LADY ANN'S DISGRACE: Chapter One - Part One

Lord Howard Neville had always been, to his mind, a fairly perfect specimen of manhood. As the Earl of Griply, a wealthy, titled gentleman, he had possessed all the attributes he could have wished. At fifty seven years of age, this towering well-built man had crafted a life and persona for himself that satisfied every aspiration he had. He was over six feet tall with a proud jutting chin and a stern brow, a thick, silver handlebar moustache and a bald head. With his irascible egocentric character, he dominated every situation he found himself in, perfectly secure in his position and his power, his physicality and, most of all, his masculinity.

But when he opened his eyes from sleep and realised he was still trapped in the cellar of his home, he remembered again how utterly all these qualities had been stripped away.

He wasn’t the lord of the manor anymore. He wasn’t even a man. He was a pitiful wench; a serving girl; the lowly maid-of-all-work. He was still Nellie Barrow.

He raised his skinny arms and hands up where he could see them and moaned. There was almost no light coming from the steep and narrow stair leading up to the house and precious little coming from the tiny windows at the top of the walls at ground level, dirty and obscured as they were by foliage. The arms seemed so weak, so unlike the steely limbs he should have been seeing. The fingers were so tiny.

He felt his body: the thin legs inside the dress (dress!) he had been forced to wear, the round tummy, the oddly shaped breasts. Touching the maid uniform he was trapped in made him want to weep but the idea of that was just as horrifying. He covered his face in his hands and muttered, “Why me? Oh Lor’, why me?”

But even that chilled him further. He could hear the difference in the way he talked now. Even his dialect was being stripped from him. Straight from sleep, without any kind of forethought, his choice of words, the simpering lower class inflexion: they were those of the common maid he had been turned into. Gone were his brash, confident tones and hard well-bred consonants and the weak ignorant sounds stripped him even further of his confidence.

He recalled the terrible events of the previous day: the humiliation of waking up to find himself transformed into the body of one of his own housemaids; being forced to act out the part as though he truly belonged in it despite all his efforts to stand up to the higher servants who were now his “superiors.” And the worst: finally confronting the imposter who had taken his place as the Earl and learning just how complete his doppelganger’s disguise was as he faced the full ire and retribution he would have meted out himself for such impertinence.

He couldn’t believe that this could have happened to him, with still no clue as to how. He couldn’t believe that the fake Earl had been so real. He couldn’t believe the butler, Powell, had made him spend the night down here in the cellar. But more than anything else, he couldn’t believe that he had stayed here, trapped and punished like a snivelling simpleton, even though the door hadn’t been locked. He could have left at any time in the night but he had been too afraid. He had gone on following their terrible ruling out of fear.

Why hadn’t he left in the night? Why hadn’t he gone back to at least his maid’s room in the attic? Why hadn’t he gone up to the first floor and demanded the imposter Earl get out of his bed and give him his life back?

But the answer was obvious.

He was afraid? He wasn’t himself. He wasn’t acting like himself. All that confidence and surety that he could solve any problem for himself had been stripped from him. He wasn’t Lord Howard Neville – not at the moment. He was only Nellie Barrow. And Nellie Barrow couldn’t risk the enmity of the butler, and most certainly not the Earl. Nellie Barrow wouldn’t dare confront anyone, let alone a powerful aristocratic man. Nellie Barrow would be too petrified to go against a direct order to remain in the cellar.

“I’m Nellie Barrow now,” he whimpered forlornly. “I’m Nellie Barrow and there ain’t two ways about it.”

There was a scrape and a rattle from the top of the cellar steps. Howard flinched back into the folds of his maid’s uniform, terribly worried as the door up there opened a crack then pushed open fully. More light spilled down the tatty wooden steps but he couldn’t see who was there. He was terrified it would be the fake Earl but instead the voice of the butler came down, lanced with chill authority.

“Nellie, get yourself up these steps now before I have a mind to lock you down there for good.”

Howard jerked up to his feet and hastened to follow his instructions, rushing up the narrow staircase. Powell stood at the apex glaring down at him and he wilted still further under those merciless eyes.

“Well?” snapped Powell. “What have you got to say for yourself girl?”

Howard stammered. This was the moment when he could stand up for himself; try to explain the truth of this magical exchange or at least attempt to rebuild some of his pride and self confidence. Instead he said, “I’m so sorry Mr Powell. I done wrong. I shouldn’t’a talked to the Earl. I should have done as I was told.”

Powell glared coldly and Howard wilted further.

“I’m so sorry sir. I’m sorry. I should have known my place,” he said, hating himself for saying those things but truly unable to do any different.

“Have you learned your lesson?” asked Powell.

“Yes sir. Certainly. I have,” stammered Howard, eager to please him; to be allowed egress from the cold dankness and be given a chance to remain in Griply Hall long enough to find some way to change back to being himself,

“Then get upstairs and make yourself presentable,” snapped Powell, “and be quick about it. There are chores to be done and the family will be awake soon.”

“Yes sir. Thank you sir,” gushed Howard, rushing past him and heading for the servant’s staircase. “I’m sorry sir. I won’t let you down.”

But inside his throbbing head, Howard knew he had let himself down. He was losing track of everything that made him who he was. If he wasn’t careful he was going to end up living the life of this maid willingly and subserviently.

CLEANER II: Chapter Five - Part Twelve

DAHLIA

I should have told the cook to go and fuck himself. But I didn’t.

I sat in my shabby little cluttered and despoiled hotel room and slowly drank myself into a stupor, waiting for his knock to come. The main light had stopped working a long time previous. Only one light was lit, a lamp that lay on its side on the floor beside the bed. It projected my gargantuan shadow up the wall and ceiling so that it blocked most of the room in blackness.

The feelings folding over and over on top of themselves inside of me were familiar but I couldn’t have named them. It seemed like tears were close by, trying to seep up to my eye ducts, aching to weep down my face as I gaped in horror at what I had done to myself.

I looked in the mirror, my right hand splayed across my face, only one eye visible between my first and second fingers through the pebble lens. With my features covered there wasn’t a jot of my true form visible; not the slightest clue as to who I really was under all this fat.

Who I was...

But who was I now? Surely not Dahlia at all anymore. I didn’t know if I’d truly become Melissa but I surely wasn’t that beauty.

The way the cook had spoken to me. The way I had let him speak.

“Do you want to fuck later?”

I put my hands on my round knees and stared into and through my face, trying to witness the woman inside; understand how she had changed; whether she was as insane as she seemed to be.

“I’m insane,” I murmured. “I have to be to be doing this.”

But doing that scared me; it truly did. Because it was her voice I spoke in... naturally. Maybe it was the greater resonance this mass provided or the pressure on my windpipe from the weight of the fat – I didn’t know – but I sounded exactly like Melissa without even trying. It was my voice now; just as she sounded like me.

“Oh God,” I muttered, setting my forehead against my palms.

I sat up straight and looked at myself again then stood up.

I felt the folds of fat around my middle. I raised one hand up to the opposite shoulder then felt the ripple of flab down the back of it. I pressed both upper arms forward so that it boosted the hanging breasts there out. I gripped my hips, uncomprehending of how far that had bloated. It was like this was a suit of clothes that I could quite literally had slipped my svelte former body inside of. It felt like I could still take it off and go back to being her right now.

Was I as fat as Melissa started at already? Was I the same size as that lumbering heifer of a woman? Surely I was a hair’s breadth from there. Maybe even bigger.

A thump clattered against the door to my room and I yelped.

I knew who it was but I didn’t call out or go to answer it. Not right away.

Then I did. I shambled over and opened up.

The corridor was clear. No not clear. Another thump came from the far end and I saw the door rock closed that led to the upper floor, where the cook’s room was.

He couldn’t even be bothered to wait. I meant so little to him.

I looked back into my dismal room.

The summer season was almost over. This had never been meant to go on as long as it had. Surely it had to end at some point; in some way. I couldn’t go on like this forever and even “Dahlia’s” bank account couldn’t sustain her hotel bill indefinitely.

I slid my hands up under my glasses and rubbed my eyes.

I knew I had to end this. I knew I had to. I should ring Melissa now. I should go there; demand she begin the process of changing back.

My fat body was thick and warm around me. It felt heavy but it also felt... safe.

I craved a relief from it but I also couldn’t bear the idea of that. I didn’t want this to end until... well... until it had to. Until I had truly become her. When I finally achieved the exact same shape that she had had. When I was as fat as her.

The cook would be waiting. The longer he waited, the more irritated her would be; the worse he would treat me. I should scurry up there immediately; try and placate him. He was going to be stinking drunk and he could get very nasty when he was like that.

But I also knew I shouldn’t go up there. I shouldn’t debase myself like this. I was worth more than any of the people in this rattrap fleapit.

I had to go to Melissa now and demand we swap back.

But. Instead. I picked up my key and closed the door of my room with me outside. I started walking toward the foot of the cook’s stairs; not quickly – I liked it when he got angry – I liked the way it made me feel when he pinched my wrists and pinned me against the wall; when he hissed at me and told me how worthless I was. I didn’t want to hurry. I wanted him to treat me like that.

There was time to swap back. There was plenty of time. And I did want this to go on. Just to the end of the summer; another week or so. When I had finally become an identical twin to Melissa then finally we would call it a day.

Then, and only then, would we begin the long process of regaining our true shapes.

I reached the foot of the stairs and hesitated, smiling to myself. In my nether regions I was getting wet and hot. I was thinking about what the cook said to me before he went out, about how much fatter and uglier I was now, even than the bloated sow I used to be when we got together – about how much my cleaning work made me stink.

I hesitated a while long, letting that feeling build, then I made my way up and knocked on his door.

LADY ANN'S DISGRACE: The Story So Far

Well as you can see, I'm determined to get back to my three day regular postings and that means the new Lady Ann novel will be starting again (sorry for the delay there).

Before we jump in, here's a bit of an overview of what has gone on before. Hopefully it will remind long term readers about what they've read and give new readers a chance to jump on.

Lady Ann's Holiday is still available on Amazon and Lady Ann's Folly will be released as soon as I can edit and expand it.

Enjoy...

What has Gone on Before

Being the story in brief that is more intricately told in the novels Lady Ann’s Holiday and Lady Ann’s Folly.

Lady Ann’s Holiday

In the spring of 1908, in the Yorkshire village of Griply, Lady Ann Neville, eldest daughter of the Earl, Lord Howard Neville and his wife Elizabeth, found herself being forced to visit London to be paired up with yet another unsuitable suitor. Ann didn’t want to go but as fortune would have it, she obtained the means to avoid the trip when she happened upon a pendant with the mystical power to switch two people’s bodies.

Ann made the dubious decision to trade places with Burt Harper, the dim-witted stable hand who tended her horse. Burt was sent off to London in her place feeling very bewildered and Ann remained in Yorkshire with a note giving her two weeks holiday from Burt’s job and plenty of money to spend.

Burt had long been in love with Ann from afar and he willingly went on with the charade, doing his best to fit in and pretend to be the real Ann. This came easier than he had expected as the pendant continued to work its magic long after the swap. Burt took on more and more of Ann’s ways and mode of speech until there was little to distinguish him from the original lady. He, or rather she, even started thinking of herself as Ann.

Meanwhile in the country, Ann found herself in the opposite position. The more that time passed, the more she found herself acting like a Yorkshire clod. Her accent became base and lowborn and even her intelligence and education slipped away. Soon she had lost all her refinement, carousing with the other peasants and frittering her money away. Her self-image began to shift as well until she, or rather he, saw himself as a lower class oike and identified fully as being Burt.

The new Ann in London met the man the original Ann had been intended for, but rather than pushing him away, this new Ann found herself falling in love. When the original planned two weeks were up, the new Ann decided to extend her stay in the capital so that she could pursue this new courtship, despite feeling guilty about trapping the former Ann in her place.

And in Yorkshire, the new Burt really was trapped. He was forced to work as a stable hand, shovelling dung and grooming the horses as well as numerous other pitiful labouring tasks. Worse, his personality continued to shift and he became fawning and obsequious to his betters, rushing round eager to please them. He even started taking on memories of his new life and, in desperation at his predicament, even started fantasising that he might remain that way – such was the hopelessness of his position.

In desperation, Burt made a gambit to retrieve the pendant from Ann’s bedroom, but was caught in the act by Hattie, Ann’s sister. Exposed, Burt was dragged down to the village square by the Earl and flogged then thrown in gaol. He was put on trial and put at risk of many years imprisonment.

In London, the new Ann’s courtship ended with a proposal of marriage and Ann eagerly accepted. Lord Richard Hurley, her suitor, seemed the ideal husband, but almost immediately he showed signs of being cold and distant now that he had obtained her promise.

Burt’s trial began with dire portents of Burt’s future, but at the last minute, the Earl decided to have him released on advice, via telephone, from the new Ann who was soon to return home. This required a substantial bribe to the magistrate, but though Howard Neville achieved his goal and Burt’s release, it got him in trouble.

Chastised by a local MP and very embarrassed, Howard laid the blame at Hattie’s door, chastising her severely. She, after all, was the one who had accused Burt in the first place. Howard made his daughter’s life miserable, leaving her fuming and wishing she could get back at him.

With Burt released, he gratefully accepted the return to his life as a servant. Even that was better than prison. When Ann returned finally it was in doubt whether he would even accept a return to his former life. Both Ann and Burt deliberated over whether to swap back. Ann had grown accustomed to being a titled lady and Burt was so obsequious now he was willing to do anything to ingratiate himself with his beautiful mistress.

In the end, after some conflict in which Burt professed his love for her, Burt and Ann reached an accord. The former Ann would remain a man and a commoner, ill-educated and dim, while the former Burt would hold onto the life of a cultured lady.

But Ann had been exposed to more of Richard’s coldness and she missed the promiscuity of her old life. As Lady Ann’s Holiday came to a close she was left questioning her decision and fantasising about a different switch – not to become Burt again, but to swap places with Mavis, Burt busty, bar-wench girlfriend. She didn’t want to stay that way forever but she longed to have her wicked way with the virile man and she had inherited the original Ann’s rather reckless behaviour.

Lady Ann’s Folly

With her reckless plan in mind, Lady Ann invited Mavis up to Griply Hall’s nearby holiday cottage. There, she persuaded the girl to a secret short-term trade. Ann became Mavis and spent a lovely couple of hours getting her pleasure from Burt who remained unaware of this new swap.

Things didn’t continue to go as smoothly though because Ann’s mischievous sister, Hattie, discovered Mavis in the holiday cottage and found out the truth. She allowed Mavis to take her sister’s place in the manor and when Ann returned she found herself trapped in the body of a common serving girl.

Richard planned to take his fiancée with him to Nockton Vale to meet his mother and, eager to make the most of her opportunity, Mavis pushed for a rapid departure. Ann tried to prevent the body thief from leaving on the train but was unable to. Mavis escaped in Lady Ann’s body, leaving the former Ann in hers and forced to take on the life of a humble barmaid.

The new Ann and former Mavis arrived in Nockton Vale in the East Midlands and set out to secure her new position, but Lillian, her future mother-in-law seems even colder than her son and more conniving. It seems that Mavis may have a challenge ahead of her if she wants to maintain any kind of power in her potential marriage to Lord Hurley.

Hattie had meanwhile taken possession of the magical pendant and she had plans of her own to take revenge on her parents. The Earl had blamed her for the debacle surrounding Burt’s trial and her mother had supported him. Hattie’s uncle’s family were visiting and they had just employed a new maid named Nellie. These events presented her with some ideas.

Hattie hatched a complicated plan and then set herself the task of carrying it out. By the time she was finished, her father, Howard, was trapped in the body of the new maid, Nellie. Elizabeth, his wife, was stuck as a four year old boy called Reggie, her nephew and son of the domineering Uncle Patrick. Nellie was temporarily using Hattie’s own body and Hattie had taken the place of her father.

Now a pitiful maid, Howard was forced to do his new duties. Hattie had made the body swap while he slept so he had no idea how it had happened. This left him questioning reality and wondering if he had really been a man before, especially as his voice and character started to become more like a servile wench. When he tried to challenge the new Earl, really his daughter in disguise, he was chastised severely and locked in the cellar.

Hattie’s plan had also made her mother be none the wiser to her true identity. Now stuck as a four year old boy, Elizabeth found herself being spanked whenever she tried to explain what had happened to her new parents. Like her former husband, she was forced to keep her head down and pretend that she really was Reggie, just to avoid being punished again!

While that was going on, Reggie had assumed her former place as lady of the manor, but his immaturity posed Hattie a problem and risked exposing her plan to everyone. To resolve this, Hattie made him write a hundred times that he was really the Countess and should behave appropriately. This caused the acceleration of the mental changes and helped him quickly assume many of the manure feminine qualities of the true Elizabeth.

Meanwhile in the stables, Burt was questioning his decision to remain a servant but he decided he had to make the best of it and his entire happiness hinged on his future with Mavis. He begins planning a wedding proposal but when conflict comes between them it makes him question even more the decision he has made in remaining a man.

At the centre of this ever more complicated tangle stands Hattie. She has achieved all her goals but in order to do that she has been forced to take on the identity of her father, the Lord Howard Neville, a man in his late fifties with a bald head and a thick silver moustache. She saw it only as a means to an end but in fact she has come to enjoy the sense of authority she has gained. Being a man is strange but becoming her father has allowed her to start seeing things as he would. The true Earl was a domineering misogynist and with the pendant’s mental changes ticking on, Hattie is seeing life more and more as he would, accepting the inferiority of women and seeing men as the more important sex. She still plans to change back into her own body in twenty four hours but it remains to be seen how much another full day as her father will affect her state of mind. Maybe she will take on his personality a little too much...

But that isn’t the development that threatens to change the course of this tale for everyone. It is the lowly Nellie, now in the body of Lady Hattie, who may prove to be a catalyst to new and shocking developments, for she seems determined to keep her new social position as a titled lady, and she knows where the pendant is hidden!

CLEANER II: Chapter Five - Part Eleven

MELISSA

The call to Tommy didn’t go through immediately. There was an extended delay of silence as my phone reached out across the curvature of the world and tried to find his.

I stood. I walked toward the balcony. The double doors were open. I could see sky and a sliver of horizon. I turned my back on it. The phone started to ring. I changed hands from one to the other. I sat down.

It rang on and on. Tommy didn’t pick up. Physical tension crept into my shoulders and down my arms. I changed hands on the phone again.

He picked up.

“Dahlia? Is that you?”

I held my breath. My lips opened and my tongue rolled forward ready. I said nothing.

“Dahlia? Hello? You there?”

I made a funnel with my lips. I couldn’t make myself reply. There wasn’t a chance he would believe I was her. This was all about to come crashing down around me. He would expose me for a fraud and both he and Katherine would charge over here to denounce my manipulations. They would find Dahlia and do everything they could to destroy me. They would convince her to sue me for ruining her life; for trying to steal it. I would be ruined. I’d end up just as fat as I ever was, penniless and alone; without even Robert to look after me. I would end up far worse than I had ever started.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s me.”

“Jesus,” said Tommy. “Thank God you’ve called at last, We’ve been worried as fuck. It was like you dropped off the face of the world. Where have you been?”

“I’ve been—” I stopped. My voice wasn’t like hers in the least. It was my old voice – my real voice. I cleared my throat. “I’ve er...” I cleared it again.

“Are you okay?” He paused and said the next words tentatively. “You don’t sound yourself.”

I swallowed, my throat tightening and drying. I had to end the call. This wasn’t going to work. I was going to ruin everything.

“Dahlia? You there?”

I closed my eyes. I had to get a hold of myself. I tried to reason with my chaotic mind; to draw it under control.

Breathe, I told myself. Breathe.

“Dahlia?”

“I’m here,” I said. “Sorry.”

The voice was perfect now; as good as I’d ever managed to do it. I sounded exactly like her. I smiled, a new confidence settling over me.

“I was just distracted for a minute. I’m fine now.”

“Where are you?” asked Tommy. “Katherine’s been trying to find you. She’s worried sick. What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine Tommy,” I replied. “I’m much better now. I’m sorry I haven’t been in contact. I... needed some time to myself, to get my head straight. Everything just... got on top of me. That’s all. My... uh... My brother’s death. The pressure of going back to work. You know.”

Tommy went silent.

“I’m in Greece at the moment.”

“Greece? Where are you staying? I know Katherine will want to get in touch.”

“I’m... not quite ready for that yet,” I said.

“Oh, uh, okay.” Tommy was uncertain; treading lightly. He was aware of how screwed up the real Dahlia had been when she left the country and he had to have concluded how uncharacteristic it was for her to break all contact for several months with those closest to her. He must have been treading very carefully. “No problem. I understand. Do you want me to keep it quiet that you got in touch?”

I considered this. “Yes. For now. Is that okay?”

“Sure. No problem.”

He had accepted I was really her. There was no doubt. I got another swell of confidence that this crazy scheme really could succeed, even face to face.

“Will you be coming back to England sometime soon?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “It won’t be too long now. But not quite yet. I’m... Before I come back I’m getting a little work done... to my face.”

“What? You don’t need that. You’re beautiful as you are.”

“That’s nice of you to say Tommy, but it’s all booked in. I’m doing it. And that’s why I was calling.”

“Uh, what did you gave in mind?”

“I know I let you down before about my... my comeback... but there were things going on at the time, what with my brother’s—”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s all just water under the bridge. Seriously. Forget about it. It wasn’t a problem.”

I knew he was being kind; that it had been a problem; Dahlia had told me enough about her life for me to understand that.

“I want to thank you for everything you did,” I said, “and I want to ask you a big favour.”

“Anything sweetheart.”

“I want you to set it up again. I want you to organise another comeback for me.”

He hesitated. “Dahlia... sweetie... Are you sure you’re ready for that? After the last time?”

“I’m sure,” I said. “I’ve had a lot of time to get my head straight and think about what I want.”

I pictured the real Dahlia on a magazine cover looking like a beautiful princess. I pictured her walking the catwalk and acting on the big screen.

“I assure you Tommy. I want that life more than anything you can possibly imagine, and I’m willing to do anything to get it. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Don't worry. I will return!

Hi guys,

Sorry that I haven't been able to post the next episodes for a while. I have the best of intentions but my head isn't quite in the right place as yet.

I'm getting away for a break for a little while and will return with as much flair as I can muster when the time comes.

If you'd like something to read in the meantime, click on the link above and download one of my books for free. I hope you enjoy it.

Back soon...


Emma 

CLEANER II: Chapter Five - Part Ten

Well at long last, allow me to present the next episode of Cleaner! 

My convalescence is going well and I was able to find the strength and focus to get on with this today. I'm hoping to proceed with more episodes in the near future and start Lady Ann up again too. 

It probably won't be quite as often as it was before my surgery - not for now - but I am going to do my best to keep releasing episodes semi-regularly. 

I hope you enjoy them... 

MELISSA

Over the past months, when I might otherwise have been eating excessively, I had found something else to feed on: fantasies. Fantasies about how I might really come to look like Dahlia; how I might even become enough like her to fool people back in England. I had engorged myself on these fantasies in spare moments, as I lay in bed or by the pool, as I did my training; to light myself up as one of my many men pumped and grunted on top of me, caring more for his own pleasure than mine.

Since the very beginning, standing on the side of the road in that terrible storm, just before we left the UK, when I had come inches away from ending my life, I had treasured the daydream that we could really change places. Now I had accepted that there was some true possibility there, all the ideas I’d had were flooding my mind. Surely I had worked out every little detail by now. Surely I knew exactly how I was going to do it.

And I had been working toward this from the very beginning, hadn’t I? Since we first arrived in Greece.

I had taken photographs of our faces at that starting point, from every angle. As I did it I had known exactly why I was doing it, even as I lied to poor, stupid Dahlia.

I took out those photos now and sat on the edge of my bed, my lips cured up at the edges, flicking them one after another onto the cover beside me so that they were all on display. It was so delightful seeing my old face. It was so bloated! I could scarce believe that it used to be me – I was so used to being slim now. I was disgustingly fat. But that wasn’t the best thing. The best thing was that when I first took out the pictures and saw my old face, my first reaction had been to think that it wasn’t even me – that it was her as she was now! Oh, how I had laughed at that!

As for her old face... the beautiful face she used to have... I looked at it then at myself in the mirror, over and over again, chin rising and falling. I hadn’t been imagining what I saw in the dance studio. We really did look alike now. It was uncanny. Not the same; not identical – of course not – but close enough to be cousins; maybe even sisters.

And close enough for the reason I had taken these photos to maybe work.

Surgery.

It wasn’t a magical transformation – I wished that it could be – but I had been doing research for some time now; watching videos online and reading loads of firsthand accounts. The advances they had made in just the last couple of years were remarkable. They really could perform miracles.

I closed my hands, the last photo resting on my knee.

Although the greater part of me was crazily excited about the prospect of that, another part of me was terrified.

But any pain, any risk, was worth it to steal this life.

I wasn’t an idiot. I knew it wasn’t guaranteed that I would look exactly as she had, but I had a plan to cover that and frankly, if it worked, it worked. If it didn’t then I would still end up a beautiful slim woman. I would have lost nothing.

And maybe gained everything.

I went to the computer and started setting it up. I made contact with the surgery in Bangkok that seemed like the best place to do it, all things considered. I looked up flights and checked prices for first class seats and scummy seats. I found a couple of hotels near the clinic for our convalescence.

I set the wheels in motion.

I was thinking about an A-list Hollywood star I knew who had had surgery to keep herself looking young and how afterwards she hadn’t looked quite the same. I was always seeing celebrities on the front of magazines who I didn’t recognise at all, who had changed their looks and updated their style.

And this was why I needed to talk to Dahlia’s agent, Tommy.

It would be him that would start the rumours of “my” facial surgery. He would get the story out there in the gossip rags so that when I appeared in the limelight, people would already be expecting a difference. All I needed to do was get as close as I could to the original Dahlia’s face. The willing suspension of disbelief would... hopefully... do the rest.

The idea of calling Tommy filled me with fear, but I could do this. I could do anything.

And it was thanks to the other preparation I had undergone that my confidence was at least reasonably high.

The recordings.

For the entire duration of our trade, Dahlia and I had spent long sessions recounting the details of our original lives to one another, and even longer listening back to them; learning the details of our new personas. I knew her history and relationships as well as she did now; surely enough to pass if I was careful.

I could do it.

And if it all went wrong then I could end the call. He would remain none the wiser.

I shut the computer down and went to the mirror.

“You’re Dahlia Western,” I said to myself. “You’re invincible. You’re beautiful. You are going to steal that stupid bitch’s life and there’s nothing she can do to stop you.”

I grinned at myself and took a deep breath.

Then I reached for my phone and called up Tommy’s number.

Out Now! WISHING WELL!

Well I'm out of hospital now but still convalescing. However until I'm well enough to write, here's something else to keep you occupied...

My latest book, finished before I got ill, has been available on Amazon and Smashwords for a while now...

What Does it Say on the Back of the Book? 

Lionel's life is going nowhere. His job is a joke. His boss bullies him. He has little or no prospects. His girlfriend, Jenny is the only thing going for him and he's in danger of messing that up. Nothing he does ever seems to work out.

That is until the day that Lionel makes a wish at a well by the river during his lunch break that he could become a senior manager at work. He doesn't for a minute believe it will come true but it does, in a totally unexpected way. Lionel becomes a manager; a middle-aged, female manager.

Suddenly he’s getting all the respect and remuneration he could want – he’s even able to get revenge on his boss – but he’s not sure he wants to stay this way... not sure at all! Being a woman isn’t as bad as he thought it would be but it isn’t what he imagined his life would be like. Still, it seems like maybe he shouldn’t make too hasty a decision to go back to the awful life he had.

That is until he finds out that his girlfriend Jenny has been affected by the wish too: changing her into an entirely different person... and she’s not very happy about it!

What follows is a tornado of transformation as both Lionel and Jenny try to wish themselves to happiness, but as the effects of their wishes become ever more extreme, it starts to look like the one thing that will definitely be lost forever is their love for one another.

How Much Does it Cost? 

The book is available for the princely sum of $2.99 or about £1.99

Where Can You Get It? 

Wishing Well is available at the following places as an ebook. I'll produce a hardcopy one at some point but don't hold your breath.

For the Kindle Version: 

Amazon.com 

Amazon.co.uk 

For pretty much any kind of electronic format: 

Smashwords 

The Ongoing Adventures of Emma Finn

Well I'm very sorry that I haven't been posting for a while and I'm afraid it's going to be a while longer before I'm back regularly. 

I had an unexpected transformation of my own from a healthy person to a sick person, having to go into hospital for emergency surgery. I'm still there now but I'm starting to feel a whole lot better. It isn't too distant: the time when I can post again. 

Any major surgery can be dicey on survivability so with death staring me in the face I took steps to ensure that if something does happen to me then you guys won't be left hanging. Instructions have been left so that you'll get to read at least the outlines for Cleaner and Lady Ann if I do pop my clogs. Though it's looking like I'll be fine... for now at least. 

Still... not something we have to worry about anymore. 

Now... I've had a lot of time to think and it's made me question some of my writing goals. I may make a few changes in future but nothing too drastic as far as you're concerned. 

I still plan to go on with Cleaner and Lady Ann. I'll get back onto them as soon as I can. Might be another week. 

Mainly I think I'd like to give a bit more time to my non-transformation novels rather than just producing transfo-ones. There are several good ones I'm partly through and I'd love to do a Lynch Heinouson sequel. 

That doesn't mean I won't go on releasing more transformation books. I might just do it every other book or so. We'll see. 

Thank you so much for all the support you've given over the years and lately. As you may have heard me say, my writing, and the feedback I get back from you guys is one of the best things in my life and one of the only things that only ever makes me happy. 

Sorry!

Sorry I'm not posting at the moment. I'm very ill.

Hopefully I'll get back to posting soon. 

Coming Soon: Wishing Well!

Some of you may be excited to learn that on Wednesday 14th October a new transformation novel will be available called Wishing Well!

This is an expanded version of the serialised story that's been running in A New You. It takes the episodes released so far and draws them to a conclusion and every chapter has also been expanded with a new scene to add greater depth to the narrative.

If you haven't been following it in A New You then this is your chance to read the entire story as a novel. If you have and you liked it then now you can find out what happens at the end a bit early and also get more... juicy scenes.

Wishing Well is all about a couple named Lionel and Jenny whose life isn't really going anywhere. When Lionel makes a throwaway wish at a well he suddenly finds himself transformed into a woman.

This is very much only the beginning as the impact of this wish is felt by him and Jenny. As wish after wish is made, the couple's lives are changed over and over again until it is very much put into question whether they will ever get back to being themselves. Or ever find happiness.

The book comes out on October 14th but is available now for pre-order on Amazon and Smashwords! 

CLEANER II: Chapter Five - Part Nine

DAHLIA

It was the end of another long day: up at the crack of dawn to clean outside the hotel around the pool, then helping with breakfast, more cleaning (stripping beds and doing bedrooms), a break for a few hours in which I went to the local shop for supplies then sat in my room with the curtains drawn shoving junk food in my mouth, more cleaning, then helping with dinner.

When it got time for me to eat I binged even more than normal, piling the food that little bit higher on each plate; going back for one entire plateful over and above what I normally did. It was a wonder I could pack it in there but I was somehow able to. It made me think about the scratching I had had when I was in my old life. Back then I would have felt bloated after half of one plate. Nowadays I was having four; eight times further on than I would have said stop in the old days.

I didn’t play poker with Maxine and the girls. The cook finished in the kitchen earlier than normal. I saw him headed out and followed after him. I caught up with him on the stairs up toward his room.

“Vasilis!”

He turned back but the look on his face wasn’t a happy one. He looked put out.

I gave a shy, needy smile. “Where are you off to? Are you having an early night?”

“Er... I, uh... I’m busy tonight. Out for drinks with friends.”

“Oh.” I smiled. “Can I come?”

He looked pained. “It’s just men.” He continued up the stairs. I walked after him.

“Are you going out right away?”

“Not... In a while. In half an hour.”

“Oh. I might come up then and hang out with you while you get ready.” He was moving quickly in his lithe slim body. I struggled to keep the same distance between us in my bloated, sagging one. He reached the first landing and hurried down the corridor to the back stairs. He was pulling away. “Hang on,” I said, giving a nervous chuckle. “I can’t keep up.”

He stopped and gave off a sigh. I waddled up behind him. The skin around his eyes and mouth was taut. Had anyone ever looked at me like that in my former life? No men surely. Men had been fawning or lustful, kind or generous, charmed by my looks and my personality.

“What is it?” he said. “I told you I’m busy.”

“I just... wanted to spend some time with you while you were getting ready to go out,” I said.

“Why?”

“Uh... What?”

“Why do you want to come up? I don’t have time for sex. I’m going out.”

“To... talk? I was feeling... I’m a bit lonely. Are you sure I can’t come out drinking with you?”

The tightened skin around his eyes spread onto his cheeks in ribbons of white. “I want time away. That is the whole point. I don’t want you there. It’s embarrassing.”

“What?”

“Pfah.” He walked away.

“Wait,” I said. “Embarrassing how?”

He stopped, scratched his forehead, didn’t turn.

“Vasilis. What is it?”

He showed me his face. “I like... big women. That’s why I like you. But you’re too big now. Too fat. Look at you. You’re gross. My friends think I’m an idiot being with you.”

“What?”

He walked away then paused. “If you want to fuck later then you can come up when I get back. I’ll knock on your door.” He looked pissed off like I’d just done him down somehow. “Do you want that?”

The offer was made like he was doing me a favour.

I thought of all the men who had pursued me in my life as a beautiful model: hundreds of handsome guys willing to do anything to earn my favour. There was no pursuit here. Even his initial interest had been lackadaisical. If anything I was the pursuer and looking at his gaunt, sunken face, bony body and protuberant eyes, his greasy skin, I saw reflected my own level of attractiveness. But it wasn’t just looks; it was all about self-image and confidence. Out of the two of us, he had assumed the dominant role. I was the one desperate for the connection. He could take it or leave it.

“Well” he asked. “Do you want to fuck later?”

My mouth quivered. I looked at his dirty shoes. Still looking at them, I nodded.

“Fine,” he said offishly, again as though he were granting a boon. “If I feel like it I’ll give your door a kick on my way past. You can follow me up.”

“Uh, okay.”

“But do something about your appearance first for God’s sake. You get fatter and uglier each time I see you. And cleaning makes you smell.”

He turned away again and this time he didn’t look back.

I stood there in the corridor, trying to understand what had just happened for well over ten minutes. All I could think about was the man I’d spied flirting with Melissa next to the pool; how into her he had been.

Surely I had almost achieved my goal in full now. I was no longer treated like the woman I used to be in any way.

The Future of Lady Ann

I have decided to change the way I produce the on-going adventures of Lady Ann and her family. This will be excellent news for some and may perplex others. As far as I’m concerned it will improve the story overall and point me in a better direction to produce the entire epic in a more structured and cunning way.

Lady Ann’s Folly

The book I’ve recently been releasing as an online serial was set to be about 900 pages long and though it’s going well, it has proved somewhat unwieldy. As a result I’ve decided to break it down into more manageable chunks. The first chunk is now complete.

At some point in the future I’ll be releasing this as a book but will be making some pretty big changes to it before then to make it stand on its own two feet. I’ll be tightening up the storylines, building to a proper climax, giving each character a more organised story arc and filling in gaps where characters haven’t been given the page-time they deserved. You may have noticed that Burt and the now adult Reggie have barely had a look-in and the new maid Nellie could have done more. Every character’s story arcs will be improved.

So Lady Ann’s Folly is now over. I’ll be starting a new Lady Ann book (the sequel) in six days. This will carry the story seamlessly on as we find out what happens next for everyone involved. The goal here is to craft much better tales that hang together properly and keep every principle character in focus for more of the time.

The new book will have a new name (that I haven’t decided on yet) and will hurl the characters into new challenges as they struggle with their new lives.

Lady Ann’s Holiday

In the fullness of time I also intend to go back to Lady Ann’s Holiday and expand it further (I know, I’m mad!). I just love that story and have always felt there wasn’t enough detail, even though it’s really long already.

As I expand it I’ll be breaking Lady Ann’s Holiday up into a series of smaller books. Each book will weigh in at about 250 pages so overall there will be a lot more to it. Eventually there will be a very long series of books. I have 11 planned at the moment but you never know, it may just go on forever!

Or until my untimely death.

CLEANER II: Chapter Five - Part Eight

MELISSA

All my life I had been a huge lumbering heifer.

Any kind of grace or agility had been out of the question. When it came to sports at school, my only drive had been in how to circumnavigate it. I never really took part, even if I was “taking part.” I walked during cross-country. I stood sullenly with my arms folded during netball. I claimed cramps as often as my idiot male PE teacher was gullible enough to believe it.

I didn’t play outside as a child; I stayed in. I wasn’t a popular little girl. Children didn’t call for me and I didn’t call for them. If I had they would have laughed in my face. I didn’t do exercise of any kind.

As a result I was round and chubby. I sweated and panted when climbing stairs. My muscles were only strong enough to carry off the waddling gait that trundled my massive bulk from place to place.

All summer I had been in training and I was a new person now. My fat was (on the whole) a thing of the past. My muscles were honed and toned. They had needed to build up quickly so that I could manage to train with all that extra weight to carry that I started out with.

But even though I had done so well; transformed myself as surely as if I’d had a magical pendant to do the job, I was still scared to death when I turned up at the ballet class.

It wasn’t something that was available on the resort; I had travelled into town to do it. There was a dance academy that ran sessions for locals and tourists. I found it online and signed up.

When I got there I didn’t want to go in. I just had so much conditioning against this sort of thing. Everybody knew Melissa Chapman couldn’t do something like this.

But then... I wasn’t Melissa Chapman anymore. I was Dahlia Western.

Melissa Chapman was an obese, four-eyed cleaning woman who twenty four hours earlier had been pathetic enough to spy on me while I chatted up the bloke by the pool.

I could do this. I could do anything.

I showed myself in the door. A Greek lady ran the class with a fat man pressing play and stop on the music. She was an ageing beauty; very exuberant and welcoming. I started to feel better.

The group seemed to be a mixture of different levels of talent. While I got ready I kept an eye on what was going on and felt a bit better about being there. I wasn’t going to be the only duffer in the class.

I recalled Dahlia spying on me from the day before and grinned to myself. I had been a fantasy of mine and to see it play out almost exactly had been wonderful. That she had sunk so low that she would consider doing that: spying on me with a man! And to think that she really thought she was hidden, trying to hide that bloated body of hers behind plants. I laughed out loud to think of it but the dancers noticed so I covered it up. I didn’t want them to think I was laughing at them.

How wonderful it had been to show off my newfound confidence and charisma, knowing she was watching and judging herself against it! I had wondered if it had been a risk; pushing her to the point where she would call it off; but I was almost at the point now where I honestly didn’t feel that that would happen. Surely she had been pushed by me or herself beyond the point where anything would stop her bizarre and self-destructive spiral into corpulent obscurity and servile poverty.

Ah me, oh my, but I felt happy.

I finished getting ready and joined the class. It was a little difficult getting into it at first – my body still wasn’t used to being graceful, despite the lessons I’d been having – but it didn’t take long. I had never felt this way in my life: that anything was within reach and possible. I think my confidence was leaving the atmosphere and shooting up into space it was so high.

The teacher was kind and good at explaining things and as the lesson went on I started to realise something. I wasn’t the worst in the class or the second worst. Of the beginners, I wasn’t close to bottom. My modelling lessons and the strength I had built in my arms and legs actually gave me an advantage. And that confidence. I was starting to realise that things like this were ninety percent self-belief. It was the tense muscles and trepidation of a defeatist attitude that made most folks stumble. Those things weren’t a problem for me.

One wall of the room was made up of tall wall mirrors separated by carved and varnished wooden strips. I watched myself through the glass, smiling. I looked so fabulous; so elegant. And... beautiful. Could that really be?

But it seemed to be so to my eye. And surely I had managed to bed so many men now. It must have been true.

Seeing myself in such broad mirrors for so long; seeing myself move so gracefully; it did something in my mind; clicked a switch from off to on that ignited a flashing sign in my head, telling me that maybe I had never been ugly. Maybe I’d just drowned under the rivers of fat. Maybe beneath all that I had angular cheekbones and dimples like Dahlia’s and pretty eyes. With the makeup and hair I did look like a model.

And I realised something else.

Up until now I had fantasised about really taking Dahlia’s place; going back to world like that; really being her back in England in front of everybody. I had never really believed it was possible.

Things were different now. Looking at myself like this I was starting to believe. I was seeing the similarities in our facial structure and figures: mine and the Dahlia that had been unblemished by flab. I could almost believe – no I could actually believe – that it could really happen; that maybe I could actually pull it off.

I preened, radiant.

I had got up this morning looking forward to another day of smug luxury. I hadn’t realised how crucial this day would be.

I stopped dancing and just looked at myself.

It was possible. I was a beautiful woman. My body was amazing. My features really weren’t so different from hers.

I could do this. I could become Dahlia. For real.

And now I knew that I was ready to do it.

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Twelve - Part Sixteen

Ann spent the evening tending the bar again at the Dog & Pony.

It was a depressing and humiliating experience that only improved when Burt turned up but even that was awful because that highpoint was still depressingly low. Burt was the person she used to be. He was the person she hadn’t wanted to lower herself to being again. Now she was at his level or maybe even lower. She was only a woman. And she couldn’t talk to him anyway. She was far too busy for that. He sat with Jeb near the back wall, drinking quietly.

She went back and forth with pints of ale. She tended the bar and cleaned up messes. She fetched things from the cellar for her new father. The hours of labour wore her down, but not as much as hearing her clodhopper accent when she spoke. It still wasn’t entirely settled in but it was much further along than it had been when she turned into Ann in the first place. She couldn’t understand why that would be.

Some Blacklake miners were gathered round a table near the door. They were raucously drunk and quite unpleasant. Ann had done her best to avoid them so far, minimising her contact but they called out to her now. “Ere Mavis! Get over here! We’re runnin out’ve beer!”

Ann made eye contact with Burt. He was watching her over the top of his glass and he seemed as tense as she did.

She made her way over and took their order, trying to ignore the lascivious stares and chuckles. There were four of them. One of them was a beefy, nasty looking foreman with a ragged scar crossing his milky left eye and running down to the edge of his mouth. He kept staring at her, grinning widely like he knew he could have her if he wanted to; that maybe he intended to. Ann didn’t look at him. She went back to the bar and started pouring the drinks, aware of how she was living Mavis’s life now as though it were her own, without any choice in the matter.

In his corner, Burt watched the miners nudge one another with their elbows, laughing and building in confidence. He didn’t like the way they were acting. He set his drink down, ignoring Jeb’s chatter across from him.

Ann filled up all four drinks and took them back across, struggling to carry them all with the jostling she got on the way over.

“You’re a mighty pretty little thing darling,” said the foreman. “You shouldn’t be workin in no bar. You should be back at my place cleanin me out every night.”

The other three men laughed riotously.

Ann gave a curt smile and tried to ignore him, starting to set the drinks down.

“Let’s ave a look at what you got under there, eh?” said the foreman, reaching for her skirts.

“Stop it!” snapped Ann, pulling away.

“Don’t be shy sweetheart,” said the foreman. “I won’t do nothin you won’t like.” He whipped up her skirts even higher, his mates laughing. “Why don’t you take a seat on my lap and I’ll show ye why it takes a miner to be a real man.”

“Hey!” cried Ann, wrenching away and upsetting their table in the process. The beers flew up, spilling over all of them and the foreman roared in anger.

“What do ye think you’re doin ye stupid tart!?” He went to snatch at her wrist and Ann yelped, pulling back, but suddenly Burt was there, his hand on the foreman’s arm.

The foreman squared off against him. Both men were as tall as one another but the foreman was broader.

“I’ll thank ye to keep yer hands off er,” said Burt, “if it ain’t too much trouble.”

The foreman glared at him as Ann shrank back, but the moment was broken when the landlord emerged from the back and bellowed, “Mavis! Get over ere now!”

Ann looked his way then back at Burt.

The mine foreman stepped back, extricating himself. Burt looked guiltily at the landlord and stepped away too.

“Mavis! Ere! Now!”

Ann’s shoulders slumped and she walked toward the bar. The pub was silent. Everyone was watching her.

“What do ye think ye’re doin, ye clumsy great heifer?” said her new father. “Eh? What do ye think ye’re doin breakin our glasses? You think we’ve got money to chuck away?”

“But they were messing with me,” she said, gesturing back toward the miners.

“I don’t care what they was doin! Glasses got broke. That’s your responsibility! You should know better!”

“But it wasn’t my fault,” she said, tears coming to her eyes.

The landlord grabbed her by the back of the neck, pulling her closer. “Of course it was! One of the reasons I keep you around is cause you get the blokes in. You should manage em better! That’s all y’er good for!”  

Ann glared back at him, hating the way he was talking down to her but all too aware of what might happen if she stood up to him. The tears filled her eyes but she said nothing. She averted her gaze submissively instead, hating herself for doing so.

“Get over there and clean it up then get out’ve my sight. I don’t want to see you no more tonight. I’m liable to kick yer face in.”

He glared at her for an extended period then released her hair, making Ann wince and yelp.

She loitered for a moment, the reality of this sinking in, then she walked back over to the miners’ table and set it aright.

The miner’s chuckled at her and her cheeks flushed. She used her apron to wipe the table down then got on her knees and started picking up the broken glass. The miners watched her, smirking. The foreman sat with his legs spread just in front of her head, giving her the same look as he had before. If anything it looked even more smug now.

Ann gathered up all the broken glass, feeling wretched, then carried it out of the way.

“Well pour them more beers,” said her father nastily. “I’ll dock ye for the price of them.”

Ann said nothing to resist. She couldn’t. She did exactly what he told her to, filling four more pints and carrying them back to the miners’ table.

There were chuckles all over the pub now. People were watching her and loving the dressing down she had had. Burt was nowhere to be seen. She set the glasses down on the table, avoiding the gaze of the foreman and then walked to the back of the pub. The landlord blanked her completely and she went into the back corridor.

As soon as she was out of sight she started sobbing silently.

This was her life now. It was her life.

She didn’t have any money to get to Nockton Vale to retrieve the pendant or her real body. She was stuck in this horrible form until the true Mavis returned. But she knew how unlikely it was that that would happen soon. She knew how certain it was that she would lose herself to her new persona in the meantime.

She hadn’t been able to understand how her voice had changed so much so quickly but something occurred to her now that was so stark that it took the form of certainty in her mind in an instant.

Before she had swapped places with Mavis she had held the pendant and made a wish. She had wished that the changes effected by the pendant worked faster.

It was so clear to her now that this had come true.

The effects of the pendant on her and anyone else it changed would not take weeks and weeks to unfold anymore. It would be far faster than that.

By the time Mavis returned she would have become Ann Neville completely and Ann herself would be a perfect simulacrum of the bawdy barmaid. It would be far too late to get back.

She stood there in the darkness, gripping her chest tightly, crying and crying, then she slowly made her way up the stairs to her bedroom.

She wanted to die. That was all. She wanted this all to be over.

She had acted with such folly; so rashly. She had thought she could control the effects of the pendant. Now she realised it was impossible to do that. There was never going to be any going back.

She was going to remain Mavis forever.

She pushed open her bedroom door and stepped inside.

Burt was in there waiting.

She looked at him feeling a deep weariness, but he gave her a little smile and Ann found some tiny hope in it.

“I’m sorry you got told off luv,” said Burt. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do no more to help.”

Ann entered the room fully. She said nothing.

Burt was seated on her bed. He stood and came toward her.

“Luv? Are you alright?”

Ann went to him. She pressed herself against his chest and shivered in relief when he closed his strong arms about her.

“Just hold me Burt, please,” she said. “Hold me and tell me you love me.”