Workman: Chapter One - Part Three

5

 

No more than half an hour went by after the transformation before I started to question whether it had ever really happened.

Surely it hadn’t; but the memory was clear. I could picture the masculine face looking back at me from the mirror with nothing but curiosity.

I hadn’t moved the ring from the hall table since I’d put it there and I found myself placingmy magazine down and loitering in the lounge doorway, looking across at it.

There was one sure way to test whether I’d really imagined it of course… Just walk over there and put it back on.

But I didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of that. What if… it worked but only a certain number of times. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than getting stuck as a man. I loved being a woman far too much for that.

Some women I’d known had a bee in their bonnet about how much easier men had it than them, especially when it came to feminine hygiene and the constant pressure to look our best. I wasn’t one of these women. Looking good was one of my main sources of fun and relaxation. Paying for six months in advance at the local gym and spa had been one of my top priorities when I moved back into town. I loved to pamper myself and was forever trolling the net and magazines for new ideas for makeup, hairstyles and clothes.

I crossed the hall to the table and crouched so I was almost at eye level with the ring. I eyed the painting things again.

It would be handy if I could just put on that body like a pair of overalls. I giggled. Imagine how quickly I could do the house up if I could just become a man in the morning, work all day at the DIY, then change back to myself in the evening!

I chewed my lip then shook my head. No. It was too weird. And possibly dangerous. I should tell somebody about it; maybe sell it. Surely a real magic ring should be worth a fortune!

Except… I didn’t want to do that, at least yet. I felt… oddly possessive of it. I didn’t want anyone else to know about it. They might try to take it off me. And I had felt so wonderful as a man. I wasn’t ready to give it another go but I didn’t want to lose my chance either.

There was a little drawer built into the hall table. I opened it, then used an envelope to push it to the edge so it dropped in.

I closed the drawer. Safe.

Then I yelped with fright when the doorbell buzzed.

It was an old overloud buzzer that had been there before my parents bought the place. My heart was hammering from the shock of it as I went across and opened the door.

Mr. Crabtree, the man who lived next door was standing there, his face drawn and tense. Even though he was one step down he was still taller than me. His arms were folded and he glared down at me as he said, “Excuse me miss, but I noticed you’ve moved some of my property.” He went on glaring, waiting for a response.

“Er, do you mean—?”

“I mean the items I was storing between the houses.” He pointed.

“Oh, er, yes,” I said. “I’m sorry about that. They were blocking the side access to the house.”

“And you didn’t think to ask?”

“No, sorry. I—”

“I have been storing my property there for many a year before you came along young lady and I don’t appreciate you sticking your nose in.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling embarrassed. “I did knock on your door but no one was home and as that area is actually part of my property—”

“I don’t think it is,” snapped Crabtree. “My things have been there for years and I never had any trouble from your father.”

“Well he did actually used to tell me that he’d tried to stop—”

“I don’t appreciate you taking liberties with my property. Is that clear?”

“Yes. Sorry. I shouldn’t have moved it without your permission.”

“You shouldn’t have moved it at all. That’s my land. You should mind your own business. Do you understand?”

I started to open my mouth to broach the property ownership question but he turned his back on me and walked off, leaving me feeling guilty and angry and frustrated and ashamed.

I closed the door, mostly peeved at myself for not standing up to him. He wouldn’t have talked to me that way if I’d been a…

“Hmmm.”

I eyed the drawer under the hall table.

What if I just put it on long enough to go round there and…?

No. Bad idea. It was just weird. I loved my femininity. The idea of being in a man’s body again, even for ten minutes was creepy and unpleasant.

Instead, I walked over to the paint tray at the foot of the stairs. I really had to get on with this. It had already taken much longer than I’d intended and the council tax and bills were going to be crippling if I kept this going. It was a total disaster.

I tapped the paint tray with my toe.

I just couldn’t be bothered to go through with it.

I checked my watch. Five thirty. Almost time for tea. There was no point starting it again now. I had to stop to eat sometime and it would probably be too dark later.

I shrugged and walked toward the kitchen. I’d done enough for one day. Tomorrow I could really get on with it. That was what I’d do: work twice as hard tomorrow.

I stopped in the kitchen doorway and looked back at the drawer.

I chewed my lip, thinking of the alternative then disappeared inside.