Ghost Writer              by: Circe                  circe@grlmail.com

Part Two

We climbed into the taxi, no doubt appearing to all the world as a couple of girlfriends going out for a good time. Charlie leant forward, and told the guy where we were going, and we sped off. I wriggled on my seat, yanking my long black skirt down (did I mention that I went for the black skirt and vest top combo?) so that the slit didn’t show too much of my thighs. Every time the cab stopped at traffic lights, I could swear that the driver was looking in his mirror, checking out his two gorgeous female passengers. Charlie must have sensed I was scared out my wits, as she didn’t speak, just let me look around and try to look comfortable. That being said, she put her hand on my thigh, and when I looked at her, shot me a smile that would have stopped traffic. It helped. I had never been so self-conscious in all my life. Even people I saw out the window of the cab were judging me, I felt. Looking for flaws in my disguise that made it obvious that I was faking. That I wasn’t real.

Oh God. If this is how I felt in a taxi, imagine how I was going to feel on national TV. I tried to look away from people, looking at my feet, at the taxi driver, anyone. The driver shot me a look, and a warm smile. Oh God. There was a whine, and the intercom screeched into life. Oh God, he was going to talk to me. Oh God.

"So, night on the town is it?" He asked cheerfully, "Celebrating something?"

"Uhm," I turned and looked at Charlie, who merely raised her eyebrows." Just going out for a meal with friends." I hated taxi drivers at the best of times. All of a sudden they had become enemies, soldiers to shatter my illusion of calm.

"Oh, you pair look dressed for a night to kill, wish I was eating with you. I could just park my cab and come in . . ." He prattled on. I suppose if I’d been in one of my romance novels, I have found this sort of bad come-on sexy, even taken him up on his offer - and probably taken twenty pages or so to write about what exactly he had done to me. However, all I wanted him to do at this point was shut up, leave me alone. I found myself crossing my legs, and folding my arms, tucking them under my breasts (I have breasts!), and looking out the window. This guy was chatting me up, and I was annoyed! I started to laugh, cruel, I know, but that’s me.

"What’s up?" Charlie whispered in my ear, "Why are you laughing?"

"I’m annoyed!" I whispered back, the constant drone of a cab driver with bad come-on’s in the background. Charlie looked at me, rolled her eyes and giggled. I think we threatened the drivers masculinity, because he shut up, and drove. Somewhere inside me, under the layers of latex, lingerie and lip gloss, something shifted and I smiled. I caught my reflection in the glass, the city speeding by behind it. Ok, so I didn’t look like me. Ok, so I was a fraud. Ok, so I was lying to everyone I met. Just as long as I remembered I was still me.

We arrived, smiled sweetly at the driver, paid him, and entered the restaurant. It was busy, but Charlie’s friends had already arrived, so we didn’t have to wait. I was practically strutting around, wiggling my delightful hips and bouncing my delightful boobs. I undid my jacket, showing off some cleavage. The Clack-clack of my heels on the floor sounded so erotic to me; I felt on top of the world. We walked towards the table, and I saw someone stand up, looking at me. I couldn’t make her out, as people kept walking in front of her, but she was so familiar. She had long blonde hair, a small nose, deep green eyes, high perfect cheekbones, she waved. My world collapsed - it was Rebecca.

The next thing I remember is waking up in a strange room, staring at the ceiling. Suzanne looked down at me on the left, Charlie on the right. Someone was saying "Oh my God," over and over, like a mantra. As the world began to swim into consciousness, I realised it was me.

"Andrea. Andrea." Suzanne slapped me across the face. I shut up. "Wow, you look fantastic."

"She’s, Rebecca, you," I seemed incapable of formulating a sentence. I slowly began to take stock of myself. Lying on the floor in the ladies bathroom, my back was cold, but not my ass. I also was in so much panic I was sweating. Suzanne hit me again. For some reason this helped.

"Ok, that’s Rebecca right?" I began to sit up, Suzanne was looking at me, in fact, she was looking through me. "Hello? Suzanne!"

She blinked, and looked at me for I think the first time. "Tom? Wow, you look fantastic" She smiled. "And yes, that’s Rebecca. She’s dying to meet you again."

I felt like a fool. Some how I managed to scrape myself off the floor and stand up. The first thing I did was look in the mirror. I wasn’t there. Reflected back were three beautiful women. I thought about checking my make-up, trying to pretend I was ok, and not in fact considering running out the restaurant. I realise this was a futile gesture. Any attempt I made to apply make up would be obvious, considering the rest of my face was expertly done. Anything I did would end up looking like Coco. Charlie, again, came to the rescue. "You look fine, and don’t worry, I’ll teach you. I’m only good at it because I’ve been doing it since I was little."

Suzanne gave me a hug. "Come on, we’re keeping our guest waiting."

Rebecca stood up, again, as we approached her table. This time, I tried my best not to pass out. To her credit she looked totally unfazed, and shook me by the hand, then pulled me to her and kissed me on the cheek hugging me. "Hi, remember me?" she smiled, and giggled.

"Yeah, you look kind of familiar." I took my seat. Something was nagging at my mind. "I thought you were in a crash?" I looked at her, she looked perfect, just as I remembered her.

She looked at Suzanne, then back at me. "No, I think your boss has been lying to you. I just quit, and went to college. I want to be a writer," she smiled. I laughed, shooting Suzanne an evil glare while I did. She shrugged her shoulders.

The meal went well; we talked, we laughed. Charlie proved to be a fount of wonderful stories and gossip. I almost forgot that I was sitting next to my blonder, younger twin sister. Almost, but not quite. Every glance down at my food brought me a glance at my cleavage, and I was still not quite used to that. Also, while Rebecca (or Becky, as she wanted me to call her) was aware of who I was, she still kept looking at me funny, her mouth slightly open, always on the verge of asking me a question. Also, of course, I was still attracted to her, and while I was trying as much as possible to behave like a girl, I was also aware of every touch, every look, and, of course, every curve of her body.

After the third bottle of wine, I decided to attempt the ladies room. I had been dreading this (even though I had been in there before, albeit unconsciously). I wasn’t one hundred percent relaxed about myself, and was sure the sound of amateur fumbling from a cubicle would alert some real women to my lie. Also, it would mean walking through the entire restaurant, where every could see me, appraise me, and , of course, laugh at the girl who fainted. The pressure on my bladder increased, so I uncrossed my legs, pushed the chair back, and stood up, nodding a brief excuse me to the conversation in progress. I was slightly surprised when Becky stood up to join me. She grabbed me around the waist, and marched me off to the ladies.

"Want someone to show you how it’s done?" She giggled.

The bathroom was empty, thankfully, and with very little trouble, amazingly, I completed my business. It felt odd getting dressed again afterwards, and I was conscious of the clothes I was putting on. I must also confess to being slightly turned on, the feel of lace on my legs, then nylon. I stood up, and ran my hands over my hips, smoothing down the skirt, then over my ass, for no reason other than it felt good.

"How does it feel?" A voice came from the next cubicle - Becky. "Weird?"

I pulled myself out of my reverie. "Very," I giggled.

She flushed, and I heard the door open. I did the same. We were still alone.

"Sorry if I freaked you out earlier, Suzanne asked me along. She really cares about you, you know?"

"Its ok, I just." I paused, "I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all. Yeah, I love her to bits. Listen, I hope you don’t think I get off on this or anything." I let the sentence hang, appraising her.

She looked at me, her lips twisting into a smirk, "Nah, of course not. Just like you didn’t get off on me in my underwear." I froze. "Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ve posed for worse photos than the ones you wanted me in, and its paying me through college."

"You have? I didn’t think?"

"No, I was told that when it comes to people, you don’t." I did my best to look hurt. It didn’t wash. "Look, you’re a nice," she paused, "person, Andrea, and I thought you were very nice when I met you. And I still do, even though this is a little weird for me to. I mean, ok, I was prepared mentally for seeing you, but when you walked in, all sassy like that, I couldn’t believe it. You looked fantastic. You looked like me. Its scary. Real scary. But," she looked at the floor.

"What?"

"Well, I have to deal with this too. I mean, Charlie told me when she took my mould that it would be good but,"

"Wait, Charlie took a cast of you?"

"Yeah, of course. I mean, she’s good but she’s not that good! Have you seen that guy she sometimes dresses up as. Wow, its amazing!"

"Guy? Erm, Becky, she is a guy," my voice was a low whisper.

"Yeah, ok, whatever. Listen, Andrea, take some free advice from someone who’s been me a lot longer than you have. Take a look around sometimes at what’s happening to you, ask some questions instead of behaving like some dumb bimbo from a bad novel. I don’t know what’s all going on, but I don’t think you do either."

"Hang on," she help up her hand, and opened the door, back into the restaurant, stopping me from speaking.

"Oh, and thanks for asking how I was coping with it. Look, you seem like a nice enough person, but, maybe, instead of just watching other people, and taking them into yourself, you should talk to them too? Just a suggestion." She smiled, and walked out, back into the restaurant, leaving me standing, hugging myself in the bathroom.

My head was spinning. What did she mean? What else was going on? Was Charlie a girl or a guy? What did that matter? I mean, it didn’t matter at all, really. Except, it meant that Suzanne was lying to me as well. Becky was right, I was wrapped up in myself, but then, I had a lot going on, right? I looked at myself in the mirror. A strange, frightened girl looked back. Everything was just happening at once, and Suzanne knew I couldn’t cope with the pressure of it all. The newspaper article, and the MBC chat show, and Charlie. And now this. I had to take that all on board and pretend to be a girl, just cause I’d wanted to write books.

I took a few steps back from the mirror, and looked myself up and down. I was still a knockout. Slightly shaky, but a knockout. But what did that matter, just because I had chosen Becky to be me. Now I had to live with that. But for how long? One chat show, Suzanne said, but that’s not going to be enough. I knew it. Book signings, and tours, and God-knows what else. Every aspiring authors dream; to be famous and wanted, and, ultimately, to know that someone is reading what you spend hours, days, weeks writing. Except, while I had it, I didn’t. Tom did all the work, and Andrea took all the glory.

"Hey, knock knock? You fall in?" It was Charlie, sticking her head round the door. "Oh good, thought you’d had an accident or something. Hey, you ok?"

"Yeah, fine. I guess."

"Good, listen, I think we’re all about to leave. Wanna go to a bar?"

"Who with? Is Becky going?"

"I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think her and Suzanne are heading off."

"Hang on a minute," I pushed passed her, and walked the length of the restaurant, not caring in the slightest. "Becky, can we go somewhere and talk."

She was already putting on her coat. She didn’t look upset, just finished. She looked up at me. "I want to talk with you, Becky. Please."

I felt Charlie arrive behind me. "You know, Andrea, we should really stick together tonight. I’ve made you a bed at my place."

"Sure," Becky’s small voice broke the silence, "we can go a place."

"Great," I turned to Charlie and Suzanne. "Listen, I’ll be OK. I’ll come over tomorrow morning, and we can continue alright? Its safe to wear this overnight isn’t it?" I gestured at the skirt, but I’m pretty sure Charlie caught my meaning.

"Yeah, totally safe," she smiled. "Ok, in the morning. You know where I live if you need somewhere to sleep though, ok?" She smiled, looked at Suzanne for a moment, then at Becky.

"Take care, ok?" Suzanne and I hugged, and I promised her I would, and that I’d see her tomorrow. We all said our good byes, and I found myself sitting in Becky’s car, driving to God knows where. We hadn’t spoke the entire journey. I felt like I was being tested. I had only plucked up the courage to say a word when the car pulled over to the kerb.

"We’re here."

I looked out of the window, up at a large block of apartments. "Where’s here?" I asked.

"Home. Well, my campus anyway. They don’t allow men in after ten, but I think in your case they’ll make an exception." She smiled, and got out the car. I couldn’t figure her out at all. I guess that was why I had elected to join her rather than go home with Charlie. I shrugged, to no one in particular, and left the car, and we walked, in silence, to Becky’s room.

What the hell was I doing? I had graduated three years ago; I thought sneaking into girl’s dorms after hours was in my past. Never mind doing it as a girl. Halfway down a corridor, I decided to take of my heels. The click-clacking was driving me mad. Oh, why beat around the bush, I was going mad already: I was following my twin sister down a corridor in the middle of the night, and I had no idea why.

Thankfully she invited me in. "Ok Tom, what’s on your mind? I hit a nerve?"

"I," I paused, unsure. "I have no idea. Tell you the truth. I just, it was what you said, I was wondering, what?"

"Nothing, just, wondered." She was staring at me. No one ever stared at me. "Your voice. Can you stop?"

"Sure, hang on." I turned away from her, and reached inside my mouth, like I’d watched Charlie do. I grabbed the brace, and pulled it out, leaving a strange taste in the roof of my mouth, and scratching my tongue with my nails in the process. Really had to get used to those. "There, better?" I almost gagged. It was my voice again, and it felt really weird. I looked down at the dripping red plate in my hand. Becky just stared at me. "Could you, that is, please."

"Oh, sorry, sure." She scurried off, and returned with a bowl of water, which I put the thing in. It floated to the surface. "Jesus Tom, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Ok, Becky, I’m sorry." She held up her hand. "No, wait. Look. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you got drawn into this, I’m sorry I didn’t think about your feelings. I’m sorry I stole your body and, I’m sorry you," a light bulb flickered on above my head. "Had to quit modelling. Suzanne made you didn’t she?" She nodded, on the verge of tears. "Oh God, Becky I’m so sorry." I reached forward, and hugged her. We crumpled onto the floor, curled up in each other, Becky crying first, and me following. "No wonder you were so mad at me." I said, between sobs. At least, I thought they were sobs. Her shoulders started shaking, and the crying softly became laughing. She started laughing harder than I thought possible, pushing me away.

"Mad at you! God, Tom I’m not mad at you, I’m practically in love with you!" I coughed, "Well, not in love, in love with you. I’m not that narcissistic!" I sat back, crossing my legs, my skirt riding up onto my thighs. I didn’t care what I looked like, or sounded like, this was just getting weirder by the minute. I was fascinated. "This was the best contract ever! I mean, I got to give up posing naked, give up all the lecherous photographers and actually pay my own way through college. I thought it was going to take me years to get the money, but with the money Suzanne gave me to quit, I don’t even have to work in the holidays!" She reached over, and hugged me again. I was grinning. Although, I think I was grinning like the fool who was having the plot explained to him. That being said I still felt at sea.

We talked for ages, and I mean that: We talked - not just me. She told me all about some of the jobs she had done, and how much she loved college. I talked about how freaked out I was. Ok, so I had problems deviating from the problem at hand. She asked me to stay, I stayed.

She had given me a T-shirt to wear, and a futon to sleep on, and I found myself in the bathroom, unzipping my skirt, rolling off my nylons, and unclasping my bra, pretty much on autopilot. I put my clothes in a pile, and reached for the T-shirt. I caught my reflection in the mirror; my large breasts hanging from my chest, swinging slightly, my wide hips and beautiful round ass. I paused for a moment, taking in my, still-strange, nakedness, and also wondering how long Becky had been watching me. I straightened up, slowly, watching her watching me. Her arms folded under her breasts, her legs crossed at the ankles, leaning against the doorframe. I couldn’t turn around. She walked towards me, in the mirror, and then grabbed me around the waist. I couldn’t help feeling I’d been in this position before.

"It’s incredible. I can’t see any joins or anything. I just thought it was a mask, I didn’t think, I mean, why would you need," her voice dropped to a whisper. Her hands didn’t move. I felt naked. "You look so, real." I couldn’t move. "I’m sorry I spied on you, I just had to see."

"I thought this was a myth."

"What," I could feel her hands through the corset.

"That girls watched each other undress. I always assumed it was a male fantasy." I watched her in the mirror, watched us.

"Can you feel anything?" She asked, ignoring me. "How much of this is you?" She still held my waist, her lips very close to my ear, I could feel her breath on my hair as she talked. I watched her eyes, her wonderful deep green eyes, take in my body, her body I suppose, and I felt myself being appraised - felt like a piece of meat. "I just had to see," she repeated, almost to herself.

Suddenly, the spell was broken. She took her hands off me, turned around, and walked back into her room. "You know, Andrea," she said the name deliberately, pausing over every syllable. "I think that while I don’t have to pose any more," there was a pause, and the unmistakable sound of someone undressing. I turned around, and walked slowly, deliberately towards the doorframe, my naked footprints sticking to the tiles, leaving slick impressions. "I think that," muffled speech, then a rustle. A zip, and a few whispers of fabric. I reached the doorframe, and rounded the corner of the sill. "I think, " I paused. She paused, and the sound of a clasp being undone echoed through the small apartment, as loud as a firecracker. I rounded the corner.

Becky sat with her back to me, naked from the waist up. Her back was a perfect hourglass, the swell of her hips obscured by her bedclothes, and her white panties. I stopped, leaning against the doorframe, folding my arms under my breasts, the lace of my black g-string panties against the sill.

"I think that you’re going to be posing for the rest of your life."

She reached down, her back arching, her hair spilling over her shoulders, onto the floor. "I remember when I posed for you," the words came muffled, the sound of her rooting around under the bed. "In fact, I quite enjoyed that day. You were nice to me. Guys often weren’t." I took a few steps towards the bed, unsure if I should be doing this; unsure what I was doing. "Ah, found it!" She pulled something from under the bed, and sat bolt upright, twisted round, and threw a book open on the unmade bed. Folding one leg under her ass (this is not as impossible as it sounds), she began flicking purposefully through the book. Her profile was in clear view, her magnificent breasts, proud nipples, back arched slightly. She paused to brush an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear. "Having fun, Andrea?" She still didn’t look at me.

"I just wanted to look at you," was all I could say, my voice a soft whisper. If I was fake, she was real. Reality is worth stopping for.

"You can do that all you like, in the comfort of your own life." She was still turning pages, intent on the book. "What makes me so special? In fact, I think you have the better body." The words were light, playful. I could see the smile playing on her, still made-up, lips.

"You wear it better than I ever could." I said it so quietly I could barely hear it. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…"

"Of course you meant to!" She turned, facing me. "Just as I meant to look at you. Its not everyday you can see yourself as others see you." She turned back to her book, turned a page, and grinned triumphantly. "Come here," she swivelled the book on its spine towards me, patting an obvious space on the bed, amidst the discarded lingerie. I sat next to her, awkwardly, like a shy schoolboy. "Oh for goodness sake!" She threw a pillow on the floor, pushing the book - a photo album - into its empty space, and lay herself flat out on the bed, her head propped up. "I want you to look at this." I dutifully copied her position, wondering where this was leading.

The page was blank, but for a small Polaroid stuck to the bottom corner. It was a photo of me. Not Andrea, but Tom, sitting in a restaurant, staring into space. I was watching something, or someone. "When did you…?" Becky pressed a finger to my lips, she reached into the vinyl sleeve, and brought it out. The date on the back was yesterday.

"I want you to keep this. Look at it. This is you, ok? Just remember that, and you’ll be fine." She reached over, and kissed me, softly, on the lips. "Oh god, that was weird!" She laughed, not giggled, but laughed, her shoulders shaking, and I laughed, letting out the strange sexual tension I was feeling. "Oh, and you’re right, it is a male fantasy. Get some sleep."

Lying on the floor, I eventually got to sleep. I was pretty hot in the suit, for one thing, and, to be honest, my boobs kept getting in the way, nestling under my armpits or squashing into my chest. After a frustrated hour, I found my bra in the bathroom, and put it on to see if it would help. It did, but only a little, and for the first time ever, I think, I fell asleep on my side. My dreams were not good either. At first I dreamt that I was making love to Becky, her thighs wrapped around my ass, I was kissing her, fondling her, moving on top of her, then through her, inside her, shattering her body. Then I dreamt I was at home, exploring my Becky suit, her perfect body, running my fingers over it. Except, this time, I could feel ever brush of a hand, I giggled when I tickled myself, and bit my lip as I stroked my breasts. My nipples slowly became hard, and I moved my hand between my legs, playing with my clit, my pubic hair growing moist. I carefully slid my index finger inside my vagina, my thighs wide apart, my back arched. Then, suddenly, I felt my rock-hard penis burst from inside me, through the suit, ripping it from crutch to belly button, the back splitting wide open, my shoulder blades stretching and warping the fabric, my stomach swelled, and burst, my own love handles set free, and I was left, this perverse figure, writhing on the bed, trapped, but free.

Needless to say, I did not sleep well.

Becky was, surprisingly, up before me in the morning, as I woke to the sound of water splashing in the shower in her bathroom. Eschewing the option of spying on her, I sat up, trying to remember that I had slept with my contacts in, and so not to rub my eyes. I glanced in the mirror: I looked like hell. A shower was out too; at least, until I knew that I could without washing off the body makeup Charlie had applied. Looking down, I could see that my body was still perfectly made-up. I threw back the covers, and got up, wandering round her flat, looking at it for the first time in the light of day. It was not really what I had expected. Oh, there were pop and movie stars on the walls, and clothes scattered around, but the most clutter lay around the desk, in the form of books and papers, in a very neat hand. She had a full bookcase too, and I noted with some slight smugness that all of my books where there, and looking rather dog eared. I sat on the bed, unsure what to do, but conscious of the fact that pressure was growing on my bladder. After a few seconds of crossing and uncrossing my legs, and bouncing up and down, I had to do something about it. I knocked politely on the wall.

"Yeah?" She shouted, then said, "good morning, by the way."

"Morning, um, Becky?" Pause. "Do you mind if I use the bathroom?"

"No, sure, come in, nothing we haven’t seen before," she replied cheerfully. The curtain was drawn, and I sat down, and did my business. The water stopped, and a dripping hand reached out, flailing for a towel, which I handed to her. "Thanks, sleep well?" I replied that I had not. "Oh, sorry. You can use the shower in a minute. Help yourself to the spare toothbrush." She drew the curtain back, the towel wrapped around her body, in a delightful feminine way.

I decided to wash my face, removing all of the make up from last night. Wiping the steam from the mirror, I was surprised, but not overly, to see that while I didn’t look made-up, I still looked like a human being, and not a mannequin. Charlie was impressing me more and more. In fact, I looked quite attractive au natural. I brushed my teeth, and did the best I could with my hair, and walked back through into the room. Becky was fully dressed, simply in jeans (very tight, I noticed) and a T-shirt.

"I have to go, to a class." She explained. "I left some clothes out for you," she gestured to a neat pile on the bed. "You can bring them back whenever. I really have to run, sorry. Give me a call, ok? And take care." She threw on a jacket, sprang over to me, kissed me and gave me a warm hug, before darting out the door, which locked behind her.

I disrobed, throwing my panties and bra into her laundry basket, along with the T-shirt she had leant me, and stood naked, and feeling naked, in the middle of her room. Maybe it was force of habit, but the thrill of being alone in a girl’s bedroom suddenly hit me in a wave, and a shiver crept up my spine. I located the voice-brace floating in a bowl, shook it off, and put it back into my mouth.

"Testing, testing?" Becky’s voice filled the room. I really had to ask Charlie how he had done that. I reached down, and grabbed the, still-wet, towel that Becky had worn, and wrapped it around my body, just as she had done, exposing a little cleavage, and riding just halfway up my curvy thighs. It smelt of her. I turned towards her vanity, looking in the mirror. "Hi! I’m Rebecca McCay," I put one foot onto the stool, letting the towel fall open, showing one thigh, "but you can call me Becky."

There was a knock at the door.

Assuming it was Becky, I adjusted the towel, to make myself more decent, and walked, ok, swayed, to the door. I should have looked through the spyglass. I opened it without a second thought. "Hi, Bec…" The blood rushed from my face, frozen in a smile, my body posed in mid-sway.

There was a guy at the door. He was taller than I was, and quite well built, with long brown hair, and a very wide grin. "Running late?" he asked, his eyes wandering down my body, taking in my curves.

"Um, yeah," I tried to sound cheery, happy to see this friend of Becky’s - of mine, I suppose. "I’ll meet you there!" I garbled out, amazed I had thought of it, pushing the door shut. He stopped it, still smiling.

"Hey, no worries Becks, I’ll just wait for you." He walked inside. "Besides," he added as I closed the door behind him in amazement, "you know I love to watch you dress." I stared at him for a second, boring a hole into his back. Then it hit me, this was her boyfriend. I had seen him somewhere before, and it was in a clip frame on her desk. He’d had shorter hair then though. Oh my God, that meant they’d been together for a while. "So," he turned, "good night last night?"

"Yeah, it was fun," I managed. My brain was working furiously, what the hell was I going to do?

"Not too much fun I hope?" He asked, still smiling, and walking towards me. "I really missed you, Becks." His hand grabbed the front of my towel, between my breasts, and pulled. I imagine that Becky’s towel would have stayed in place, and she would have been pulled towards this guy, probably for a romantic kiss and a cuddle. Unfortunately, my towel came off in his hand, leaving him a bit surprised, and me very naked. We stared at each other for a second. I was desperately trying to fight the urge to cover up my body in a pathetic manner, or run off. What I actually did, God help me, was briefly glance at his crutch which was straining to abate a large lump in his pants. I grinned weakly, noticing the predatory smirk that was all over his face. "You missed me too huh?" he moved in, and grabbed me around the waist, pressing his lips to mine, and groping my ass. I really don’t know what came over me, but I actually opened my mouth a little. Inside my brain was screaming, "You are kissing another guy! Another man is fondling your butt! That is someone else’s erection you can feel on your hip!" but on the outside, God help me, I actually wrapped my arms around his waist.

He broke off the kiss, still hugging me, my breasts pressed against his chest. "We’re going to be late, you know?" He said, lust dripping with every word. I needed a way out of this, and quick. Especially before he discovered that my vagina had shrunk to only one inch. "Damn Becks, you look amazing," this I took as foreplay. The fact he said it to my boobs made it all the more romantic. "Come on," he gestured to the bed.

"I have to go," I managed. Where I had to go I had no idea.

"You’re just going for a work out. Damn it, I think you just schedule these gym sessions to piss me off." He paused, and the grin returned. "I could give you a work out."

The gym! Thank God, a way out.

"I promised the girls I’d go, and I will see you later," I crooned, in my best pitiful vixen voice. I hope my guess was right.

"Yeah, ok." He looked hurt. A party was going on in my head. "I guess I should go to my class," he was giving me puppy dog eyes. It was kind of endearing. He hung his head (his nose in my impressive cleavage) and started softly kissing my boobs. One hand was still fondling my ass. I wondered briefly where the other hand was.

The unmistakable sound of a zipper.

Oh God.

"Would you suck it? I’ll go after that, leave you in peace?" The same playful smile. They had probably played this game a thousand times. "I did you last time," he said, in a childish voice. That would be my dumb luck. I must have looked horrified. "Are you ok? You don’t look yourself?" Concern. "Actually, "he gave my ass a squeeze," you don’t feel yourself either."

I tried to push him away, wishing I knew his name so that I could scream it out. Wishing that I wasn’t in this situation; wishing that I didn’t look like a pretty young woman. Mainly, however, I was wishing that he wouldn’t discover that I wasn’t.

Inspiration hit me. "And what do you mean by that?" I tried my best to suppress the fear in my voice, hoping it sounded like I was offended. "What’s wrong with how I look?" This time, when I pushed, he let me go, a look of bewildered fear in his eyes. I had kicked the puppy.

"That’s not what I meant, Becks; you look great," he fumbled for an excuse. I reached down for my towel, grabbing it angrily, and wrapping it around my curvy body.

"Yeah, but I don’t feel it, right?" I practically spitted at him, enjoying this for all it was worth, and practically strutting past him to Becky’s make-up table, opening bottles and sticks at random.

"I meant you feel great, you know I love you," I heard the sound of an embarrassed zipper being drawn. "I didn’t say you were fat."

"What?" I turned round, making sure the towel stayed on. "What did you say?"

"Oh shit, look Becks, that’s not what I meant…" I almost felt sorry for him. I had been in this position a few times, and never managed to get out of it before. Now I was on the offensive end, and with his hormones at full throttle, there was no way I was going to let him out of it. I just stood, a scowl, I hoped, on my face. He hung his head. There was a static pause. I gave in. I smiled.

"I know, ok?" He smiled, "I’m just stressed out and running late." He nodded, a hopeful smile on his face. He looked at his watch.

"Ok, I’ll let you get sorted. Ok?" He smiled, walking towards the door.

Making sure my towel was fastened, I followed him. "Look, I’m sorry…" I let it hang, hoping he wouldn’t notice I had no idea what his name was.

He bent down, and kissed me on the cheek. "Ok, we’re both sorry." He grinned. "I’ll see you at lunch, ok?"

"Sure," I nodded. He opened the door, and the sounds of bedlam filtered into the room. He grinned, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me on my lips, forcing my mouth open, his tongue in my mouth, and pinched my butt. He grinned, and left, cheerfully slamming the door behind him. I was frozen to the spot.

I sat on the edge of the bed, next to the pile of clothes, Becky’s towel on the floor. "What the hell am I doing?" I asked the world in general. I had been kissed, groped, and romanced by another guy, and I had reciprocated. "I’ve been a girl for less than two days, and already I’m a slut! No, wait, Becky’s a slut! I’ve turned into Jackie Collins." I sat in disbelief for what seemed like ages, unsure what to do, and what I had done. I looked up, and saw my reflection in the mirror. Becky’s reflection. Suddenly, the thrill of being in her room returned, coupled with the added knowledge that her boyfriend had mistaken me for her. He had kissed me. I smiled. This was going to work. I had to get out of here, had to see Charlie, and had to forget about that kiss.

I stood up, and quickly dressed in the clothes that Becky had laid out for me: a matching white push-up bra and panties, a white, ribbed sweater, and a pair of blue (tight!) jeans. The shoes I had didn’t go with the outfit, I noted. Still, that didn’t matter. I grabbed my pocket book, and left Becky’s apartment, slamming the door behind me.

I was very aware of my derriere swaying as I walked down the corridor out of the campus, the jeans making it almost impossible for me, or anyone else, not to notice. So, after ten steps, I gave up caring, and just walked out the building, politely trying to ignore anyone, especially if they looked like they might recognise me. Getting a taxi was easy, and I was soon on my way to Charlie’s studio.

Thankfully he was in. Or should I say she, as a very female Charlie answered the door, in a kimono - which was almost, but not quite, covering her charms. "Where the hell have you been?" she asked, once inside, her hands on her hips, mock matron style.

I told her. Everything. She listened, interrupting only twice. Once to tell me that the makeup was permanent, and water wouldn’t affect it, and the second time to laugh so hard I thought she might need air.

"So, my little Miss Frankenstein has a boyfriend?" She managed eventually, still laughing.

"It could have been worse," I argued, still managing to see the funny side of it. "And he’s not my boyfriend!" I argued petulantly. "I don’t even know his name!"

"Ah, the best kind of man," Charlie giggled, standing up. "If you want some breakfast, or coffee or anything, help yourself." She walked over to the make-up table. "I have to get ready, and you," she turned round, "have to get changed."

I walked over to the kitchen, and filled a mug with filter coffee. "Where am I going?" I asked.

"My dear, you are going to work."

 

 

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