Lady Ann's Holiday - Chapter Seventeen - Part One

One Last Day

1

Ann woke up from a deep sleep on his straw pallet, the sun shining through the crack in the hay barn door and into his eyes. He groaned, rolling over, then brightened and sat up, realising what day this was.

It was the last day. Finally. Just one more day as Burt and he would be back in his rightful body. He would be the lady of the manor once again!

It gave him such an overwhelming sense of relief to think that... as well as a moment of regret.

Being Burt had been an incredible experience from start to finish and one, over the last couple of days, that he’d come to dislike; but on the other hand, now that the end was in sight he could allow himself the luxury of looking back on the good times with relish. It was going to be good to get back to being himself but he would miss the benefits.

He lay on his back, hands behind his head, musing over the good times he’d had and an idea slowly came to him.

It was his last day as Burt and he decided to stop moping around and really enjoy it! It was his holiday for God’s sake! Being down and depressed about how lowly he had become was the last thing he should be doing. If anything he should be revelling in that lowliness! This was his one last chance to really be Burt! He had to make the most of it.

He got out of bed and scratched his hairy balls absently, looking round for where he’d thrown his trousers. He couldn’t see the ones from yesterday so climbed into his other pair.

What to do, that was the question. He wanted to really get the full experience of being a man one last time – do all the things that he’d enjoyed so far.

It crossed his mind to do another day’s work, but where was the fun in that really? No. And it didn’t matter that the real Burt would have to sleep rough on the night he came back. That was just part of the joke!

What happened to that buffoon didn’t matter as long as Ann was happy!

2

Burt and Grandmamma took a turn around the park after breakfast, enjoying the spring sunshine, not particularly talking, just relishing one another’s company. There were only other members of the gentry and middle class visible. The gutter trash knew enough to stay away and this area of London was reserved only for the well to do. Burt was glad of that. Associating with the hoi polloi was most distasteful.

She considered what it would be like returning to the intimate and tawdry environs of the Dog & Pony drinking establishment and wrinkled her nose with disgust. All those brutish men and coarse women! It was going to be repugnant to say the least. Still, that was her lot in life; there was no arguing against that. God had given her that life and it was the only one she deserved.

“You know you were supposed to be going back today Ann dear,” said Grandmamma.

“What? I thought it was tomorrow. I thought today was my last day here.”

“Not that I’m complaining. I’ve enjoyed your company very much. As far as I’m concerned you can stay here as long as you like.”

“Well...” Burt frowned. “I’ve made arrangements now with Lord Hurley.”

“Ah of course,” replied Grandmamma with a wry smile. “Lord Hurley. Arrangements. Yes.”

“It would be remiss of me to let him down now.”

“Indeed it would my dear. Indeed it would.”

They walked on, grandmamma smiling knowingly while Burt pondered the scratches of guilt she was feeling.

Surely one extra day didn’t matter. Lady Ann had chosen to make the swap in the first place and she was undoubtedly enjoying herself. An extra day would give her the chance to extend her enjoyment.

Burt’s mouth tightened.

And if she wasn’t enjoying it – as Burt suspected she wasn’t – well... Lady Ann had wanted to trade places. She could live with the consequences just a little bit longer.

“Yes,” said Burt, “I think I shall stay one more night as I’d originally thought and go back tomorrow, if that’s agreeable to you.”

“Of course it is,” replied Grandmamma. “You are more than welcome.”

3

Ann went down to the stable and wandered into the stall where Rosebud was kept.

This was probably the longest time he had been away from the filly since she had been bought and he enjoyed patting her down. Oddly though, it didn’t feel like the horse belonged to him anymore – which in the strictest legal sense he supposed it didn’t. It felt like he was stroking... her ladyship’s horse. Another weird oddity of the transformation.

Now that he was Burt, now that he had gained access to some of Burt’s memories, he was finding himself identifying things via those memories rather than through his own original ones. If the real Burt had looked at this horse he would have been prompted by a series of memories to know that it belonged to his employer. Now that Ann was tapping into random memories, his subconscious was also, it seemed, latching onto some of those associations. He remembered that this horse belonged to “Lady Ann” and therefore that was his first instinctive thought to look at it.

Memories bred reality in that sense, he reflected.

But he also knew he was the one true Lady Ann, so even if part of him saw the horse as belonging to someone else, another part of him knew better.

Ann went to the hook to lift down the horse’s saddle and get her ready for riding. He’d really enjoyed the feel of freedom he’d had the week before to ride as a man. But he paused when he considered the balling out Harry had given him as a result of the last trip – and the determination in Harry’s face to get back at him for the lack of respect he’d been paying the old man. There wouldn’t be anything stopping Harry telling the earl this time. He would be straight up to the manor to drop Ann in it, and that could mean all manner of punishment.

It could mean the stocks again.

Ann had the sudden horrible image of being locked in the stocks in the village square when the real Burt returned. He couldn’t imagine a worse humiliation than that.

It simply wasn’t worth the risk.

He released the saddle moodily and stepped away, glaring at the horse in a sulk.

He didn’t care anyway. He had better things to do! He stomped out of the stables and set off down the lane.

4

Burt beamed with pleasure as the seamstress fussed round her in the dress shop, making the final adjustments in her new dress.

It was a beautiful sweeping dress the colour of the sky at daybreak and Burt had never felt so special. This epitomised everything it was to being a lady: looking beautiful, being fussed over by servants, revelling in riches.

Why, this dress was going to cost several times more than she, as a stable hand, had earned in a year!

She was so looking forward to her meeting with Lord Hurley later that evening. It was going to be simply divine to spend time with the cultured gentleman. She tried to imagine where he would take her – what delicacies they might eat – what sights they might see.

She didn’t know if she’d ever had such excitement or expectation in her life!

It was so wonderful to be a woman in lo—

It was wonderful to be... taken out to... such a sumptuous dinner. 

5

Ann walked up across the countryside, enjoying the manly strength in his limbs.

That side of the body swap had been everything he’d anticipated and more. It had been great to possess such masculine power. Striding across the fields and climbing fences was a far cry from tiptoeing around in high heels. He climbed a tall tree quickly and easily, looking out across the Griply estate – something he could never have done as a woman. He tensed his biceps, gripping them with his other hand and grinning. It really was a riot being a man and something he would miss a great deal.

The idea of going back into a weak woman’s body felt slightly disturbing to be perfectly honest. What would it be like to be so dainty and effeminate after being so strong and tough? He found it difficult to imagine – hard to remember what it had really been like; but he knew he didn’t like the idea of it.

He mused for a moment over another option that he knew was sadly impossible – where he regained his title and position but remained a burly man. Surely that would be the best of both worlds. He could extend his name to Albert and be Lord Albert of Griply Hall, strutting about in top hat and tails. Or not so much strutting about. He didn’t have much respect for toffs like that. No. He’d be more of a salt of the earth lord, getting his hands dirty and taking a more active hand. He imagined giving old Harry orders, sending him back and forth to carry things.

Then he imagined the other half of that twisted transformation: the real Burt in Lady Ann’s body remaining a woman but being reduced to a mere servant; a chamber made... named Annie; scurrying around obsequiously, doing his bidding.

Ann found himself stroking his cock through his trousers as he imagined that playing out – imagined taking Annie the chamber maid up to his bed chamber and giving her the rogering of her life.

It was such a pleasant fantasy – but one that, sadly, could never come to pass. That wasn’t how the amulet worked. No. This was his last day as Burt – as a man – and he had to enjoy it.

In the earlier days he had kept telling himself he was Burt and that had had an effect on his persona, underscoring the changes; making him take on more and more of Burt’s manner of speech and knowledge, his limited intelligence and education; making him more masculine – allowing him to take on Burt’s own memories as though they were his own.

He’d avoided doing it so much of late for fear he would take on too much – become Burt too closely, but now he was so close to changing back there couldn’t be much harm in it. This was his only opportunity to fully experience life in the shoes of another person. It would be a terrible waste not to take it to its limits. And there wasn’t any risk this close to swapping back into his rightful body. If anything, becoming more and more like Burt would make the transition back more of an adventure – having to adjust to being a right cultured lady again – trying to lose the bumpkin accent – slowly losing the Burt memories.

He considered staying up in that tree for a few hours and just telling himself over and over again that he was Burt; trying to recall and experience Burt’s memories as though they were his own.

He chewed his lip for a minute, unsure, afraid that he would come to regret it. But he was sure that it wouldn’t matter as long as he turned back into himself on schedule. And it would be a right laugh to do.

He patted his pocket, wishing he had some cash to go out drinking again – really have a good last blast at being Burt to the full and heard an unexpected tinkle. There was money in there!

He checked – these were his other trousers so it was possible – and there was some. Not much but enough for a few bevies down’t Dog & Pony.

That settled it. He decided to really go for it today: really revel in being Burt for as long as he had the chance.

He settled back against the branch behind him and said, “I’m Burt ‘Arper. I’m a workin’ man. I’m a lower class stable hand who can’t read nor write worth a damn.”

He felt the pleasant buzzing start up again in the back of his skull as restating who he was served as a catalyst to continued change. Feeling it and knowing that it meant that changes were being made to his brain to make him more lower class – more manly – more like the real Burt – gave him another swell of sexual arousal and he absently stroked his engorged cock through his dirty trousers.

“I’m Burt ‘Arper. I was born in...” He concentrated for a minute, then the Burt memory came to him, slipping into his mind and settling in as though it had always been there, taking deeper and deeper root in his psyche. “in ‘Artlepool... on a right rough estate.”

He could picture the dirty little terraced house now, could see the squalid bedroom he’d shared with.. his two brothers.

“I’m just an ignorant peasant and I always have been. I’m a lower class labourer and good for nothing else. I’m too thick to make decisions on me own. I need to get told what to do by me betters. I’m as thick as two short planks – a right idiot. Everyone knows it.”

The gentle buzzing increased in intensity and Burt relaxed into his treetop seat more comfortably, closing his eyes to picture the narrow street where he’d grown up; the mates he’d had; the first delivery job he’d got when he was six years old, carrying crates.

“I’m Burt ‘Arper,” he said again. “I’ve never been a woman and I wouldn’t want to be one. I don’t know the first thing about being a lady. I’m not Lady Ann. I never ‘ave been. How could I be? She’s my employer. She’s better than the likes of me. She’s quality. I’m just a servant and nothing more. I’m just a man wot works for her dad doing labouring and such. I’m nothing more than a common stable hand.

“I’m nothing more than that.”