten to the carpet as Guy shrugged his shirt off; shadows made the most of the defined muscles around his chest and shoulders, tight nipples were dark on his skin. I looked away as he unzipped his jeans. When I looked again he'd become lean and tight and naked; long legs, narrow hips and proud, stiff arousal. My eyes dropped again, to the easier excitement of Nina's breasts. His weight settled beside me and maybe I stiffened slightly to feel his skin touch mine, thigh to thigh, hip to hip. Nina saw, she kissed me, lifted my palm to her lips, then laid it on Guy's sleek thigh. His skin felt warm, smooth and supple - almost like Nina's thighs. Just a person, I told myself - a good looking, friendly person. A human, kind of hot, intent on leaning over to kiss me some more, warm hands busy on my breasts. I left my hand on his thigh as he shifted, something hard and wet touched my forearm. Nina saw, grinned and dropped between my feet. Our eyes met as Guy decided to suckle a nipple and I smiled; her eyes shone, she looked so gorgeous between my open thighs. Love you, I mouthed. She replied by stroking her tongue confidently along the line of my swollen lips, finished with a tongue-tip wriggle against my clitoris that did make me squeal. Love you too, she mouthed back. His teeth nipped my nipple and I arched my back with happy surprise, his cock touched my arm again. Nina's tongue teased another gasp, she inclined her head towards his erection. Do it, her lips said silently. There it was, hard and full of life as I laid my fingers on it, remembering the last time I'd held one - my own - an age ago; before. His looked longer, though the perspective was different and my hands had become a little smaller; perhaps it was more slender. He made my breasts feel so beautiful I decided, a little hazily, that I should return the favour. Just some stroking, I told myself; just like before, I thought. He seemed to like it, and it did feel pretty good to do that for him, so I thought back to what I'd enjoyed and made my strokes run his full length and caressed the swollen tip with my fingertips. Sometime later, when they'd made me scream once or twice, after Nina had licked his sticky cum from my fingers and skin, I found myself on my back, my legs beautifully spread, one over the bedclothes, the other over Nina. By turning my face over my left shoulder I could kiss her, like she was the oxygen I needed to cool my superheated body. Guy knelt between my legs, I held his erection again, but steadily now, guiding him - I shivered as his tip touched my lips. She broke the kiss, long enough to whisper, "Ready?" I nodded quickly, more than ready - the build up had been perfect and I wanted it. She shifted slightly to watch, trembling anticipation took me, I bit my lip, following her gaze and moving him a little closer, seeing his head engage my lips and part them smoothly. He drove a long sigh from me as he slipped effortlessly inside, dispelling the vague fear I wouldn't manage a whole man. For a few seconds I held him tight by the hips so he couldn't move, just enjoying the waves of pleasure. Nina's fingers found my clitoris and as I let him move, as my breathing became quicker and quicker, as I pushed my hips to meet his every thrust, I felt another orgasm washing up through me. Poor Guy - we worked him hard that night and in between loving me and Nina, while he lay back to recover, we enjoyed each other and for all his preferences for men, we obviously excited him. Sipping chilled wine I watched him make love with Nina, loving the movement of her breasts, the play of her thigh muscles and expressions on her face as he took her firmly from behind - her favourite position with a man, she told me later. Way after midnight, when the morning chilled the air and the waves could be heard through the mostly sleeping city, with Guy away to his bed Nina and I braved the cold on the balcony, naked and giggly, as if anybody out there watched. "What do you think?" "I think it's freezing!" I said, pulling her close to steal her heat. "About men?" "Not bad, but no substitute for the real thing." With Christmas and New Year a fond memory, the worst, most dreaded goodbye came on my front doorstep. With aching eyes I watched her truck's tail lights get to the end of the street, its brake lights flashed, then she turned towards the bypass and out of sight. She left me with my dressing gown pulled tight around me, my breath steaming and her last kisses moist on my cheeks, lips and fingers. Gone! I was used to her going back to barracks at sparrow's fart on a Monday morning ; it happened most weekends, but this time the house felt hollow, not just empty. Ghosts of Nina lingered; her cereal bowl waiting to be washed, her coffee mug - still half full where it was too hot for her to manage. I sipped it slowly, staring into the dark, weeping and imagining I could taste her on the mug's lip. Everything turned mushy and misted. I couldn't remember dressing for work, I must have got the bus as normal, but the journey was a mystery. Where is Nina now? I wondered as I changed into my uniform, took a tea break, ate lunchtime sandwiches I couldn't taste. She'd have been moving steady, but slow through military officialdom from barracks to the Air Mounting Centre, to a cheerless terminal at RAF Brize Norton then the walk through Britain's winter gloom to a grey, military airliner; one, small camouflaged figure lost in a mass of infantrymen. The relentless thoughts about a million things that could go wrong with a wide-bodied jet, or the ways bad people had to bring one down made me queasy as my heart flew halfway around the world to a war few understood. That night, I wrote her a cheery email full of ordinary, homely nonsense and love. I kissed her picture good night, curled up in my lonely bed wearing her pyjamas and tried to find the warmth she'd left when she'd risen from our bed that morning. I'll be tough, for her. It felt odd that my life should have come to being a soldier's sweetheart waiting for the Army to bring her beloved back, as though I'd been taken back to a different age. I wish we could have been married before she left, but she'd been right about that - we should do it properly. Two days later her Sergeant Major phoned me. I'd met him at the Christmas party - a rugged, stocky man with many tattoos and a thin mouth. "How are you, Pippa?" he asked in a rocky, Welsh voice, soft with concern. "Making do." "She's going to be fine." "I know." "But, if we need to pass bad news-" "You won't." "I know, but just in case, you'll get told - properly, and looked after. I promised her." I'd resolved to keep strong, I didn't want Nina distracted by worrying about me, but that call was a tough one. "Got a job for you, Pip," Mary-Ann said a week or so later. I'd spoken with Nina the night before, over a crackling satellite phone that made a pause between her speaking and me hearing. She'd been buzzing, ready to move out to some shithole of a patrol base with her Company. When she said goodbye I cried a little more, but not so she could hear - stay tough for her, Pippa! "You need a distraction, so your mission - whether you choose to accept it or not - is to get a train to Bristol next week and represent the company at a diversity in medicine conference. Head office picked you, can't imagine why!" "Do I have to go?" The thought appalled me, I'd rather keep my head down and quietly manage my life than be the poster girl for the company's diversity efforts. I'd already been asked to provide some support to a nurse from a sister unit in Leeds after he decided to change his name to Colin from Collette. I'd met him twice, but felt nothing but a fraud as he talked enthusiastically about surgery and legal changes and the other wonders of finding yourself. I wondered if there would be some magical garment somewhere that could make a woman slowly change into a man, but aside from a chill I felt that I might accidentally put it on, I didn't feel that to be an appropriate topic for our meeting. "Travel down the day before, day and half in the conference, two nights, all expenses paid in a posh hotel, access to world-class buffets and all that networking, why wouldn't you?" she pressed. Faced with that kind of logic, who could refuse? I shopped for a new suit and hated the empty place where Nina would have been to help me, her head on one side, bursting with opinions. Instead I had to send her a selfie of the charcoal coloured skirt suit I eventually chose and hope she'd like it. The afternoon before the conference I travelled by train to Bristol, took a taxi to the hotel, distracted from my first time in the city by an impending breast ache and tummy turmoil. Once again, the irrational fear of being exposed by my handbag's contents had left me without the sanitary means of dealing with a period. Happily, the hotel was separated from a handy retail park only by a busy highway, queued with traffic heading away from the city. Prominent in that park was a Sainsbury's store where I'd be presented with a fine choice of sanitary products, and a secluded toilet to make use of some. Unable to bear the thought of disgracing myself, urgency had me miss-timing my run over that road via a pedestrian crossing; a tall lorry obscured my view of the furthest lane of traffic. As I ran from the lorry's cover to cross that last lane I saw a big white van, already bearing down on me. I had no chance to avoid it. Throwing up my hands I flinched back, but the scream-faced driver - intent on his own high-revving urgency - couldn't stop in time. I tried to say sorry as his bumper punched my legs out from under me. Tyres screeched, a man shouted somewhere before I crunched into the tarmac and blanked everything out.