Golden Gloom - RICH - Part Six

Exploring

14  

Ricky

The man that Jane had become went ahead of me up the stairs looking for a mirror, walking with an easy masculine gait that looked nothing like the way my girlfriend moved. He’d told me to call him Charles and it was actually easier to do that than to keep trying to cling to the truth that it was really Jane.

I was amazed how calm I felt and how… docile. I was nervous still and felt like I needed some more reassurance, but the aggressive tension I normally would have been spewing out wasn’t there at all. I wasn’t sure why… unless it was something biological – that my woman’s body wasn’t wired that way. And of course I didn’t have the withdrawal anymore. I didn’t even have any cravings apart from the vaguest thought. And I hadn’t felt that calm for… years.

But also I’d felt a lot better when… Charles had calmed me down. He was just so sure of himself and sure everything would be fine that I couldn’t help but believe him. It was… nice.

We reached the landing with Charles way ahead, striding on his long legs and checking doors. “Here,” he said. “The master bedroom. Looks like there’s a bathroom en suite.”

It was a huge lavish room with French doors going onto a balcony overlooking the back garden. The wardrobes were mirrored and Charles was already looking at himself when I got there. I eyed the bathroom door then slipped through and locked it behind me, not sure why but uncomfortable about standing next to him while I was looking at my new body. I didn’t like feeling so small next to him. It made me feel… odd; almost… submissive; and I didn’t like it.

The bathroom was equally grand with wide lattice windows and a huge round bath. There was a gigantic mirror over the double sink and a full length one on the back of the door. It was in that one that I stared at myself, mystified, putting my little feminine hands to my smooth cheeks and seeing the bulge of flesh at my elbows, catching in a thin line of sheen the light from outside. I took hold of the glasses and lifted them clear, squinting as everything fell out of focus. The sharpness of my vision became a loose blur and it was only when I moved my face very close to the glass that I could see a little better. I put the glasses back on, shaking my head and looked at my face, now a lot nearer in the reflection.

It was entirely a woman’s face, but there wasn’t anything of my normal expression there either. Fringe, straight nose, double chin, light make-up; and I lifted back my straight shiny hair at the side and saw little diamond earrings. I prodded at them, amazed that they were going through my ears and I hadn’t even felt them.

I stood back and looked at my bare legs coming from the bottom of the skirt, the high heels I was wearing, and it occurred to me that I hadn’t fallen over. I hadn’t had any trouble walking at all in them. They felt… comfortable. Normal. In fact now that I’d calmed down it didn’t even feel that weird. I was a woman. I was wearing women’s clothes. So what? They were just clothes. And they felt nice.

I turned, pinching a fold of flab from my overripe belly, looking at the way my bottom was bigger, then I examined my breasts. I lifted up the polo neck sweater to expose them and the bra I was wearing and stared in awe, gripping them in my little hands then looking at the pear-shaped bulge of fat pooling into the top of my skirt, the round tummy.

I moved my hand down to my crotch and felt the curve of the fleshy bulge above what was just… an absence.

I was a woman; really a woman.

I looked at myself and said, “Hello. I’m Barbara Hawthorne.” I gave a little giggle then went on, playing around. “My husband’s name is Charles. We own this house and live here very happily.”

It was literally the weirdest moment of my life. And Jane… Charles had been right. It was kind of fun. But really very wrong at the same time.

15 

Jane

The man in the mirrored wardrobe doors looked back at me with calm intensity and I had to really make myself not look behind me to see if the real owner of the house was there.

I’d always been slim and slight as a woman and now I was nothing of the sort. I was very tall with broad shoulders and a portly stockiness all over, but the clothes were well tailored and I carried it well. With the short cropped receding hair I just looked distinguished. I touched my face and my body, exploring it, not feeling disturbed curiously by the sensations. I didn’t seem to get frazzled now that I was a man; I just had this wonderful unruffled confidence. I smiled at myself and imagined I was standing at the head of a boardroom table, giving out orders to the middle managers below me. My smile broadened.

I put my hands on the broad sides of my stomach and then looked through the reflection at the little bulge in the crotch of my trousers. I narrowed my eyes then took off my jacket and laid it neatly on the bed. My shoes were slip-ons. I popped them off and then undid my trousers, taking one leg out then the other and laying them equally neatly next to my jacket.

My legs were very pale as though they’d never once been tanned and they were hairy, the socks stretching most of the way to the knee. I scrunched up my nose and chuckled. This was kind of weird but I was determined to take a look.

Now that my boxer shorts were exposed I could see the bulge directly and my heart rate increased in anticipation. I’d seen a few dozen cocks in my life but having one myself; touching it; was going to be a real trip.

I tented the boxer shorts out and there it was: not bad for size but just unbelievable lying there, thick and round and nestled in its tangle of pubic hair. I wriggled the boxer shorts down around my ankles and stepped out of them then took the thing in my hand, feeling the quiet rush of blood seeping into it, the little jerk as it came to life and change orientation, expanding. With my other hand I reached further down and lifted my scrotum and got another shiver of sensation, grinning.

Then the bathroom door opened and Ric— Barbara was standing there looking at what I was doing. I blushed and grinned sheepishly.

“What are you doing?” she said. “Having a wank?”

I chuckled. “Just trying it out. Hey.” I beckoned her. “Come over here and touch it, I want to see what happens.”

“No!”

“Come on Barbara.”

“I’m not Barbara.”

“Barbara. Come on. Give it a try. What can it hurt? We’ve got plenty of time.”

She looked from my face to my half enlarged cock then back to my face. I could see her wavering.

“You can give me a blow job if you like,” I said.

“Urgh! No! I’m not a faggot! Fuck!”

I laughed and pulled my boxers back on. “I’m just messing with your head. Don’t worry about it.” I stoked the back of her neck then went in for a kiss on her cheek without thinking. I paused before I made contact, realizing what I was doing and we looked at each other, tense and uncomfortable. Then I did it anyway.

“You up for a little exploring?” I said. “If you aren’t going to suck my cock then we’ll just have to find something else to do.”

“Charles!”

I laughed and put my arm round her, guiding her to the door, secretly glad that she’d used that masculine name without even noticing.

16 

Jane

We split up; ‘Barbara’ heading downstairs, me taking up. It was a pleasure to wander through this mansion freely, a place we could never hope to even gain admittance to normally, and it was a far cry from the pokey little flat we shared with its black mould and flaking paintwork in the one of the worst parts of Barton.

I imagined I really owned this house, opening doors and scanning the interior. It wasn’t hard to do considering I kind of was the owner at the moment. I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror when I opened one of the doors. It was an odd perplexing moment: a shiver of surprise as though I’d caught sight of someone else, this semi-familiar face, and then the rapid realization and acceptance that this was me now. And strangely I didn’t dislike it. As a temporary domicile, this body was oddly comfortable and I’d really liked the respect I’d got from the policeman and the removal firms. I would never have chosen to be portly and bald and getting on for fifty years old, but it didn’t feel abnormal. It was getting so I forgot about it from time to time.

The last door I opened on the first floor was an expensively furnished study. I went in and gave it a proper look. There was an open cigar box on the oak desk and a bottle of brandy in a cabinet against the wall. I eyed them for a minute then smiled to myself and poured myself a glass, sitting in the big cushioned chair and swiveling to look out the window as I toyed with a cigar in the other hand.

There was a folded up copy of the Financial Times on the desk and underneath it was a gold-plated lighter engraved with the initials C.H. My initials. Feeling like I was playing a game of pretend I put the cigar in my mouth and lit it. I’d never had one before but I puffed away, not coughing at all – this body was used to it – and enjoying the expensive flavour.

It was great to recline into the seat and enjoy these pleasures, go on pretending I really lived here. The brandy warmed my stomach and the cigar was delicious; first class. I put my feet up on the windowsill then glanced across at the newspaper and unfolded it on my legs.

I had time to spare, I reasoned. I might as well take a look at how the market was going. It paid to keep on top of these things.

17  

Ricky  

I couldn’t get over not having the cravings anymore – not even psychologically. My mind flipped back to the idea of getting another fix from time to time but there was absolutely no compulsion. And I realized I didn’t even want it anymore. It had been a part of my life for so long and now, suddenly, it wasn’t. From my current perspective, the idea of doing it again just seemed… idiotic.

I made my way through the broad circle of downstairs rooms and ended up in the kitchen, gazing longingly out at the swimming pool in the garden. I really fancied a dip but the idea of getting undressed and doing it as a woman, out in the open, felt too uncomfortable. Instead, I flicked on the kettle and took a cup and saucer from the cupboard. I made myself a cup of Earl Grey and carried it through to the lounge.

I sat at one end of the sofa with my legs crossed and reached for a Good Housekeeping magazine from the pile on the coffee table. The picture on the cover caught my eye because it was of a really pretty mantelpiece decoration. I flicked through to the article, making myself comfortable and sipping my tea. It didn’t look too difficult to make and I gazed at the fireplace in the room, wondering what it would look like there. Lovely probably. I sighed, wondering if there would be time to pop to Hobbycraft later to fetch some materials to make a start.

I read another article about the benefits of recycling then glanced at my watch, tutting to myself that it was time to start thinking about dinner, especially if I was going to make something special from scratch instead of just cooking something dull from frozen. Charles worked so hard it was nice to go that extra mile and I was sure he enjoyed it.

I got up, set the magazine back neatly, took one more look at the fireplace, thinking about the decoration, then went back through to the kitchen with my empty cup.

I froze when I reached the doorway, looking down at the china cup and saucer then back into the lounge at the pile of magazines.

“Oh fuck,” I whispered. “Oh fucking hell. Fucking, fucking hell.”

There was something wrong with my brain. There was something really really wrong with it. I’d forgotten who I really was. For maybe quarter of an hour I’d been sitting there reading a fucking women’s magazine like I really lived here. This was fucked up! It was dangerous! I had to do something now or I was going to end up stuck like this! We both were! I’d forgotten I was a man! I’d really thought I was Barbara!

“Jane!” I cried, screeching at the top of my lungs. “Jane! Get down here! Now! We have to change back! We have to do it now!”