Forever?
1
Burt felt grand thinking about his
escapades the night before, regardless of his current situation.
He was up to his knees in filthy
water in a long drainage ditch using a spade to dig mud from the bottom to
clear it. It really was dirty work and he’d been at it for two hours but even
this couldn’t affect his mood.
It had felt so good to be with those
girls last night, so great to be a man. He couldn’t stop thinking about it:
taking them out of the pub and down the road, one on each arm, feeling like he
was cock of the walk, the most popular man in the village. He hadn’t been able
to take them back to their houses – that would have been a scandal – and the
walk to the hall was too far, so he’d had to do it in the open.
In the end they’d done it in the
bushes on the railway embankment. It was dirty and cold but that didn’t matter.
The blond girl hadn’t wanted to go through with it in the end but he’d done her
friend while she waited, her skirts up round her face, her knickers round her
ankles, his trousers pulled right down so his pale bare arse bobbed up and down
in the moonlight as he rogered away. He smiled to himself now to remember her
gasps of pleasure and her complaints of how big he was, how tight her fanny was
with his gigantic cock slamming into it over and over again.
It was the best time he’d had for
ages.
Burt sat on the edge of the channel,
resting his spade against its side. He drew his soaking legs out of the water and
up under his chin, his arms wrapped round them. He rested his head against the
fence post there and closed his eyes for a minute in the sunshine, just running
it all through his mind again and feeling a throb of arousal inside his
trousers.
He was so glad he’d stopped feeling
sorry for himself and got on with doing stuff that he enjoyed again. It felt
great to revel in his manhood once more; great to feel so proud of himself and
strong. In fact, he realised, that this was the first time he’d really felt at
peace since all this started. He knew who he was now and he wasn’t struggling
against it. He was looking for the good in it and enjoying it for what it was.
He was a hard working class man, fit
and strong, who did his best from dawn until dusk. That gave him a lot of
pride. And he was good with the ladies. That made him proud too. He didn’t like
being told what to do but he was making the best of it. And he was a good man.
He just sat there, thinking about
that for a while, feeling warm and relaxed. Would it be so bad if Lady Ann
never came back? If he just went on living this life as Burt? He didn’t want to
go back to hating it. He wanted to carry on just relaxing into it, letting
himself go with the flow. He wanted to give in. It would be so easy to; to
even…
Yes.
He imagined Lady Ann coming back and
taking him aside to change back but instead of accepting, he pictured himself
telling her he didn’t want to go back. He saw himself tipping his cap and
saying, “That’s alright m’lady. I’m ‘appy
bein a working man. I love being a bloke. I don’t wanna go back to me old life.
I want to be Burt forever.”
I
want to be Burt forever.
All the difficult decisions taken
away from him; just told what to do every minute of every day then down to the
pub at night with his mates getting plastered and having his way with different
lasses.
I
love being a man,
he thought. I want to be Burt forever.
And in his mind the ticking heat
intensified, stroking his brain; scraping at any desire he had to be a woman;
his memories of his life as a cultured lady; at his comprehension of how much
he was losing; at the willpower that made him hate the commands that came down
to him from his betters.
“Oh
it’s no bother Lady Ann,” he
said in his imagination. “I’m more th’n
‘appy to stay like this. You’re welcome to stay as ye are. I wouldn’t know what
to do with meself as a lady. I’m far too used to being a man now an I like it.”
The daydream Ann smiled a beautiful caring
smile and said, “Why thank you Burt. I’m
so grateful you’ve chosen to be a gentleman about it. I have nothing but
respect for a man as strong and hard working as you. My father tells me you do
practically everything round here. He says everything would fall apart if it
wasn’t for all the work that you do. You’re a much better Burt than I ever
was.”
On the side of the stream, Burt lay
further back, smiling broadly as he pictured the new Lady Ann – the real and
only Lady Ann now – sitting daintily on the garden chairs, watching him carry
massive boxes in his strong arms. In his imagination she was smiling and
nodding, admiring him for working hard and being so strong, and for doing as he
was told.
And he thought to himself hazily: All I ave to do to make this come true is
just let it. Just stop fighting. I can be happy again. I can just get on with
me life and stop being afraid all the time. I don’t want to be afraid all the
time. I just want to stop fighting. I want to stay Burt and be happy.
I
want to be Burt forever.
2
Lady Ann let her horse go where it
wished across the common, letting her mind drift once more now that she was
alone.
She’d been trying to collect her
thoughts since the previous afternoon, but try as she might she couldn’t reach
any kind of satisfactory conclusion. The awful fact of the matter was that
there was no simple and clear way forward. There was no easy answer to that
question:
What did she want?
She wanted to remain rich. She wanted
to go on living this wonderful cultured life. But did she want it indefinitely?
If there were really nothing to hold her back, did she really want to become
Lady Anne Neville for the rest of her days? To be a woman and nevermore to be a
man? To leave behind Mavis and the strength and power of her former
masculinity?
There was no doubt in her mind that
she wanted to delay going back as long as possible, but to steal this life
forever? That was something that seemed… It seemed… what? She couldn’t put it
into words.
But she knew it was wrong. Taking
this life that had only been loaned to her was a diabolical act of evil and
there was a gulf between forcing the former Ann to muck out the horses for a
few days or even a week or two and forcing her to live as Burt for the rest of
her life.
And yes! She knew that the old Ann
wouldn’t blink to do the same to her, but it was going against the natural
order of things. It was going against God’s plan.
No matter how many of Ann’s memories
she’d taken on; how many of Burt’s memories she’d lost, she still remembered
the most important lesson her old dad – Burt’s old da had told her when she was
still a boy.
“You
have to do the right thing my boy,” he’d said.
“And you must always do as you’re told.”
With that in mind it was perfectly
clear what she had to do. The former Ann had ordered her to come to London for
two weeks and then to return with her body. It had been almost three weeks now.
What she was doing was undeniably wrong. And however much she wished she’d
taken on enough traits of the real Ann to make her not care anymore, that
hadn’t happened. And deep down she didn’t want that anyhow.
Doing the right thing was simply too
important to her. It was more important than all the riches and comforts she
would be leaving behind if she went back. It was more important than the
pleasure she received at being a beautiful and intelligent woman.
It was decided.
She would go back to Yorkshire
tomorrow. She would give Burt back his body. She would become Burt again
herself. And she’d always miss this life she had tasted but she would hold onto
these days as treasured memories. And maybe… just maybe, the real Lady Ann
would be more than grateful and maybe everything would be better.
Either way, she’d made her decision.
This would be her last day in London.
She would catch the first train the next morning and put this glorious
adventure behind her.
3
It was only really visible by
comparison just how close to breaking point Burt had been; to crumbling into
the dirt with his arms wrapped round his head, gibbering helplessly in terror
at the horror of his predicament.
This defence mechanism – forcing his
bewildered mind to not only accept but to crave the continuation of what was
happening to him – was the only thing that was keeping him functioning. And
more than functioning.
Burt was actually happy now. He had a
long day yet of hard labour ahead of him but it was easy work for a man of his
stature and he really did enjoy the demands on his muscular body. He liked not
having to raise his consciousness above its lowest level. He wanted to do
anything in his power to avoid thinking about what was really happening to him.
He liked knowing exactly what he had to do and just getting on and doing it.
He was still knee deep in the stream,
using the shovel to widen and deepen it. Harry had explained why this was good
for the fields but he really hadn’t been able to follow it. While he was busy
trying to comprehend one part of the rationale, Harry had blabbered onto the
next part until he’d become thoroughly confused. He’d ended up just nodding
vacantly, pretending he understood. It didn’t matter. All he needed to know was
where to dig. He didn’t try any harder than that, in subconscious fear that he
might recognize just how much brain power he’d lost and panic. He kept his
thoughts subdued and on the job at hand.
Just widen the stream. Deepen the
stream. That was all he had to understand and any idiot could pick up that
much. At least after Harry had come down and demonstrated it a few times.
At noon a bell was rang up at the
hall and Burt trotted back across the fields to get his dinner. He and Harry
sat on the wooden bench outside at the back of the kitchen and chomped down on
the bread and meat that cook had provided. It was a lovely filling meal and he
sat enjoying it quietly.
A hard morning’s work and a good
filling meal: this was what it was all about. This was what his life was now.
It was what it always would be. He was Burt now forever. No, not even that. Thinking
that still kept him at a distance from who he was now.
After he ate, as he walked back down
the fields to continue digging out the stream, he altered the way he said it,
coming more in line with the way it should be. He no longer said, I’m Burt. He
said, “I’m me. I’m myself. I’m who I am and who I’ve always been. I’m who I’m
always going to be. I’m me. And I always will be.”
4
It was a trip to opera this time;
another fabulous and enchanted evening with this wonderful man.
But it was the last evening and Ann
knew it. She wasn’t going to back out this time. She wasn’t going to let Richard
persuade her any different.
The music was delightful. It made her
heart pulse almost painfully to be filled with such emotion. It made tears flow
down her cheeks to know that this would be the last time she could enjoy such
wonder.
Within twenty four hours she was be
back in her old body, quickly losing the education and love for culture that
she currently possessed. How long would it be before she become completely
ignorant again? How long before she would forget how wonderful this was and
start again, instead, to love only the most crass entertainment imaginable?
Would it feel like coming home to
change back into that big muscular body, to touch her face and feel a bushy
moustache? Or would it feel alien and awful? Would panic and horror overcome
her and become absolute abject terror?
Ann thought about what it would be
like to go back to sleeping in the hay loft and being ordered around from dawn
until dusk. She wondered if she would just break somehow inside to have lost
this glorious lifestyle and become only a dirty peasant servant again, even
lower in status than Gladys, her maid.
In the darkness of the opera house,
her tears of joy became cries of anguish until she was suddenly sobbing against
Richard’s shoulder.
He turned to her, gently lifting her
chin with his index finger. “Why Ann; whatever is the matter you sweet thing?”
“I don’t want to go back,” she cried.
“I don’t want to ever go back.”
“Then stay longer. Stay as long as
you want.”
“You don’t understand,” she
whimpered. “I can’t stay any longer. I made a promise! I have to go back! I
have to go back tomorrow!”
“Ann…” The shock consumed Richard’s
features. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I’m sorry
Richard, but I shall never be able to see you again. Not ever, ever again!”
She got up, her vision blurred with
the tears and went to go but Richard grasped her wrist. “Ann. What are you
saying?”
“I’m saying that it’s over Richard.
I’m sorry. I’m so dreadfully dreadfully sorry. But I’m catching the noon train
to Yorkshire tomorrow and I will never ever be back. This is goodbye. I’m
sorry. I’m so awfully sorry!”
And she pulled free and ran from him
as he rose and called after her. She ran down through the opera house with
tears filling her eyes, knowing that she’d just said good bye to the most
important person she’d ever known – the man she wished she could never leave.
She ran out into the night and hailed
a cab, wailing with sorrow and anguish, wishing that she could be struck dead
there and then rather than feel this utter sense of loss and despair.
5
Burt rammed his cock into the sweaty
minge of yet another girl he’d picked up at the pub with her bending down with
her back to him.
Her dress was up over her back and
his trousers were once again pooled round his ankles. The cool night air
rippled down his bare hairy legs and around his buttocks. He rammed over and
over again as this girl – whose name he couldn’t even remember – gave a little
nasal grunt on each thrust. It was wonderful to do it; wonderful to be consumed
by no other thought; just this animalistic impulse to rut with this slag; to
spill his seed.
“Oooo Burt,” moaned the girl, “you’re
too big. It’s ‘urtin me!”
He grinned in the darkness and pumped
even harder. Her grunt grew louder with each pump.
“Oh yes,” he groaned. “Yes! Yes! Yes!
Yes!”
This was the best. This was the
pinnacle of his life, the most consummate pleasure and passion. Just him and
the girl; his cock and her fanny; nothing else. A brawny man having his wicked
way with a strumpet.
He was so happy. So sure of himself.
So relaxed.
This was his life now and
forevermore. This was who he was. This was what he wanted.
There was a brief shadow over his
heart for a second as he thought about Lady Ann coming home but he pushed it
away by recalling the fantasy of what he could say to her.
“I
don’t want to become a woman no more m’lady. I love bein a man too much.”
“But
Burt,” replied the fantasy Ann, “surely you don’t want to be a servant for the
rest of your life.”
“Yes
I do miss. I do. I likes bein told what to do. It makes me life simple. And I
don’t have enough up ere to do anythin else.” He touched his imaginary
forehead.
“You’re
such a decent and honorable man Burt,” replied the fantasy Ann. “And you look
so handsome and rugged in that body. I’ve never known a more virile man in my
life.”
He
grinned at her.
Then
Ann’s face turned sour suddenly and her tone imperious. “Now run and fetch me
my horse Burt! Go on! Run! Fetch her for me!”
And
dopily; eagerly; her followed her barked orders, rushing into the stables to
bring out Rosebud, loving the way she talked down to him; loving the submissive
way it made him feel.
And then he came; pumping blast after
blast of semen into the rough girl’s hole, crying out in pleasure and gasping
from the intensity of it. He gripped her soft round buttocks tightly, digging
his fingers in and rammed over and over against them, expelling all the spunk
he had to give until he was thoroughly overcome with it.
He paused to catch his breath, then
withdrew sloppily and pulled his trousers up as the girl got back upright and
straightened her skirts, smirking back at him lasciviously.
“What did yer think luv, eh?” he
asked.
“You’re all man Burt,” she replied.
“All man!”
Burt gave her a lopsided grin,
feeling warm and pleasant throughout his body but concentrated at the base of
his skull. He loved to be told that – to revel in his manhood as though it
defined him. Which it did now, surely, more than anything.
He was all man.
“Aye. Well that’s right kind of ye to
say,” he replied. “You ain’t arf bad yerself.”
She tittered and they sat down on the
roots of the tree she’d been leaning against as he did her. She leant against
him and he put his arm round her, enjoying the feeling of being the manly
protector. He felt great through and through: really satisfied; really
contented with his life.
For a minute he thought again about
Lady Ann’s return and actually wished she would hurry up so that he could tell
her he didn’t want to change back – so he could finalise it. He even pondered
about going up the hall and getting the amulet – of throwing it away so it was
all done and he could put it behind him.
“Burt?”
“Aye?”
“Do ye ever think about what you want
to do with your life?”
Burt felt a little uncomfortable.
“What do ye mean?”
“In the future? Long term. I think
about it a lot. I don’t want to be minding other people’s babies all me life. I
want something more. Something fancy. What do you want to be?”
Burt cleared his throat. Then he
cleared it again. That feeling of pinching stress was coming back, closing in
on his peace and happiness; a sense of being trapped; of terrible mistakes that
cannot be undone.
“Well… I reckon…”
What did he think? What were his
choices if he stayed in this body and life that felt so natural to him now?
“I reckon I’ll probably just stay
workin at the ‘all. I ain’t clever enough to do much else but labourin. I ain’t
got no book learnin or nothin.”
“Don’ you ever want something more
than that though?”
He shrugged, not enjoying this
questioning but telling himself it didn’t matter; that he wanted to stay Burt.
He wanted to live Burt’s life.
His life.
“What about old Harry’s job,” she
asked. “Wouldn’t you want to be groundsman eventually?”
“Nah,” he replied. “I’m too thick to
do somethin like that. I ain’t near clever enough to be groundsman. Arry’s much
brainier than I am.”
And as he said it, he knew that it
was true.
Another little shadow came, telling
him that surely this was a mistake; wanting to live for decades more as an
idiot servant; but the agony of panic; the sense of feeling trapped made him
push those feelings away. He couldn’t stand to feel bad about his predicament.
He only wanted to be glad of it.
“Aye,” he said. “I’m far too thick. I
ain’t never gonna be more than a common labourer. Which is alright with me. I’m
appy bein a labourer. I don’t know nothing different.”
He relaxed back against the tree
feeling dopey and comfortable, let his cloudy thoughts pick drowsily from one
aspect of that to the next, enjoying having this girl under his arm; enjoying the
masculine role that felt completely natural to him now.
A life ahead of him as a man; a
strong verile man.
A life as a servant; a labourer; a
stable hand.
No prospects; no potential; no
pressure; no expectations.
Just a simple life following the
instructions of his betters.
A hardworking life.
A happy life.
My
life, he thought.
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