Golden Gloom - POOR - Part Eight

17

 

Barbara

 

 

I couldn’t stop crying. I could barely see because of it and in the dim flashing lights of the night club and the blur of the tears my eyesight, already poor, had gone to hell.

 

I pushed my way through the jostling crowds, hating the din from the toneless “music,” just desperate to get out of there, apologising and begging people to get out of my way. Everyone there was half my age, scantily clad strumpets and rough looking gigolos. I didn’t fit in here. This wasn’t me. It wasn’t Charles either. I had to get out! But I was still only half way through!

 

I stopped, covering my face, hyperventilating, wishing I’d never started all this, wanting to roll back the clock. It had all gone so horribly wrong. I didn’t know what to do! This wasn’t how my life was! My life was always so safe and normal. Charles made all the big decisions. I just went with the flow from restaurant to penthouse suite to first class air travel. This wasn’t meant to happen.

 

I forced my way on again, my throat tightening, my breath becoming shallow. The crowds thinned suddenly then thickened again and I became even more panicked. I could barely see anything. I couldn’t even be sure I was going in the right direction. It was just a consuming noise and lights flashing, silhouettes of youngsters, bare arms and chests coming up against me.

 

And then I was out!

 

I ran across the road without looking, pushing past a young couple and leaned forward, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

 

I’d left Charles in there. I couldn’t believe I’d left him in there. But what could I do? He wouldn’t listen to me! He wouldn’t come out! He hit me!

 

He wasn’t Charles anymore. I’d lost him. I’d lost my husband! And maybe things would change the other way now! Maybe I’d forget I ever had a husband – think I was just… think I was just a single woman here on my own.

 

“Oh God,” I muttered, holding my cheeks. “Oh God, what am I going to do?”

 

The club was jam-packed now, the lights dimmer, the music even louder. There was no sign of Charles anywhere. I started crying again, plopping down on the side of the pavement. I bowed my head and rested my elbows on my bare knees, hands limp above my neck. I felt lost. Completely. What on earth was I meant to do now?

 

I stayed like that. I couldn’t move. I was afraid to. I so wanted Charles to change his mind – for him to appear next to me suddenly, his old comfortable self, helping me up with a kind smile and a warm hand.

 

But he didn’t come. I was alone. And eventually my tears dried. I raised my head, looking at the entrance to the club.

 

I didn’t want to go in there again. I couldn’t face confronting that boy, seeing his sneering council-house expression and narrow eyes. I couldn’t bear to see nothing of my Charles in him at all.

 

But I had to go back. I had to go right away.

 

Because he was my husband.

 

He was my husband and if I didn’t act immediately he would be lost to me forever.

 

I had to go now!

 

 

18

 

Charles

 

 

Barbara didn’t fucking understand; it was as simple as that.

 

She had no frikkin clue because she’d changed back. She wasn’t feeling what I was anymore. She’d had a sissy fucking panic attack or something and now she was just a fat old woman.

 

This was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I felt amazing: like I was fired up on drugs or something. I was pissed as well which was a lovely feeling. I hadn’t been drunk like this in years. Too many fucking poncy glasses of brandy, thinking I was some big business mogul and trying to act the part. In fact I’d just looked like a twat. But not anymore.

 

And Barbara was talking shit about forgetting who I was. It had only happened for a second and now I knew about it I could just stay focussed; stop it happening. I wasn’t a moron; I had a will of fucking iron!

 

The beat was vibrating down through my body. I just stood, feeling it for a minute then I went to the bar and ordered another shot on the money she’d given me. Just find some bird and shag her. That was the plan. If Lorraine— If Barbara didn’t want to put out then it was her frikkin loss. I could change back anytime. There was no hurry.

 

A couple of birds were hanging off the bar a few metres away, tank tops and short skirts; brunettes. They noticed me, giving me the eye and then giggling to one another. I tipped my drink to them and gave them a wink then I knocked it back. I slammed my palm down on the bar twice to get the barman’s attention and ordered three more. I kept contact with the girls, enjoying the non-verbal flirtation. I looked like a nasty piece of work – I knew that – but with this wiry body, girls that age didn’t give a shit. It was what they wanted. They weren’t looking for a husband. They just wanted a good time. And I was one to give them that now. I wasn’t some fat old fucker anymore; some jumped up middle-aged businessman. I was pure bad-boy sex appeal and these birds knew it.

 

The barman set the drinks down. I gave him a nod, handing over the cash then fixing the two birds in my gaze again, I sidled over, loving the anticipation build up on their faces, knowing what was coming.

Golden Gloom - POOR - Part Seven

15

BARBARA

I looked down the length of Tommy’s pointing arm into the toilet cubicle, at the graffiti on the walls, the puddle of water around the base of the pedestal.

It was gross but that wasn’t stopping him. He looked positively excited as he pulled me toward it but I tried to resist. “What if someone comes in?”

“We’ll do it quietly. And what the fuck does it matter?”

“But they’ll know!”

“The door’ll be shut and who gives a shit anyway. Let em hear!”

“Charles—”

He stopped, glaring at me. “It’s Tommy. For now. Alright Lorraine?”

I shrugged. “I suppose.”

He became genial. “Come on legs, it’ll be hot. We ain’t never done this kind of stuff. We’ve missed out on all this kinda shit. It’ll be a laugh.”

“I don’t know...”

“Quit fuckin whining and let’s do it.” He gripped my wrist tighter and pulled me into the cubicle, pulling me close so he could shut the door.

“There’s no lock Tommy.”

“No problem.” He sat on the seat and stuck his foot against the door. “Hop on.”

He shuffled out of his jeans as far down as his buttocks and pulled me closer. It was gross and I felt under pressure but it was wrong in so many ways that it kind of felt right, especially with all the shots I’d had. And he did look sexy, from his six pack etched in the ultraviolet light to his hard playful expression and the big cock sticking up to greet me. He flicked two fingers from each hand back into his palms, beckoning me. “Come on darlin. Or I’ll cum just lookin at ya and you’ll miss all the fun.

“Ah fuck it,” I said and clambered over his legs awkwardly, putting the seediness of it out of my mind. I laughed at how difficult it was to get into position in the narrow space but my body was so much lighter now and his arms were so strong, helping to lower me down. I used my free hand to hook back the centre strip of my panties and bit my lip in anticipation as his dick made first contact against my fanny. There was that little bit of resistance then it glided in and I gasped from the sensation, surprised by how deep it went.

We stayed like that for a long few seconds, then he used his arms to lift me, half withdrawing then lowering me down again, his own eyes flickering closed as his lips spread in a broad and satisfied smile. I braced my feet on either side of the cistern. There were horizontal pipes on one side. I used them to push up against to capture the rhythm; up and down; up and down: the gratification warming and spreading from my crotch.

“Oooah Tommy,” I groaned. “Oh Tommy, you’re so big. You’re fucking huge.”

He pushed my boob tube up, first one tit then the other dropping free with a shudder. He leaned me back, bending his lips to them, chewing harder than he should have done but increasing the pleasure with the broader angle, making me feel him inside me all the more.

This was just like the first time we’d done it, in the karsey at me mam’s work, where Tommy worked fixing up cars. Except that had been even filthier. And when we’d come out everyone had known we’d been doing it. I’d never been so fucking embarrassed in my life.

It wasn’t like me mam could talk though. Word was she’d shagged every bloke that worked there, especially that Tony, the bald one with the bushy moustache. They couldn’t expect me to grow up a princess if me mam was a total slag.

They could—

Wait.

“Wait,” I said.

Tommy didn’t stop. He kept nibbling my boobs, his steely fingers digging into my narrow back.

“Wait, Tommy. Charles! Stop it! This ain’t right!”

“Shut your mouth. You’re ruining it.” He went on pumping me up and down, ignoring my squirms to get free. “I’m going to cum. Just keep going.”

“No. Charles. This is all wrong. I keep— Charles, listen to me! I keep forgetting who I really am! This is fucked up! We have to stop it now!”

The lights dimmed, the cubicle narrowing perceptually, Charles’s glaring eyes becoming brighter, capturing all the remaining light.

“Lorraine! What is fucking wrong with you now?”

“I’m not Lorraine! I’m Barbara! Charles, we have to snap out of this. It’s wrong! We don’t want this!” I tried to struggle, to get off him, but he was holding me tightly behind my shoulders.

“What are you talking about? Who the fuck is Charles? Quit struggling!”

The gloom was closing in, surrounding us, making it darker and darker.

“No! Let me go! Charles, get off me! Let me go!”

I couldn’t see anything, but he kept hold of me, resisting my efforts to pull free. I was crying out, panicking, knowing how trapped I was, not just on top of him but in this crazy situation.

Then the light flashed back, the cubicle came back into view and Tommy’s face became visible once more. Except now he was gaping at me in astonishment and disgust and it only took me a second to realise why.

I was wearing glasses again. My arms were plump and round. My big breasts and bulging stomach were pressed against him as my flabby legs made an inverted V outside his muscular arms.

I was myself again. I was Barbara. But his cock was still in me. And this nineteen year old bad boy looked like he didn’t know me at all.

16

Charles

“Woah, get the fuck off me! Who the hell are you?”

Lorraine had gone and there was some fat fucking middle-aged woman in her place!

I pushed myself up, tipping her back off me, scrabbling to pull my jeans up as my cock popped clear and she banged her head against the toilet door. It was a scramble as she tried to get up in the confined space, crying out in pain and effort as I did my best to just back the fuck away from her.

Then she got the door open and flew out by the bank of sinks, fucking crying her eyes out. I zipped myself up feeling really fucking confused, my head blotted from all the cocktails and followed her out of the cubicle..

She put her hands to her face, covering her eyes, weeping now and she looked a mess, her hair mussed, her skirt all out of place. She looked like somebody’s mum and I had no fucking clue why the lights had gone out and she’d suddenly fucking appeared riding my todger.

“How’d you get in here? Where’s Lorraine?”

She went on crying, louder if anything.

“Hey!” I snapped out. “Hey, fatso! Dry the fucking tears. I’m talkin to you!”

She lowered her hands a little peering at me through her pebble lenses, eyes overlarge. “Charles...”

“Huh?”

“Tommy. Listen...”

“What? How’d you get in here? Where’s Lorraine?”

“I am Lorraine. Sort of. I was her.”

“Get bent.”

“It’s true. Really. We’ve changed; both of us. You aren’t who you think you are. You’ve forgotten.”

I squinted at her. “Are you pissed or something?”

“No. Charles, I’m sober. I was drunk, as Lorraine, but... Just listen to me, please. This is wrong. I know that now.” She held up her hands like she was making the sign for STOP. “This... darkness, whatever it is. It’s tricking us. It’s been goading us all along, and now it’s trying to make us forget who we really are.”

“You’re out of your mind.” This was a fucking waste of time. I went toward the door.

“Charles stop!”

“I’m not Charles! What are you fucking on?”

“Tommy, listen to me, please. Just for a second.”

I flicked my eyes down and then up her body at her chubby legs and torso, her plump arms and double chin, her mumsy hairstyle and clothes, her chunky glasses. I sneered and turned to leave. “Fuck you.”

“I’ll pay you!”

I stopped.

“Cash. Look!” She had a big handbag over her shoulder. She fumbled with it, taking out a purse and withdrawing a bunch of notes – local currency. “Here. I’ll give you this if you talk to me. Just talk. That’s all.”

I eyed the money. She was clearly a fruitcake but I was pretty strapped. I’d paid for the holiday on a credit card and I’d already maxed out two others. Debting agents were after me and the bailiffs had been round a couple of times while I pretended I wasn’t home. And me and Lorraine had already pissed away most of our spending money on going out.

“Alright,” I said. “Talk. But I want half the cash now.” She held it out with a shaking hand and I grinned, counting it then shoving it into my back pocket. “Not bad for a little conversation. What, do you want me to talk dirty to ya or something?” I chuckled.

“No. Just listen to me.” I leant against one of the sinks and she started pacing, clearly very uncomfortable in these surroundings. “It’s very important that you pay attention to me,” she said. I shrugged my shoulders. “You think you’re nineteen years old and that your name’s Tommy, right?” I shrugged again. “But it’s not. I swear to you it’s not. Your name is Charles Hawthorne. You’re the head of a corporation that brings in millions of pounds every year. You’re my husband. We live in a mansion. We have a pool in the garden. We drive a BMW.”

“Give me a fucking break. Why the fuck would I marry you? You’re old enough to be my mother.”

“I know! Just— Charles! Please! This isn’t real! It’s the magic! It’s done this to you!”

“I’ve had enough of this. You can keep the rest of the money.” I opened the main door and the music got a whole hell of a lot louder.

“Charles, for God’s sake, listen!” she cried, grabbing me by the shoulders and turning me round before I could stop her. “Listen to me you stupid little man!” She slapped me hard across the face, staggering me a little then followed me out and slapped me again on the other cheek as hard as she could. “Charles! You have to listen!”

My face was smarting. Tears were coursing down her cheeks.

I saw red.

I pulled my hand back near my ear, closed it into a fist and swung it out, rapping her hard in the mouth. She screeched and fell backwards, her glasses flying off. She went down hard. People were shouting, barely audible over the beat.

She didn’t jump back up; she just lay there, quivering; crying, gripping her face with both hands.

And suddenly it all came back to me.

I knew who she was. I knew who I was and what had happened to us. I remembered everything. And I realised exactly what I’d done.

I got to my knees next to her, lifting her head, talking rapidly. “Barbara, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t realise. I remember now. I know who I am.”

“Ch-Charles?” I nodded I handed her glasses to her from where they’d fallen. “Is that really you?”

I nodded again.

“We have to get out of here,” she said, weeping again now. “We can’t stay here any longer. You have to concentrate on changing back. Before it’s too late.”

I helped her to sit up and slide back against the wall. Already disinterested, the other punters who had come to see the spectacle started to wander off. Her face was red where I’d struck her, her lip cut slightly, her glasses bent out of perfect alignment.

“You might forget again in a minute,” she said. “We need to go back to the penthouse where it’s quiet so you can clear your mind. We have to go now. Oh thank God you remembered. Thank God Charles.”

I gazed off in thought for a moment, then my face hardened. “I’m not ready,” I said.

“What?”

“I’m not going back. Not yet.”

She jerked forward. “What are you talking about? Are you mad? You’ll forget again. It might become permanent!”

I shook my head. “I’m not ready. It ain’t happening.”

“Charles, think about what you’re saying! You already forgot who you were! We both did! It’s too dangerous!”

I got up, leaving her where she was lying. “No,” I said. “I’m not done with this. I like feeling like this. I like being Tommy.” I paused. “And I want to get laid. Like this.”

Barbara scrambled up, using the wall to get vertical. “Charles, no! You can’t! You don’t even know what’s happening to you. This isn’t you talking. You’re thinking like a nineteen year old would. You’re making all the wrong choices. You have to consider the consequences!”

I turned my back on her and walked away, fists down at my sides. “Fuck the consequences,” I said. “I’ve got things to do!”

“Charles!” she called after me. “For God’s sake Charles, come back!”

Golden Gloom - POOR - Part Six

14

Charles

This was like nothing else: to dance with such abandon, to know I wasn’t myself anymore, that I was this wiry kid now, that my inhibitions, already being stripped away by the drink, had hardly been there to begin with.

I was Tommy Bennett, not Charles Hawthorne. I’d really become an entirely different person. I didn’t feel like my normal self at all. Every sensation was telescoped, twisted, made all the more raw by these young man’s senses and desires.

And Barbara – Lorraine – looked horny as fuck, flashing her bare arms to the pulse of the music, hooking her pelvis back and forward, stroking my chest with her fingertips, smirking as she unbuttoned my shirt.

I swatted back her hand, enjoying the pout she made. I loved that flirty girl child shit she did. I undid the next two buttons myself, holding her gaze without a blink, her smile broadening at the sexual inference.

Some fucker jostled me while he was dancing, breaking the moment. I gave him a push back, hard, knocking his balance off enough so that his face knocked into his fat-cow girlfriend. He threw a glare back at me but backed off when he saw the look I gave him.

Lorraine slid her hands snake-fashion under my shirt at my chest, stroking my pecs, slipping her hands up to my neck then sweeping them outwards to push my shirt off my shoulders. We locked lips as the shirt fell to the floor. I kneaded her tits, sucking in a little on the open mouthed snog, drawing some breath out of her. Her eyes flapped open. Mine had never closed. The grins we both cracked into broke the seal of the kiss then we closed in again, ignoring the musical beat. I gripped her buttocks with one hand and shoved the other under her boob tube, popping out a tit right there on the dance floor, squeezing it in bunched fingers; put my lips to it, chewed on the nipple; grabbed her ass again and lifted her so she gave a shriek of surprise that bubbled into a laugh. Her legs went round my waist and I snogged her again, her tit still exposed. But what did it fucking matter? Nobody in the club gave a fuck.

This was frikkin great. It was the best fucking night of my life.

And it was far from over.

We could go anywhere; do anything; and when we were done we could go back to our old lives with no repercussions. I wanted to do it all.

I popped her back on the floor and grabbed Lorraine’s wrist. “Come with me.”

Before she could finish the word “Where?” I yanked her with me, forcing her to hurry to keep her feet. The dance floor was packed but I just rammed my way through, giving one bloke a nasty shove in his back. He was right in my path, the stupid twat. He went down hard but I didn’t slow down to watch. He was in my fucking way; what did he fucking expect was going to happen?

Cunt.

“Where ya takin me?” yelled Lorraine, only just audible over the music.

I stopped when we were clear and turned, gripping her chin in my right hand. “I wanna fuck you. I wanna fuck you right now.”

She frowned. “I’m not ready to go back to the hotel yet.”

“Not at the hotel.” I gave her a nasty grin and pointed. “In there.”

Two doors stood in the flashing violet light, a female and male figure crudely painted on them.

“In the karsey?”

“Why the hell not?”

“It’ll be dirty!” she whined.

I gave her my seediest leer. “Exactly. It’ll be better that way.”

She covered a chuckle with her smooth little curled fingers, her eyes lighting up. “You’re filthy Tommy!”

“Not yet I fuckin ain’t. Get in there.”

She tottered toward the pair of doors. “Which one? Boys or girls?”

“Boys,” I said. “I ain’t a fucking poofter.”

“Well wot about me?”

I jabbed her in the shoulder, herding her into the door. “You’ll get over it.”

I followed her inside the gents. It was just what I’d wanted. The tourists had left it looking like a shit-hole. We both just stood there, looking at it and for a second I broke out of it, saw myself from my normal perceptions, realised what I was doing; how I was acting.

This wasn’t right. This was counter to every instinct from my proper life.

But it felt so frikkin good. It felt incredible to not give a shit about nothing; to just do what I wanted.

One of the cubicles opened and a bashful-looking nigger came out, staring at Lorraine and then at me.

“What you fuckin lookin at you fuckin coon wankstain? Get the fuck out of here!”

“Yeah you perv,” said Lorraine. “Get lost or my boyfriend’ll fuckin have ya for starin at me tits!”

He hurried out and we laughed, snogging hard again. Then I pulled away, taking her wrist again.

“Where we doin it?” she asked fearfully.

I pointed into the other cubicle. “In there. Come on.”

Golden Gloom - POOR - Part Five

12

Charles

“What the fuck was that?” I blurted out the words, looking round me, seeing I was still in the hotel room, panting with exertion, even though I’d been asleep. And then I saw a girl at the foot of the bed. “Who are you?”

She stared back at me, clutching her bosom, mouth hanging open. She was about the same age as our kids but nothing like them: a slutty little tramp in skimpy night club gear, hair a shower of yellow curls, cleavage straining her boob tube, long legs packed into stiletto heels. She didn’t answer me; just went on staring.

I jumped out of bed. “Who the fuck are you? What are you doing here? Did you break in?”

She shook her head nervously. “Charles, I...”

“Who are you? How the hell did you know my name?”

“It’s me,” she said. “Barbara.”

“Barbara who?”

“Your wife. Barbara. It’s me. I’ve changed.”

I stuck my pointing finger out at her. “Give me a fucking break you stupid tart! How the hell did you get in here? Tell me!”

“Just look!” she cried. “Look in the mirror Charles! Look at yourself!”

“What?”

“Look at your fucking body in the mirror!”

I straightened, glanced toward the bathroom, kept my eye on her, backed toward it. “What is this? Why do I feel so weird? What did you do to me?”

“Look in the mirror Charles,” she said, her voice quavering. “You’ll see. Just look.” She went on pointing past me into the bathroom and I pushed back the door, stepping into the frame, not trusting her but feeling compelled to do it, growing suspicious, knowing that something was wrong with my voice, that I felt different somehow, really fucking different.

And there it was.

In the glass wasn’t my man’s face, my man’s body. There was a kid – about the same age as the tart in the bedroom. I looked at her fearful expression then back into the bathroom mirror, seeing the reflected movement, knowing that this wasn’t an illusion or a dream, knowing exactly what had happened now, even if I had no idea how it could have.

“Is that me?” I said, touching my hard taut features.

The girl who’d come into the reflection behind my right shoulder nodded, still looking shaken. I turned to face her and found her surprisingly close, her soft chest right below my chin, her eyes less than a foot from mine.

“Barbara?”

She nodded.

“Barbara?”

She nodded again.

“This is bent. This is fucking butt-fucked.”

“I know. But listen...”

I went back to the mirror, getting closer. I wasn’t dressed as I had been when I went to sleep. I was in torn jeans with bare feet and chest. I was shorter, though still taller than she was and all my paunch had gone. The hair on my chest and arms was gone. I didn’t have an ounce of fat anywhere, it was all just tight muscle – not like a body builder but like a... like some bad mother-fucker who didn’t take no shit from anyone. My hair was shaved to the skin round the sides and back in a line but the dark hair above it flopped down in longer strands. I didn’t look like a good boy. Not at all.

“What’s wrong with my voice?” I said. It was gritty and harsh, the syllables more pointed than normal.

“You’re in a different body. You’ve got a different voice.”

“No. The words I’m using you stupid cow. I don’t talk like this. I don’t say shit and fuck every third word. What the hell’s going on here?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“What?” I swung to face her and she stepped back, gripping her shoulders.

“I’m sorry Charles. I didn’t think... I wasn’t thinking straight.”

I narrowed my eyes, curling my fingers into fists. “You did this to us? What did you do?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck did you do!?”

I grabbed her by the neck, pinning her against the bathroom door then slammed my palm hard against the wood so that she gasped in fright.

“Charles please!”

“What did you do to me you fucked-up little bitch, eh?”

“I’m sorry Charles. I didn’t mean to. It just happened. The shadows did it. I don’t know what it was. Some kind of magic. Like a ghost or something. But we can change back whenever we want. We can change back, I swear! I just wanted to be young. I wanted you to be young again. It just happened!”

I glared at her helpless expression, curling my lip then tossed her to the side, stomping back through to the bathroom.

I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I wasn’t like this. I didn’t react this way. I was angry and scared but it was this body that was making me aggressive. I tried to calm myself, making a bipod of my arms on the edge of the sink, breathing raggedly again as I had when I’d woken up like this. The girl was on the edge of the bed, silent, just watching me. I ignored her, looking again at this young body.

It felt... strange. But good. I felt healthy; strong. I hadn’t ever looked like this, even when I was younger. It actually felt incredible. I flexed my fingers, watching the veins on my wiry arms, the flexing of my steely biceps.

“Isn’t it amazing?” said the girl.

I didn’t answer her.

“We’re young again. And we can stay like this as long as we want.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I already changed back once.”

“But how long does it last?”

She didn’t reply.

I turned back to face her and left the bathroom. “Do we get stuck like this?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. We can change back into ourselves.”

There were some odorous trainers discarded on the floor that hadn’t been there earlier. I put them on then grabbed the short sleeved shirt that had also appeared, lying over one of the chairs, and put it on, leaving it unbuttoned.

“Charles? What are we going to do?”

I felt in my jeans pocket. There was a crumpled packet of fags. I pulled a less bent one out and shoved it between my lips, lighting it from the Zippo in my other pocket. “I want to go out like this. See what it’s like. Come on.”

She got to her feet. “Okay.”

“But you better be fucking right about us switching back,” I snapped. “If I get stuck like this then I’m gonna fucking twat you!”

A Night Out

 

13

Barbara

I tottered quickly after Charles to keep up as he strode through the hotel lobby, ignoring the suspicious glares of the doorman and receptionists.

“’Ang on hun,” I called. “I ain’t as fast as you in these ‘eels!”

I caught up with him on the curb outside. The night had cooled somewhat but it was still very warm. I took hold of his arm with both hands, liking the feel of his muscles.

“This is frikkin ace,” he said, grinning at me. “I feel like a super hero or something, like I’m light as a feather.”

“I know! Isn’t it great?”

He touched my cheek. “You did good luv. You were right. I wouldn’t’ve chosen to do this – I was such a fuckin pussy - but now I have it’s frikkin supreme!”

I giggled, beaming at him. “What shall we do first?”

“Anything we want, how’s that? Anything we frikkin want!” He pointed. “Let’s start there.”

There was a bar with tables outside and disco lights flashing in the dark interior. Charles strode off again with me hobbling to catch up. The streets were even more crowded now with brightly dressed tourists. The shops and pubs were alive, even with the late hour. It wasn’t like earlier now though. I didn’t feel like I was wearing a costume. This body – these clothes – they just felt comfortable. Normal. My consciousness was altered. I was coasting on a shifted set of perceptions, this dozy feeling of semi-drunkeness, a hyper-charged confidence and willingness to just run with things.

Charles took my hand and dragged me through the bar’s narrow entrance, forcing his way through the crowds toward the bar. The music was pounding out, vibrating so loudly I could feel it under my skin. Normally I’d have hated somewhere like that but not anymore. I loved it. I loved getting swept up in it. Charles was so strong, just forced his way through. I felt so proud of him.

He caught the barman’s eye and ordered four shots; little green things made from apple. He gave me a grin as he paid from a tatty leather wallet he got out his back pocket then we knocked the first one back together, laughed, then knocked back the second. The apple made it delicious but there was a bite too and just a slight blur of inebriation.

I laughed, loving it, as Charles ordered four more, flipping open his wallet to search through it. “Look!” he shouted, only just audible over the music. He held up an ID card with his new face on it. “Tommy Bennett!”

I pulled mine out from my handbag and showed it too. “Lorraine Parker. Pleased to meet you.” We laughed, shaking hands then he pulled me in close and snogged me, gripping my chin in his strong hand, holding me in place as he shoved his probing tongue into my mouth. I lost myself in it, in the swell of the music and the pulsing passion. I’d never felt so good or so light-headed.

The barman put the next four shots down and we knocked them back too, racing one another. Charles ordered four more. I couldn’t help laughing. The drink was starting to hit me, making me feel wonderful – just really relaxed. 

He took me in his arms, face close to mine. There was nothing of Charles in that face: in the eyes, in the set of the mouth; nothing. It was almost like I’d only just met him but I also knew he was my husband.

“You’re my girl Lorraine,” he said. “My girlfriend.”

I felt scared when I giggled, replying, “Tommy. My boyfriend, Tommy Bennett.” I was riding the wave here but it was going so fast and I didn’t know where it would end or if I wanted it to.

“Let’s dance,” he shouted, grabbing my wrist and dragging me through the press of people again before waiting for my reply, and as he pulled me I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar: a scared and drunken-looking teenage girl with too much flesh showing.

Where was the woman I was meant to be? Where were the glasses and chubby arms?

I felt so drunk suddenly. I didn’t know what was happening to me. But at least I had Tommy with me. He’d keep me safe. He could be a right nasty fucker if he had to be; a real bad boy. That was why I liked him.

It was the reason why I’d shacked up with him last year; why I couldn’t get enough of him.