**Author's Note: Thanks again to Laurie for proofreading and her boundless enthusiasm and to Crystal, FM and Ghostly for posting the stories we want to read. Long may it continue.**

 

Ghost Writer

by Circe

circe@grlmail.com

 

Part 4

I stared at my keyboard and felt a vibrating on my ankle. It took me a couple of seconds to break from my reverie and realize it was the cell phone I had bought - that Becky had made me buy - yesterday. Only three people in the world knew the number (I wasn't counting myself, as I still had no idea) and Charlie was in her workroom, clattering. This left Becky and James.

I felt a momentary rush of excitement at the thought of Becky, as I wanted to tell her the result of the events this afternoon with James. It had been a success. I had fooled him into thinking I was, and had always been, a woman - thanks mainly to Charlie - and one who he, I thought, found quite attractive. My worries were over. I could return to writing knowing that no more articles like the one he had written would ever surface. I was Andrea Thomson. Somehow I didn't believe that.

The number on the face of the phone was unfamiliar to me, but this too wasn't a surprise - I didn't know their numbers either.

On the other hand, it could be James. An image of James, smart in his suit and tie, flashed into my mind. We had had fun this afternoon, laughed at the waiter (played by Charlie in a supporting role, to make sure I was okay) and flirted a little. Actually, we had flirted a lot. It had been fun.

I took the plunge and pushed the green button.

"Hello?" I asked, tentatively.

"Andrea! Hi!" James' voice.

I inhaled sharply. "Hi!" I replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. "How are you?"

"Good thanks, just been finishing up your interview actually."

I looked at the computer screen. "Yeah, I've been doing some scribbling too." I clicked the minimize button. "So, what can I do for you James?"

"A couple of things actually," he said, changing hands. "I've got a few photos here of you that I wanted to use in the article, but they're the publishing house ones. It would be great to get some done for the article. Some new ones," he added.

"I'd have to talk to Suz about it," I answered automatically. "She handles all that stuff. I just write," not lately, I thought to myself.

"Oh, okay," he replied, disappointed I thought. "Do you think she'll go for it?"

"No reason why not," I replied truthfully. "Depends what photos you want."

"Ah, that would be telling," he laughed. "Actually, that brings me onto the other thing I wanted to ask you."

"Fire away James."

"I realise this is a long-shot, what with you being a hugely successful author and all," said James as I looked around Charlie's designer-mess studio, and down at my own jogging-bottom-clad legs, "but was wondering if you'd like to . . . " He paused. "Erm, go for a drink. Tonight. If you're free, that is. To go over what I've written," I grinned down the telephone.

Charlie, hearing voices, stopped her banging, and stuck her blonde head round the door frame. Her lips split in a huge smile.

"Sure, I'd like that." I clicked shutdown on computer.

The girl in the mirror tugged self-consciously on her hemline rising up her thighs. I straightened up, reconciled to be fighting a loosing battle and causing the skirt of my dress to creep further upwards. I gave myself the once-over. The cocoa knit mini-dress was gorgeous, as Charlie had promised. It clung to my artificial curves with static-like adoration, ending its winding path on my nude-hose thighs. The neckline was a worry though; delicately, but deliberately, scooped to display a deliciously under-wired, pride and prejudice style bust. A silver ankh lay nestled in the cleavage, suspended from my neck. My hair was up, curled and styled away from my face with expertise. Two strands of hair curved down to frame my face. My make-up was light, to all appearances. Chocolate eye-liner and coffee mascara around my eyes, autumn bronze on my lips. Simple hoop earrings dangled from my lobes. I smoothed the front of the dress, my fingernails glossy and copper. I looked again at my feet; one foot encased in a three-inch heel sandal, the other in a two-inch heel knee-length boot.

"I like the sandals," Charlie, off-stage, opined.

"You would!" I shot her a glance. "You're right though." I tottered unsteadily back to the bed, unzipped and removed the boot. My toes wiggled into the other sandal. My copper-colored toenails dancing behind the seam of my hose. "Can I can wear hose with these?" I asked Charlie nervously, examining my feet one more time.

"Definitely," she squatted down in front of me, arms folded under her chest. "Guys like to see that sort of thing. Underwear lines, clothes labels, the odd bra strap - it drives them nuts." She grinned up at me. I crossed my legs, sliding my thighs against each other, pulling down on my hemline. Charlie playfully slapped my hand.

"Stop it! You've got to be comfortable. Don't look like you're annoyed or self-conscious. You have to be sexy or he'll see right though you. Remember this was your idea. I just wanted to rent a movie," she laughed. "Stand up, honey."

I stood, running my hands down my dress.

"Look at yourself, Andrea," Charlie led me to the mirror, her hands around my waist. "You're drop-dead gorgeous. Long legs, curvy ass, push-up tits. You're so sexy he's beneath you."

The girl in the mirror struck a pose. God she was beautiful. I felt a twinge in my groin, and a twinge in my conscience. What the hell was I doing? I had done this for James. I had wanted him to be impressed.

"Charlie?" I broke the spell of the mirror. I turned to face her; her hands still around my waist.

"Yes hon?" Our faces were inches apart.

"I'm so confused." She slid her hands down my hips, around my ass, stroking my plump behind through the dress, before kissing me softly, delicately on my lips.

I was too surprised to react, so stood there, dumb and wide-eyed. Charlie looked at me, a smile creeping over her face.

"Andrea," she paused, "Tom. This can stop whenever you want. But I don't think you want it to, do you?" she asked softly, her lips mouthing every word deliberately.

I wasn't sure whether she meant the kiss, or my female disguise.

Our eyes locked for a moment as I moved my hands slowly around Charlie's waist.

"My, my," her eyes twinkled, "decided to stop looking have you?" Her lips curled into a smirk. "But you have to go meet your man."

Charlie felt soft, warm through the fabric of her sweater. My thumbs caressed her stomach nervously.

She kissed me again, quickly and laughed, raising her hands onto my nipped waist and pulling me to her; we embraced, our faces resting next to each other, bodies pressed together so tightly I could feel her warmth through my dress. I smiled - the girl in the mirror smiled back at me.

"Careful honey, you'll crush," Charlie whispered, pushing herself away from me, before smoothing the front of my dress down with her hands. "If I was twice the man that you are," she paused and began to giggle, sending us both into helpless peals of laughter. "Hang on," she said, before walking out the room, returning moments later with a bottle of perfume.

I stood helpless as she sprayed a thin mist on my neck and between my breasts, before kissing me where she had sprayed. I breathed in the sweet smell deeply. It was the same scent she had worn the first time we had met, mixed with the smell of her hair.

I was late, and flustered and glowing when I stepped out of the cab, hugging the faded blue denim jacket around me. I took a deep breath, taking in Charlie's scent from her jacket and my body and catching sight of myself in the reflective glass of the bar as I did so. I looked gorgeous and felt sexy. What the hell was happening to me? I had no idea, but the feeling of being Andrea was suddenly intoxicating. I was a woman for better or worse and Charlie had kissed me.

Charlie had kissed me.

I had been torn between my commitment to James and my sudden need to spend time with Charlie, but had been delicately reminded that, "you don't stand up the guy who almost ruined your life." So here I was - slightly overdressed but dressed to kill.

The bar was quiet, but lively. Small groups of people chatted and laughed over the Motown background music as I scanned the room for James. We caught sight of each other at the same time, as he flashed me a smile from the booth at the other end of the bar and I waved back, walking towards him deliberately. I felt every movement of my body with each step; hypersensitive to the sway of my hips, the movement of my dress, the flounce of my hair. He stood as I arrived, a smile on his lips and a spark in his eye as he greeted me with a warm, "Great to see you," and a hug. Our bodies pressed together for an instant, his hands on my back, mine round his waist as I breathed in his scent.

"Nice to see you too," I smiled. Breaking off the hug and removing my pocketbook and jacket before sitting delicately, pulling at my hemline, on the soft leather bench and wiggling toward its center. I crossed my legs at the thigh under the table, and kicked something hard. Opposite me, James winced. "Oh, I'm sorry!" I brought my hand up to my mouth. James laughed, reaching down to rub his leg - mock afflicted.

He had changed his clothes, but to good effect. A tight-fitting v-neck t-shirt showed off his chest to good effect, matched with a pair of gray mole-skin trousers. A black leather jacket lay crumpled by his side. He had obviously showered and shaved before coming out as his hair was damp where it caught the light. I smiled inwardly at these things - he obviously wanted to make an impression.

"So is this business or pleasure?" I asked, taking off my glasses and putting them in my bag. I looked up, catching his eyes staring into my cleavage as I removed a packet of cigarettes from the bag.

"You look amazing," he replied, ignoring my question and grinning widely whilst signalling for a waitress.

"Thanks," I blushed, "actually, I feel a little overdressed. You look pretty good yourself. Who'd have thought?"

"Hey!" We laughed as I lit a cigarette and a waitress appeared. She was young and pretty, with a short hockey skirt, black t-shirt, white apron and a nametag that proclaimed her to be

"Debbie," resting just above her left breast. She took our order, smiled a rote little smile and left, leaving us alone. I tapped my finger on my cigarette, sending a column of ash tumbling into the chrome ashtray.

"You didn't answer my question," I said evenly, bringing the lipstick marked filter to my lips.

"Definitely not business. Promise. I have nothing but my own interests at heart. Scout's honor," he said, bringing two fingers up to under his eyebrows.

"You know, I really can't see you as a Boy Scout," I laughed.

"You want to see my woggle?"

 

"So I'm standing there, naked," I laughed, "hiding in my roommate's wardrobe, trying not to breathe or, heaven forbid look at her and her boyfriend who are having a great deal more fun than I am!" James was laughing; I was laughing. We were swapping college stories, matching each punch-line drink for drink. I was having fun.

"Okay, I can beat that!" James proudly proclaimed, his smile wide and eyes dazzling. I cradled my head in my hands, looking up at him with rapt attention.

"I'd love to hear it," I felt a familiar pressure in my bladder, "just give me a minute, okay?" I grabbed my bag, wriggled out of the booth and stood up, smoothing down the front of my dress, and tugging at the hemline to straighten it.

"If it's so much hassle, why wear it?" James asked, pointing to my dress.

"Because people object when I walk around naked," I replied, smiling. "Don't you like it?"

"It's not really my color, thanks all the same," he laughed. "Same again?" he asked, gesturing to the empty glasses.

"Sure. Are you trying to get me drunk?" I was only half joking. While I didn't feel drunk, if we kept up at the rate we were going at, it would only be a matter of time. I really wanted to remain slightly sober; just enough so that I wouldn't say anything stupid. One more glass couldn't hurt though, and after that I'd probably make my excuses and go, I told myself.

I walked over to the ladies toilet, no longer self-conscious of the slight sway on my hips, nor the slight jiggle of my boobs. I felt damn sexy. Miraculously, there was an empty cubicle, and so I closed the door, set down my bag, hitched up my dress and slid down my hose and panties, waiting for relief. Relief came with a price; a sharp stabbing pain which always made me conscious of my catheter.

The pain brought back the memory of Charlie earlier today and the knowledge that the sexier I felt, the more chaste I should be, in case I do myself some serious damage.

I finished my business, arranged my clothes and stepped out of the cubicle to wash my hands and check my make-up and décolletage. My boobs were still high and proud - two round orbs that made it impossible for me to look away. I pulled up my dress a little to cover the frill of lace from my bra, thought twice and pulled it back down a little. Them, giving myself a quick once over to make sure my dress wasn't tucked into my panties, I touched up my lipstick and sprayed a little perfume behind my neck.

"You look gorgeous, stop preening!" A playful voice sounded behind me, as an attractive woman stood inside a cubicle.

"I'm sorry, I'm not a vain person, honest!" I protested, as the woman walked up beside me, resting her bag on the counter in front of the mirror.

"Everyone's vain when they're trying to pull," she smiled sagely, pulling out a compact and analysing her eye make-up. She hesitated. "Do I know you?" she asked, her brow furrowing as she looked at me closely.

"I don't think so?" I examined her for any recognition. She was taller than I was, but wearing higher heels, hidden behind long flared black hipsters that hugged her round bottom. Her top stopped just short of her belly button, revealing a tanned and trim waist. She wore her hair short, but the fringe covered her eyes, blonde wisps framing her almond face. She pursed her full red lips in concentration as a light went on behind her gray pupils.

"You're not Andrea Thomson are you?" Her face became animated in recognition as she set down the compact. "You are!"

I grinned despite myself, unsure what do to at this point. "Yeah, that's me." I offered lamely.

"Oh I love your books!" she gushed, "I've read every one. I started reading them and gave them to all my friends who think they're wonderful. I'm sure everyone says this to you but the people in your books are just like me. It's so nice to know that there's at least one other woman who's as idiosyncratic as me! I'm Claire by the way."

I laughed, enjoying the praise - my first fan. Before I knew where I was, I was hugging her. This total stranger.

"Thank you, that means a lot," I said as we broke apart, and meant it.

By the time I returned to the table, two glasses awaited me - a tall glass of long vodka, and a smaller shot glass. I could tell by the lemon slices and the salt shaker on the table, that James had ordered tequila. I flashed a smile at him before wriggling back along the booth into my seat and laying my bag next to me.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine yeah thanks. Just ran into a fan in the loo, that's all." I glanced over at the table where Claire was sitting with her friends - all girls - and giggled as she told them about her meeting Andrea Thomson.

"You must get that a lot?"

"Not really," I admitted, crossing my legs under the table. "Novelists aren't pop stars or anything. You have to be Salman Rushdie or J.K. Rowling to get on TV these days."

"And yet you are," he grinned, licking the inside of his hand and sprinkling salt over the moist strip. "On TV, that is." I copied his motion, before selecting a piece of lemon and waiting, poised for the signal. He looked at me, eyes locked. "To Andrea, may she forever in the public eye."

I gulped down the tequila; sure I could hear fate laughing at me.

Okay, I was drunk. I admit it. Otherwise I would never have agreed to have gone dancing when the bar threw us out. I was having fun, once I worked out how to dance as a girl. My dress prohibited large steps anyway (provided I didn't want to show my panties to the world) and so I wound up taking small steps and mainly dancing with my hips. We had gone to Gossips, a small club nearby that had a funk night on a Friday and I had gotten in for free. James Brown rang out on the dance floor as James and I strutted our respective funky stuff. I have never laughed so much in my life - James had a story for everything, all of them funny, and when we weren't dancing we propped up the bar, as James told me about the places he had been and the people he had met. I was having a good time, until Marvin Gaye intervened.

As soon as he heard the opening strains of "Lets Get It On," James grabbed me by the hand and whisked me onto the dance floor, singing every word as if he meant it, and addressing me the whole time. I'll admit he was very good; so good in fact that the other slow-dancers and lovers stopped to watch as James performed the song. I giggled nervously, and laughed outright at his performance right until the very end, when, as a climax, he walked up to me and placed his hands deliberately on my ass to slow-dance away the rest of the song. I was helpless with laugher, and followed suit, sliding my hands over his firm butt and resting my head on his shoulder to sway away the rest of the song.

The song ended.

The crowd burst into applause.

I kissed James.

I kissed him, not the other way around. I just found my lips opposite his and leant towards him and kissed him. He kissed me back, pushing his tongue into my mouth and grabbing my ass. The crowd continued to applaud as I felt a lump in my dress.

I panicked, pushing James away and running to the ladies toilets, convinced I had burst out of my restraint and the world knew everything. I locked the cubicle door behind me as I started to cry, checking between my legs for a hard-on that wasn't there.

Realisation dawned on me - it was James I had felt.

There was a knock on the cubicle door.

"Andrea, you okay?" It was James.

"I'm fine, yeah," I said between sobs, wiping the multicolored tears away from my eyes. "Just give me a minute, okay?"

"Andrea, I'm sorry if I've pissed you off. I didn't mean to embarrass you or anything."

"No, really," I dabbed at my eyes with toilet paper. "I'm fine." My artificial voice sounded hollow. I was far from fine. "Just, give me a minute."

There was a pause.

"Okay, I'll be outside. Don't run away okay?" There was a concern and warmth in his voice that made me smile. My tears had stopped.

"Ok." I agreed, wiping the rest of the make-up from my eyes.

What did I want? I knew I was playing a role in my heart. I wasn't gay. Andrea wasn't gay either. Tom wanted Charlie, but didn't want to be Tom. Andrea wanted James. I had to admit it. We had seduced each other; me with my body and James with his wit. When he had held me I had felt . . . Need. Andrea needed to be held, to be kissed. In any story I would have put the two of them together for a night of passionate sex, and a part of me wanted that. I wanted to show James that I was a woman - that the ghost writer was flesh and blood.

Andrea wanted more. She wanted to feel like a woman. Andrea had been in control; the flirting, the touches, the kiss. I was intoxicated. I realized Andrea had been seducing two people all along - James and me. If I couldn't have her, I'd have to be her.

I stood up, straightening out my dress automatically; pulling and tugging the stretchy fabric into place. The toilet was deserted as the music thumped from outside and I examined myself in the mirror. I was flawless. Charlie's mask hid a thousand sins. Only my eyes - red, puffy and without mascara or eyeliner - gave anything away as I stared into their bright green depths. What was I going to do?

I opened my purse and walked over to the sanitary towel dispenser, selecting something at random and putting in some change. The condom machine was next. I returned to the stall and dropped the condoms in my purse before hitching up my dress and sliding down my pantyhose, unwrapping a towel and slipping it in place between my legs under my panties. I restored my hose and dress, applied some mascara and lipstick and surrendered myself to Andrea. Her will be done.

Tom was waiting for me outside the toilet with a glass of something and a guilty look. I walked straight towards him, a smile on my lips and a sway in my step.

"Andrea, I . . ." Tom started, the rest of his greeting lost as my lips pressed against his, our mouths locked together in an exchange of tongues. I wrapped my arms around his middle, pressing my body into his as I felt his hand slide over my round bottom and give it a playful squeeze. I could feel his smile through my lips.

"Can we go somewhere?" I asked, resting my head on his shoulder. "I want to talk."

My hands slid down his back, before resting on his buttocks, returning the squeeze. "And to apologize. There's some things I have to know, okay?"

"Okay." His brows were confused, but his eyes sparkled as we kissed again. "Wait here, I'll call a cab."

James' apartment was exactly as I imagined - it looked like mine. Papers and half-read books littered every available surface in a literary game of Jenga. The decoration was functional, rather than decadent, with a strong tendency to Scandinavian furniture in the hope that his house would appear like a catalogue home, rather than merely a place to sleep. His walls were lined with various newspaper clippings and magazine articles, contained within clip-frames. His sofa, where I languished with my stocking feet curled under me, was deliciously comfortable, and gave me a perfect view of the room, whilst obscuring me from the sounds of drinks being poured directly behind me. I shifted slightly, feeling the soft, brown leather under me creak and purr.

"All yours?" I asked, gesturing to the clippings on the wall.

"Yup, all me," he shouted back, accompanied by the tinkling of glasses.

"You get around, don't you. All these papers."

"Oh, I'm freelance," his voice came closer, out of the kitchen as I turned around and flashed him a smile. Champagne and two glasses. "I write what I want, when I want, for who I want." He sat the glasses down on the glass coffee table, and effortlessly opened the bottle, leaving it to spill white smoke over the manuscript-covered table.

"Must be nice," I mused, "I'm caught between writing what I want and when someone else wants it. And I have no choice for who it's for."

"Suzanne seems to have your interests at heart," James sat down next to me, reaching over to pour two glasses. "The peace she got me to write was an amazing publicity stunt. For an editor, she'd make a damn good PR consultant. You're pretty lucky."

He offered me a glass as I shifted position, pulling my feet out from under my behind and resting them on his lap. I graciously accepted, leaving his hand free to stroke my stocking leg.

"Yeah, I guess I am." I smiled at him again, genuine affection spilling through me. "What shall we toast?" I asked.

"Ghost writers?" he asked, with a smirk.

I stopped.

"What did you say?" I asked, my voice caught between amusement and fear.

"The title, of the first piece Suzanne asked me to write about you. If it hadn't been for that we'd never have met," James' voice reminded me gently, penetrating my consciousness though a haze of alcohol.

Suzanne. This was why I was here. What else had she said to James about me?

"Tell me about that," I sat my glass down on the table. "How did that all come about anyway?"

"Well," his hand massaged my knee, "my agent phoned up and said that there was a Sunday supplement piece for me, and all I had to do was go see this Suzanne woman. That's your boss," he reminded me, eyebrows raised. I furrowed my brow in mock-annoyance.

"Anyway," he continued, "I met her and she told me she wanted to do a PR stunt for your book, told me about your media blackout and showed me some photos. Said you wanted to really push your image and needed a lift, so she basically wrote the article. All I did was fill in the blanks." He paused. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine," I replied, absently. "Go on?"

"You sure?"

I nodded.

"Alright. Well, she said it was part of a two story deal. One where I expose you as a fraud, no offence."

"None taken," my voice was hollow. Miles away.

"And the other where I reveal the real Andrea Thomson to the world. That's what we did today." His hand worked around my knee, up towards my thigh. "But, that's not the good stuff."

"It's not?"

"Oh no. After meeting her I read through the notes she gave me, and then did some research on my own." He paused, looking at me intently. "You really are beautiful, you know that?"

I cast my eyes downward, looking at my body displayed on the couch - my brown dress and tights blending in to the upholstery; my milky-white breasts the only contrasting color in sight.

"Thanks," I replied. A whisper.

"You know, the moment I saw one of your photos, I think I fell for you. You just had a sparkle." His hand slid under the hem of my dress, brushing both my nylon-clad thighs gently; slowly. "When you ran away tonight I thought. . . . I thought that I'd blown it."

"You hadn't blown it," I said, barely audible above the spitting champagne, "although I may be about to." I pulled him closer to me, kissing him on his lips; gently at first, then with open-mouthed passion, my arms around him in a tight embrace. "James?" I asked, between kisses. "I need to know the good stuff."

"I have to show you," he moved away from me, pulling his now-warm hand from between my legs.

"Show me later," I smiled. "I have to show you something first."

I moved out from under him, leaving him sitting on the couch as I stood, looking into his eyes and reaching down to the hem of my dress and slowly pulling it up.

"Andrea," James began, sitting upright in the chair, his arms outstretched.

"Shh," I smiled, bringing a painted nail up to my lips, before reaching down and wriggling my dress over my thighs.

"No, wait." James spoke slowly, his eyes following my hands as they pulled my dress up to reveal my panties. "Becky, wait!"

His words rang out like a gunshot.

I let my arms fall to my sides and crouched down next to him, deflated.

"Becky, that's what I've been trying to say," James spoke soothingly, his hands still on my waist. "I know you're not Andrea. I know who you are."

I was speechless.

"I know that Andrea's a pseudonym for this guy Tom. I know you're filling in for him. You don't have to lie. You don't have to do," he paused, "anything you don't want to."

There was a brief pause the length of eternity.

"What else do you know?" My voice was small, hurt for all the wrong reasons.

"I know that you're a model, or used to be, before Suzanne bought you out." There was no hint of malice in his voice - even though each word struck like a knife in my back. "You're the face of the only successful author Suzanne has; without you the whole place falls into receivership."

"What?" I asked. "Say that again. Are you going to write this?"

"I can't. She made me sign a non-disclosure agreement." James looked briefly upset at this.

"She paid me a lot of money, as she paid you I figure, to make sure this Tom guy keeps on writing for her and making her rich. You know he's just salaried? He doesn't even get commission. He'd be a millionaire by now if he could claim it. But Suzanne owns Andrea, and Tom isn't her." He paused. "You are."

For the first time that night, I felt every inch of plastic, latex and silicone I was wearing; every slick of glue, every inch of the catheter.

"But you know all that," his brow furrowed, "don't you?"

"No." I replied, my voice small and far away. "No, I didn't. I take it that's the good stuff."

"Pretty much. Suzanne has control stock of the company, and control of the author and control of us; I've read the NDA you signed too. Have you met this guy?"

"Yeah, once or twice," I looked at the floor, catching sight of my artificial body in the process.

"Becky," James reached out his hand, placing it over mine, "I'm sorry if I've been unfair to you."

"Unfair? If you didn't want to be unfair you should have told me what you knew from the start!"

I slid my hand from underneath his, crossing my arms under my breasts.

"You're the one who is lying here! You pretended to be someone else all night!"

"And you let me! How was I to know what you'd found out!"

I stood up, pulling down my hemline before looking around for my shoes. I picked them up and sat down on the chair opposite the couch, fastening the sandals quickly.

"I just wanted to see what you'd do to protect the secret, that's all." James sat back, watching me.

"You think Suzanne sent me?!" I was furious. Furious at James, furious with Suzanne, and furious with myself. I had let myself forget the real world; a world full of self-serving people; a world far away from romance stories.

"Well, didn't she?"

"No, I actually came because I thought you were a nice guy." I snatched up my jacket and bag from the sofa.

"So why'd you pretend to be Andrea all night then?"

"Because I like being her more than I like being me!"

I knew the moment the words had left my lips that this was true.

I sniffed, feeling tears welling up behind my eyes as I wrapped my jacket around me and walked soundlessly out of James' apartment.

It was cold and damp in the street. Drizzle fell lightly onto my shoulders as I pulled my jacket up over my head, scanning in vain for a taxi to take me somewhere, anywhere that wasn't here. I felt water I my eyes as I blinked, wiping away the rain with my hand. It was warm, the rain not strong enough to wash away my tears. I didn't even notice when the taxi pulled up alongside me, concern written all over the face of the driver as he rolled down his window.

"Where to?"

I slammed the taxi door shut and fell back onto the seat, catching sight of my reflection in the glass partition, superimposed over the top of the face of the driver. I had no idea where to go. I just wanted to be alone.

"Take me home."

My apartment was pretty much how I'd left it, aside from a few letters in a pile by my door. I hadn't been back here for as many days, staying either with Becky or Charlie. I was on automatic pilot as I checked my messages (of which there were none) and poured myself a glass of vodka and coke before slumping down on the couch. I still had my jacket on when I finished my first glass, hugging it tightly around my cinched waist. I still had it on over an hour later, when I finished the bottle and fell into a drunken, dreamless sleep.

I woke with a start to the sound of my mobile phone ringing. I felt dreadful; my head ached, my body groaned with displeasure and my eyes were glued shut with mascara. By the time I rooted around in my bag for the phone and managed to prize my eyes open, the phone had stopped ringing, proclaiming two missed calls. Charlie. The time on the display read eleven am. I needed to pee.

I stumbled to the bathroom, discarding clothes as I went; throwing my jacket to the ground, kicking off my heels, pulling my dress over my hips, breasts and head, bundling it up into a ball and throwing it onto my bed as I passed the door. I lowered the toilet seat, pulled down my pantyhose and panties to my knees and sat, letting go of the pressure. The sanitary pad lay, slightly bunched up, in the crotch of my panties.

"Fuck." The memories of last night played back in my head.

I pulled off my pantyhose and panties, leaving them in a twisted pile on the tiled floor, and reached behind my back to undo my bra clasp, freeing my breasts from their underwired restraint as I dropped the shaped bra on the underwear pile. I needed a shower.

I stood naked in my bedroom, dripping wet as I rolled my hair up into a towel and pulled a pair of ill-fitting boxer shorts up my smooth, shapely legs and over my round ass. The mirror on my wall held my attention as I brought my hand over a semi-erect nipple, cupping my generous breast before turning away. "Fuck."

I pulled a t-shirt over my head, yanking it down over my breasts as it stretched, outlining my nipples against the fabric. I glanced in the mirror again; even dressed the way I was, the reflection was gorgeous. "Fuck."

I spent the day like that, loafing around my apartment, avoiding looking at myself, or my reflection, just staring into space. The phone rang several times. Each time I ignored it. I sat on the couch, legs tucked under me, arms hugging my chest under my breasts, watching the shadows move through my room; watching the shadows move through my mind.

There was a knock at the door.

I unravelled myself from the couch, hugging my stomach as I walked towards the front door. I paused, took a deep breath, and opened my door.

Charlie.

She stood in front of me, dressed in hipsters and a band t-shirt, a bottle of wine in hand. We stood for a moment as I felt her look over me.

"Come in."

 

To be continued . . .

 

 

 

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