Live Long and Prosper              by: Brandy Dewinter              © 2000, All rights reserved

 

Chapter 14 - "Pay Before Play"

 

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Log of the Twilight Breeze
26 October 2004
Long 143.24 deg. W
Lat 12.17 deg. S

(Tirce’s Island - just offshore)

This has been the most frustrating, and at the same time the most rewarding day of my life.

It started out with Anya no longer being mad at me. I really had been stupid the night before, though not for the reason I had thought I was being stupid. Sometimes I think Tirce must have made as many changes in my mind as in my body, turning me into some parody of ‘macho man’. That’s an awfully convenient excuse, but the fact is I had somehow come to assume that Anya was a cute little girl, well, young woman and expected her to act that way. However, as she showed me quite convincingly, inside that dynamite body lives the strength and drive of Adam and I better not forget it. I’m sure I could physically force her to do some things since I’m so much stronger now, but I will never again make the mistake of assuming my macho personality can overwhelm her own inner strength. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. That’s one of the rewarding things - that Anya is all that Adam was in all the ways that really matter.

Anyway, when I came on deck in the morning, she wasn’t angry any longer. Quite the opposite in fact. God, she is one HOT woman. When I kiss her, Lordy . . . I know for a fact that I was never that good a kisser, and if Adam was, he hid it for 40 years. She is incredibly sensual, passion combined with tenderness, wanton desire matched with a sense of fragile beauty that is in fact not fragile at all. Dear God, I love her. And God, do I want her. When she went below to get some sleep, I had to do something. So I spent a lot of time on the filter cycle today. It’s too bad we don’t have any really cold water on board. I could have used it. Several times.

The biggest reward of the day was that she has come to accept her new form, and mine, and not with any ‘make the best of it’ reluctance. After her morning rest, she came on deck dressed in that blue bikini that I had worn once as Lainey - the one from my ‘wet dream’. And my imagination within the dream was not even close to the beauty of the reality. Part of that was because the bikini, at least the top part, didn’t fit her. Not that I complained. Not like I could have complained anyway. I was too busy picking my tongue up off the deck and trying to get it all back inside my mouth so I could stop drooling. All day long she wore that, with a little skirt that seemed to add just the right touch of secrecy to keep things entrancingly . . . naughty. More time on the filter cycle.

She said, and I believe it, that even if we get Tirce to grant us another wish, she is NOT going to use it to wish us back into our birth genders. (Neither one of us wants to give up being young again, of course.) When we first started to understand the nature of our transformation, I think that Adam would have accepted being old again if that were the price to be a man again. Now, I don’t think Anya would accept being Adam again even if that were somehow the ONLY way to stay young. And I know I wouldn’t either. Change back to Lainey, I mean. There is a freshness, a sense of having a truly new life, exciting and full of wonderful surprises to come that both of us have now. Fifty more years of being Adam and Elaine would have been wonderful. Fifty years of being Anya and Ethan is going to be off the charts!

Well, it should be. That gets back to the frustration thing. Anya is the most beautiful, and the most sensual woman I have ever seen. Now that she is, in her own mind, comfortable with what has happened she seems to have released a pent-up backlog of, I don’t know, femininity or something. Every move she makes is graceful, but it’s more than the grace of a ballerina. She is Passion come to live. I swear, she can twitch her lips in a hint of a smile and promise more than a city full of hookers, yet do it in a way that seems demure and proper at the same time. If I had known how to do that, when I was Elaine, I’d have made a zillion dollars in the movies. There is this incredible undercurrent of something very animal about her; supple, intensely alive, joyously unconstrained by civilized limits. She loves being a woman, and it shows - not the least of which is in her unabashed desire to be with a man.

And that is the core of the frustration. She is afraid that her body is not able to accept intercourse. I have to admit, my . . . equipment is larger than Adam’s was, and there may be some validity to her concern. It might be just the sort of cruel trick Tirce would play, like the way she had interpreted Reyna’s wish - some play on words where we’ll be healthy and always feeling, in Tirce’s interpretation, the happiness of sexual anticipation without ever facing the downside of satiation. That would certainly make our lives seem very ‘long’, no matter how long they really were.

I don’t know what we’ll do if Tirce won’t . . . ‘fix’ things, but I know Anya is so afraid of it, intercourse, that it won’t be the fun it should be. I remember my first time, and it did hurt. I can’t deny that. I guess way back then I was, I don’t know, prepared or something, and I don’t mean by the foreplay. I was mentally ready for the idea of a guy sticking his ‘thing’ in my vagina. I’d talked about it with other girls and I thought I knew what to expect. In actual fact, it was both worse and much, much better than I had expected, but the key was that I wasn’t really frightened at the idea. At least not much.

Anya is. Terrified of being damaged. And perhaps just as afraid of disappointing me. Not that she could ever be a disappointment to me, but I can see why she would worry about that. I feel this compulsion to join with her that I have to really concentrate to keep under control. And she can sense that, which means she can sense how important it is to me and therefore how disappointing it would be if we can’t share that aspect of being together. What she doesn’t realize is that any disappointment I would have would NOT be directed at her. It’s not her fault, in any way, and her own desire is just as intense (well, maybe not quite as intense) as mine.

So, we’re both frustrated. We could have given each other pleasure in other ways, of course, but somehow knowing the final step was denied us meant the other things weren’t . . . right somehow. I don’t mean in any moral sense. Someday they will add immensely to our pleasure. But for right now, if we can’t have the full union we both want, we won’t be satisfied with less.

And that’s the last reward and frustration for the day. After we passed the weather front, the reward part was that we made good time and we are now just offshore from Tirce’s Island. But it’s also sunset, and Anya, always the wise and cautious Captain, doesn’t want to enter the bay after dark. So, we’ll sit out here at anchor all night, within sight of our objective.

Frustrated.

End log entry
Ethan Bridger

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"Guess what!" Ethan called from his place in the bow as I conned the Breeze into the bay at Tirce’s Island the next morning.

"I’m not into guessing games right now," I yelled. I was following the GPS track from our last time in, but when we were here before we might have missed by inches a rock that would take out the Breeze’s keel, for all I knew. Actually, that’s not fair. The crystal waters showed the bottom as we coasted slowly to the dock and I knew we had a clear channel because I had watched the bottom the last time, too. But I didn’t get us three quarters of the way around the world by taking unnecessary chances.

Ethan laughed, respecting my concentration even as he trusted my own sense of duty to keep us out of trouble, and answered his own challenge. "The dock needs some more work."

"It does?" I said. "It’s only been a little over a week since we were here before. What happened?"

By this time we were at the dock and Ethan got busy with the fenders and the mooring lines. Once we were secure, he moved over to examine the missing boards.

"They look weathered away, but I know they weren’t like that before," he reported. Then an idea came to him. "Say, do you remember what Reyna was saying, about when she, or, um, Reynaud and what was his name visited?"

"Phillipe," I supplied.

Ethan continued, "Right. Anyway, she said that they found the dock needing some work, too. Twice, a lot of years apart I’ll buy as a coincidence. But three times, and the last only a long week ago . . . ."

"I know what you mean. Well, it looks like ‘pay before play’ time again. Do you mind? I’ll help."

"That’s all right. I’ll get it," Ethan said, laughing in a way that said he was the source of his own humor. "I’ve been wanting to build something ever since I first stood up to pee."

"What?" Now that was weird, even by the standards of people who have been at sea too long.

"I’ll explain later," he promised, then headed up the beach.

I’d like to be able to say that I helped him anyway, or at least supervised in an appropriately nagging way. But the fact was, I spent the time while he worked on the dock deciding what clothes I was going to wear. That sounds so . . . girlish I should be embarrassed, but there was a good reason. Really there was.

I was trying to decide what impression we needed to make on Tirce. If I wore Adam’s clothes, refusing to accept my femininity, that might make her think I hated it and . . . And what? She hadn’t seemed like an evil person when we had met before. Abrupt, for sure, and rude and not very pleasant, but not actively evil. On the other hand, I certainly considered her evil when I realized what she had done to us - when I first realized it that is. And what she had done to Reyna was just wrong, just inexcusable. Yet, now what she had done to me seemed like a marvelous gift, except . . . Except there was a thorn in this rose if I couldn’t accept the full measure of being a woman; if I could never take Ethan into myself because I was too small for his new equipment. That was the worst sort of torment, and if it were deliberate, then . . .

So I could act like I hated being Anya and try to doublethink her into completing the change. Or if there were a nice person under that gruff exterior, then I should show that I accepted it and beg her to complete it. Which would be the best approach?

I was replaying in my mind both times when we had seen her, and something else came to me. When we had spoken, both Lainey and I had sort of blurted out truthful responses to her questions. I knew we were in a sort of strange situation, facing such an ugly woman on such a beautiful island, and her abruptness sort of kept us off balance anyway, but it seemed to me that, well, that trying to lie to her would not be a good idea. So I would need to dress as Anya, and show that I liked it.

That didn’t help as much as I thought it would. Who was Anya? Was she the ‘wet t-shirt’ floozy, or the bikini babe? Those were roles I assumed because I was teasing Ethan. Were they really me? Or how about some super-feminine satin and lace type? I suppose Lainey had something I could wear. Was that Anya?

As I looked at myself in the mirror of the cabin, stripped out of the shorts and t-shirt I had worn to enter the harbor, I just couldn’t see that person in delicate clothes. A part of me knew that I was foolish to rule out things I hadn’t tried. After all, I’d never have agreed to become Anya in the first place, and now I loved it. But . . . I just didn’t think frills were going to be a big part of my life.

That left Lainey’s casual clothes. Which was a problem, since anything that fit her bosom would be ridiculously tight on mine. Her shorts and things were fine, even if they did ride a bit lower on my hips, but the tops!

I must have tried on 20 different tops, with half that many shorts. Nothing was working until, way in the back of her drawer, I found a dark red halter top with a white collar. As soon as I saw it, I knew that was right for me - not the least because I remember Lainey saying it was too big for her. It still looked like I was about to explode out of it at any breath, but - I don’t know why - I just felt that since Tirce had given me those puppies, I might was well show her I wasn’t ashamed of them. There was another of those island-style wrap skirts that went with the top, this time the pattern was giant orchid-type flowers against a dark red background. That felt right, too. It hung really low on my hips, but I thought it would stay up - and I knew that Ethan would let me know instantly if it didn’t. The net effect, with my newly-black hair, was of a carefree, wonderfully-healthy island girl. I didn’t have the Polynesian eye shape, but I didn’t figure Ethan would mind.

"Ready to go, gorgeous?" Ethan asked, making the Breeze shift as he stepped back on deck. He had gotten heavier as part of his transformation, and it was kind of comforting to just . . . feel his solid presence around me.

"More or less," I answered. "I just need to find some shoes."

"I think I made out better than you did on that," he said, then stopped in his tracks to look at me. The faint whisper of his voice was better applause than a thousand Superbowl fans. "Dear. Holy. God."

"Is something wrong?" I asked innocently. Yeah, right. I knew how I looked.

Ethan’s lips quirked in a devilish sort of leer and he said, "Nothing that a lifetime of holding you in my arms wouldn’t help."

"Oh, you." But I loved it. And he knew I did. And I knew he’d meant every word, which was absolutely the best part.

"Shoes?" I said as he moved toward me. The way I was feeling, we wouldn’t have gotten to Tirce’s cottage for a long time, if we didn’t start right then.

"Oh. Yeah. Well, what I was saying is that I seem to have the same size feet as Adam, near enough. Some of his shoes pinch a little, but I can wear his deck shoes. I think your feet are a bit smaller than Lainey’s though.

"So I’ve been finding out," I sighed.

"Hey, I remember something," Ethan said. "I had a pair of . . . "

He disappeared from our cabin, headed toward the bow. I heard more than saw a flurry of activity among the lockers of the guest stateroom, and then Ethan was coming back with a shoebox held triumphantly before him.

"Here, try these."

"*You* try them," I said when I opened the box. Inside were a pair of wedge-heeled sandals. Real heels, for all that they weren’t silly spikes that would sink in the sand.

"Oh, lighten up," he said, laughing. They have a sling back so you can tighten them to fit your feet. Don’t worry about the heels. You’ll get used to them right away."

"Yeah, right. That’s why you wore them all the time, of course."

"Hey! I’m not the one who decided to wear a skirt today."

"Yeah, but that was . . . "

Damn. Another aspect of Lainey picked the darndest time to show up.

Ethan stood there wearing a grin that I had seen so many times on Lainey. It said that he was willing to stand there, patiently and politely, for as long as I wanted to talk, but that he wasn’t going to believe a word I said. And the worst part of that expression, was that it only came out when whatever I was going to say was, well, not worth believing. Dear God I loved that man, mostly because he really was Lainey, too.

So I ran down before I really got started on my excuse for wearing what I was wearing, and just sat to put on the shoes. Maybe a year at sea, a good portion of which required me to balance on a tilted deck, helped me with the shoes. They weren’t really that high, actually. I’m not exactly sure how such things are measured, and the number doesn’t matter anyway, but I figured they might have been a couple of inches at the back, no more. Just as Ethan had promised, in a couple of minutes I was, well, ignoring them and just walking.

He took a minute to duck in and wash off the sweat and sawdust from fixing the dock, and I used that time to try a little more of Lainey’s makeup. I wasn’t going to screw around with things I didn’t really understand, but I managed to get a couple of coats of mascara on, and more of the dark red lipstick. I was just trying to figure out how to brush on a little something for my cheeks when Ethan stepped close to me.

"Here, let me help," he said. Taking a soft brush, he lightly rubbed it in a cinnamon-colored powder and then dusted my cheeks with it. "Your cheekbones are just marvelous, and I wouldn’t try and make them look brighter with your tan. But just a hint of darker color in the hollow will make them stand out even better."

"Oh, um, thanks," I said.

"Thank you, my love," Ethan said, leaning to kiss my forehead. "There isn’t anyone on this island but a cranky old woman and me, and I’ll choose to believe you’re making yourself beautiful just for me."

Who was I to argue with such flattering . . . insight?

He was very gallant as he escorted me on deck, handing me from the Breeze to the dock like the most gentlemanly of courtiers. It seemed like a casual stroll along the dock to the beach, and then to the little side trail - only I kept remembering we were going to confront a woman who apparently had magical powers, and sometimes used them to do ghastly things.

"This is new," observed Ethan, pointing out a set of steps set into the side of the little ravine. "We don’t have to scramble for handholds any more."

I just nodded. I knew I was getting nervous at the thought of seeing Tirce again, but I had this feeling that there was something else, something I hadn’t thought of that needed to be done. Something important to who I was in a way that was more than what I looked like. I knew what my wish was, and Ethan had done the good deed thing, but . . . what was I missing?

We reached the edge of the clearing that held Tirce’s hut. It looked just like it had when we left, and based on her description it looked just like it had when Reyna last saw it. Poor Reyna, trapped in a wish that had become a curse with no way to . . .

"That’s it!" I realized.

"What?"

"It’s Reyna. We can’t just forget about her."

"Oh, yeah. Well, I had forgotten, but I’m glad you remembered. What are we going to do?"

"Oh, Ethan, we can’t just use up our wish on ourselves, not with her needing it so much worse."

"You’re right, but, um, what about us?"

"I don’t know," I said, feeling trapped. "Maybe we could, um, go to a surgeon or something. I mean, it’s just that I’m too small. Don’t you think that could be fixed, and without magic?"

"But that might take months!"

"How long has Reyna been trapped in her nightmare?"

Ethan sagged a little, but he nodded. "Oh, Anya, I know you’re right. But I don’t have to like it."

"Me neither, but you know we have to do it."

"Yeah. Well, maybe Tirce will, I don’t know, be generous or something."

"Maybe," I repeated, but I didn’t believe it either.

Then I started to believe. We had walked across the clearing and were getting fairly close to her house when I saw a flower bed I didn’t remember; one with giant white orchids just like my skirt.

"That can’t be a coincidence," I whispered, pointing to it. Then I was absolutely sure, because I swear even as we watched weeds sprang up between the orchids.

"Well, I guess that’s our answer," Ethan said, bending to the task. I kneeled beside him, pulling that silly skirt to the side so my knees didn’t push it into the flower bed, and we spent the next 20 minutes or so weeding flowers - not something you often do when you live on a sailboat.

By this time I was resolved not to be surprised by anything, so officially I wasn’t surprised to see a bucket of water and a bar of soap by the porch, though I didn’t remember seeing it when we walked up. With that aid, we washed up after the gardening, then looked at each other.

"Well, I guess it’s time," I said.

"Guess so," agreed Ethan. He took my hand and together we stepped up onto the porch.

He never even knocked. Before he could, a soft woman’s voice with just a hint of huskiness to sound mature without sounding querulously old, called out, "Please, children, do come in."

"Tirce?" Ethan asked through the screen.

"Of course. Whom did you expect?" the voice answered, humor floating along with the words.

The woman we saw when we stepped inside was not the one we had seen before. I had always thought the old Tirce, that is, the previous Tirce was sort of artificially ugly. No one really had that big a nose. So I guess at some level I was expecting something different this trip, at least if she saw us at all. This woman, though was what I wanted to be when I grew up. She didn’t look anything like I expected to look at her age, whatever that was. I thought she might have been, oh, late 40’s, with still-rich auburn hair that had just enough gray in it to convince you the rest of the color was natural. She wore a pale linen suit, perfect for the tropics, though not an island affectation like my own hula dancer’s wrap. She was taller than me, too, so I knew I never would actually look like her at any age. Still, that was the impression that came to me. She was mature, elegant, comfortable with herself yet clearly still vibrantly living her own life.

"Thank you, dear," she said, smiling to me. "That’s a pretty set of compliments from such a pretty young woman."

Well, I had resolved not to be surprised by anything. So I made my voice as nonchalant as possible and said, "You’re a mindreader, too."

"Among other things, when I want to be" she replied. "Please, sit, and have something cool to drink."

The furniture was as changed as the hostess. We sat on matched wicker chairs (hers was larger of course, more like a throne) that were at once cool and comfortable. Some sort of fruity drink had already been set at the three places, and we sat as though we were merely visiting a close friend. I surely hoped that was true.

 

(continued in Part 15)

 

 

 

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Live Long and Prosper © 2000 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.