Author's Note - if you do not like unrealistic scenes and meaningless lesbian sex in TG stories, then I recommend that you skip this story. It is also important for me to explain that while this story does contain some mild bondage in Chapter 2, bondage and domination are not main themes in the story.

It is critical to understand that the main character in the story is working on a novel and that I have included portions of the novel within this story. Thus, there's a story within the story. It should be easy to follow.

The entire story is almost finished. I plan on posting it in two 50-page chapters. This story is not like the Inner Realm of Tioga or My My Are You In Trouble Now: it's much more tame. For those of you who liked my darker stories, don't fret, I'm currently working on the Inner Realm of Tioga II: A Midsummer Night's Nightmare and two other stories with images.

I want to thank all of you who have left kind or helpful reviews of my previous stories. I also want to thank the authors Morpheus and Solari for writing their inspiring and creative stories. (I highly recommend that you read their stories if you have not already). And finally, as always, I want to give a special thanks to Denver, the author of the Tabor series.

To make the story a little more enjoyable, I suggest that you get a copy of the song "Hella Good" by No Doubt, and listen to it during scene at Amanda's apartment.

So, are you Transgendered? Are you obsessed with transformation stories but just can't figure out why? Are you suppressing your true feelings about yourself? OR....do you KNOW there's a woman deep down inside you, just craving to come out and take over? Do you spend hours and hours every day wishing you were a woman...with wide hips, smooth skin...flowing hair...a narrow waist...thick thighs...dramatic curves...and a flat pelvis? Do you want to become a woman? Need a little nudge in the right direction? Who will give it to you? Who is the one person in your life who would give you that nudge, and when will she do it? Will she do it with your knowledge...or will she do it on the sly...using her own cunning methods?

Jodie

xoxo

 

While In The Arms Of Morpheus

by Jodie Anderson

 

Part 1 - January 2002

"So I turned myself to face me...but I've never caught a glimpse...of how the others must see the faker...I'm much to fast to take that test." David Bowie

At 26, Ben Newcomb was living a somewhat spoiled life. Thanks to a couple of trust funds his grandparents had set up for him and an enormous inheritance from his father, he had more than enough money to live on for the rest of his life. After having a huge fight with his sister, he took his money and moved to New Orleans, where he started studying to become a writer. He lived modestly, but he didn't work at all.

'What a waste; last year's workshop was much better,' Ben thought as he listened to the fourth speaker of the day babble on and on about sub-plots. He yawned and stretched his arms up toward the ceiling. He was in a small auditorium in a hotel in downtown New Orleans; he was sitting through a boring lecture that was part of a two-day workshop for writers. He was just about to sneak out of the auditorium and enjoy the unusually balmy January day, when the middle-aged balding man at the podium finished his lecture and walked off the stage.

Ben looked down at the workshop agenda and saw that the next subject was going to be "character development." 'That sounds promising. Maybe I'll stick around for a few minutes to see if this speaker is any good. If she's not, I'll just slip on out,' Ben decided, leaning back in his chair.

A dark-haired beauty walked across the stage and picked up the small microphone at the podium. She was of above-average height for a woman, about 5'8", and had a healthy, statuesque body. She had thick, short hair, which was permed in a bold yet southern feminine style. She was wearing black heels; a black satin blouse; and, a tight, grey patterned suit. The skirt was short, several inches above her knees, and exposed her lovely thighs. Her skin had a light tan, and was quite smooth, except for the barely noticeable little wrinkles around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. She appeared to be in her early-forties. She clipped the microphone to her blouse, just above her large breasts, and turned to face the small audience of about 25 writers.

"Good afternoon. I hope Derrick didn't bore you to tears with his lectures on grammar and subplots. Well, at least y'all are still awake," she said in a powerful yet charming voice that had a slight southern accent. "As you can see from the agenda, I'm here today to talk about character development. I'm going to teach you how to really bring your characters to life." She stepped out from behind the podium and took a few small steps toward the audience.

'Hmmm, she's unbelievable,' Ben thought as he stared at her curvy body. He refocused his thoughts on her speech quickly and tried to concentrate on the lecture.

"So...what brings a fictional character to life?" She asked, walking along the stage in small, slow steps and staring down at the audience. Her stockings swished against each other and her heels clicked loudly on the floor as she paced. She paused for a moment and then answered her own question. "The character must have a history. How did she get to where she is in life? What happened to her before? What are her skeletons?" She paused and then issued a directive. "Give your character mental traits and habits. What does she put in her coffee...or her lattee? Or tea? What kind of music does she like? Does she keep her heels on when she has sex?" Everyone laughed at the last question. She stepped down off the stage and walked out into the aisles.

'Oh please don't let her talk about sex, I won't be able to handle it,' Ben laughed to himself, as he listened to the woman's lecture. In addition to having sex-appeal, she was also animated, colorful, and peppy. Thus, she certainly managed to grab and hold Ben's attention.

"Give your character a personality! What are her hopes and dreams? What is her educational background? Is she hip? What does she want in a man...or a woman? What kind of clothes does she wear? That one might be a little difficult for the men...but that's something you need to work on. Start learning the designs...the styles...the wardrobe terminology. Try on some pantyhose...see how they feel," she smiled devilishly. All of the women laughed and the guys offered up embarrassed little smiles. She was now pacing up and down the aisles, and getting in people's faces when she spoke. "Whatever you do, don't limit your character because of your own limited knowledge base! Don't punish her because you're a dud! Don't make her listen to Gordon Litefoot when she could be dancing to the Radiators or the Meters. All of you...ladies included...need to do homework. You should be researching all sorts of issues, anything that you think would make your character interesting. Research personality traits, clothing styles, lifestyles, et-cetera...so that your character won't be limited by what you currently know." She walked all the way to the last row, and was now standing right next to Ben; she rested her balled-up fist on a cocked hip. She fixed her confident, yet charming and alluring gaze on Ben.

Up close, she looked even better. She had a liberal amount of makeup on—especially around her eyes—like a trashy real estate agent desperate to make the sale. But somehow, it was very becoming on this woman. Her soft lips were painted a deep pink, her cheeks had plenty of pink blush, and her eyelids were covered in light pink shadow. She had laid on the mascara a little thick, and she had obviously used liquid liner, but her eyes looked big and inviting. She was older than Ben had thought at first, but she had an incredibly hot and sophisticated Deborah Norville-like look to her. Ben's gaze slipped down to her satin covered breasts inadvertently—he could see the faint trace of her bra and nipples through the thin satin blouse. He was mesmerized for a few seconds, but then managed to turn away.

"History. Once you've given your gal a history—including the good AND the bad—then you are really ready to step inside her shoes...or her thigh-high boots...and get down to business," she said, staring at Ben but talking to the entire audience. Ben squirmed in his seat under her powerful gaze: to Ben, it felt like she was talking only to him. "Let your character permeate your soul...FEEL the things she feels...THINK the things she thinks. This will help you create interesting, realistic, and fully developed characters, and it will also help with the next point: consistency." She released Ben from her charming gaze and moved towards the woman in front of him.

"Make your character's actions consistent with her beliefs, values, and personality. It won't make sense if your character was a goody-goody all her life but then ends up a corporate shark...UNLESS you explain what caused the change. Did she bump into a glass ceiling...did her boss proposition her? Or, is she an unintelligent overachiever? If so, she's not going to be doing the Times Picayune crossword puzzle in bed on Sunday mornings. Remember: be consistent! And if your character is a bad girl...oozing with attitude...she probably won't listen to Susanna Vega or Ten-Thousand Maniacs...although she might listen to that type of music...it's just less likely and it would require an explanation." She paused briefly and then continued in a slightly softer voice. "But, the most important thing is for your characters to be interesting and, at times, different. They need to be original."

The attractive speaker went on and on for the next hour. Ben was on the edge of his seat and paid close attention for the rest of the lecture. The content of the woman's lecture was so good that it even surpassed her beauty. By the end of the lecture, Ben felt that he had really learned something and was excited to start writing at once.

Before everyone was dismissed, the woman reminded the audience that she had a book for sale on the internet. "Okay ladies and gentlemen...don't forget my book. It's called, Taking the Mind to the Extreme: Advanced Techniques in Character Development, by Diana Allen. You were a fun group...good luck to all of you." She smiled and walked off the stage to well-deserved enthusiastic applause. Ben wrote her name down on one of his business cards along with the name of her book.

 

Ben was so invigorated by Ms. Allen's lecture that he intended to start writing the moment he got back to his apartment. However, when he walked in the door and checked his answering machine, he had a threatening message from his ex-girlfriend, Heather, saying that she was going to 'get him back' for breaking up with her and ignoring her. She had been hounding him ever since they had broken up three months earlier. She had gotten so inquisitive, demanding, and controlling after they had broken up that he had been forced to stop taking and returning her calls. Ben didn't feel good about the situation, but there wasn't anything he could do to fix things and have a normal friendship with Heather. Afer he got Heather out of his mind, he sat down to write.

He had been writing some decent short stories for several months, but the characters in the stories had always seemed vapid. So, he tried something different this time. He didn't think about plot, grammar, or style. Instead, he just focused on character development. Naturally, he tried to incorporate all of the things he learned from Ms. Allen's lecture into his writing. He was somewhat successful at first, but then he found that his characters still seemed to be limited to his own personal tastes.

A few days later Ben bought Ms. Allen's book. It was so fascinating that he read it through in a little over a day. The book stressed researching and learning about other lifestyles in order to create interesting characters. "And who knows readers, you might actually become opened-minded in the process...and dare I say, even hip," the book joked. The book was funny, practical, erotic, and serious all at the same time: just like Ms. Allen. It provided examples of incredibly developed characters that were so life-like they practically jumped off the pages and shut the book in your face.

Feeling inspired, Ben vowed to work on his skills and start doing some research.

Ben practiced and practiced his new character development techniques. After a couple of weeks, it really started to pay off. He got much better at creating interesting characters. After he thought he had improved enough, he began writing short stories again. But after a few months, he found the length of the short stories limiting, so he decided to start writing a novel. He was happy to find that the novel started to take off once he had fully developed the draft personalities for his three main characters.

 

Part 2 - June 2002

"Who's that casting devious stares in my direction?" Marcy Playground

About five months after the conference, Ben's writing habit was halfway down the road to obsession. He was spending hours and hours every day sitting in front of his computer, imagining and typing. Fueled by caffeine and a strange nervous energy, he found himself staying up later and later every night. He tried to slow himself down, but it was no use: he plunged deeper and deeper into his novel, his literary abyss.

Writing became somewhat exhausting for Ben. He quickly found himself sleeping for longer and longer periods of time, yet he often felt tired. And his novel was moving along slowly despite the fact that he spent hours and hours working on it every day. The reason for his slow pace was simple: he spent a lot of his time imagining. For several hours each time he wrote, he would imagine what his characters were feeling and going through in order to make their responses, thoughts, and behaviors more realistic and authentic.

Ben's Novel: "While in the Arms of Morpheus"

The novel had a fairly simple love-triangle plot. It was about a group of three close friends who had just graduated from Tulane University: Amanda, Rachel, and Henry. After college, all three of them decided to stay in New Orleans. Rachel and Henry got apartments Uptown, and Amanda found one in the Warehouse District.

Henry was from Atlanta. He was slightly short, about 5'8", but dangerously good-looking. He was a traditional yet liberal southern guy. He loved SEC football and liked to drink, but for some reason he had always had several friends who were girls. He was easy-going, hilarious, and loved to have a good time.

Rachel was from northern Virginia. She was a natural beauty, with straight, long dark-brown hair; an oval face; huge, innocent brown eyes; and, a dazzling smile. She had been slightly thin in high school, but her body had filled out nicely—in all the right places—during college. Now, she was a sizable young woman with alluring hips, big breasts, full thighs, and long legs. Her family was wealthy and she was a bit more conservative than Henry–which put her somewhere in the middle of the road–but New Orleans had worked its magic on her for the better part of four years and was finally starting to break down some of her inhibitions. She dressed tastefully and conservatively–her favorite store was Anne Taylor. She spent a lot of money on clothes, but her wardrobe lacked excitement. She was very feminine and extremely intelligent when it came to books and work, but wasn't street savvy and was always the last person to figure out what was going on.

Amanda was more of a free spirit, much more hip than the other two. She loved watching stand-up poetry and listening to all types of music—especially music you could dance to. She also liked to patronize the French Quarter and Uptown bars to watch live bands. She was very fashionable, but often dressed provocatively, especially when going to raves on Magazine Street. Her attitude was that she had a nice body and it was fun to show it off sometimes. She kept herself in tremendous shape and had a perfectly toned body to show for it. She was tall and shapely, but had small breasts (she often thought about having them enlarged surgically). She was into some liberal political causes (anti-death penalty and rasing minimum wage), but was also a free-thinker, hated Communism, and hated any kind of political spin—one way or the other. Like Rachel, she too was a rather pretty one, but she had an ability to look much more sexy and haughty than Rachel: her sassy skirts and platforms, her intimidating boots, and her tight tops. She had long, silky, light-brown hair–which she dyed blonde occasionally–that curled slightly at the ends. She was slightly outgoing, had a powerful personality, and an uncanny ability to draw others to her, but she was rather level-headed and didn't have to be the center of attention. Nevertheless, she loved to flirt—especially with girls and women. She also loved having fun and to be around happy people, but she occasionally had bouts of depression for a number of reasons. Amanda was from northern Virginia, too.

The basic plot in the novel was that Rachel was madly in love with Henry, Henry had the hots for Amanda, and Amanda had a secret thing for Rachel. The plot was pretty much strait forward, with the main thrust of the novel being the three main characters' personalities and how they interacted with each other and the city. Ben also focused on the unique challenges they faced as college graduates in New Orleans, and the inner struggles they had with their inhibitions and lifestyles.

After planning out the main storyline, Ben decided to call the book "While in the Arms of Morpheus."

 

Back to the Main Story

One sunny afternoon, Ben fell asleep at his desk in front of his computer. Three hours later the rattle of a street-car laboring up St. Charles Ave woke him up.

"Man," he yawned, "how long have I been out for?" He looked at the clock and realized he had slept for a full two hours. "Wow. I can't believe I actually napped for that long." Throughout high school and college, Ben's naps rarely ever lasted longer than 20 or 30 minutes—he was just too high energy to sleep much during the day.

He was about to start writing again but he stopped himself. "What am I doing? I really need to take a break before I destroy myself." Reluctantly, he got up from his desk, grabbed his keys, and walked out of his apartment.

It was boiling out, steamy and sticky, typical June weather in New Orleans. He walked out onto St. Charles Ave, followed it down to Louisiana, and then turned right and started walking toward the river. A few blocks later he turned on Magazine. It was now late afternoon, but there was still plenty of sunlight. He turned down a side street and lost himself in the beauty of the Garden District. Ben loved to stroll through the Garden District aimlessly to clear his mind, but on this particular day it wasn't working: his mind kept returning to the novel. Instead of continuing on toward the river, he headed back up to St. Charles and stopped at his favorite café.

 

Nivea was sitting at a table outside a café down the street from her apartment. She was drinking a small mocha and working on her paper. She was a graduate student in the clinical psychology program at the University of New Orleans.

"Excuse me. Can you spare a few pieces of paper?" Nivea heard some guy say. She was concentrating so hard on her paper that his voice sounded distant. "Excuse me," the intruding voice said again. Nivea looked up and saw that the guy was talking to her.

'What an odd request,' she thought, mildly annoyed at the interruption. 'He's probably lonely and just wants to chat. Best not to make eye contact or say anything...I don't want to encourage him.' Try as she might, Nivea just couldn't refrain from being judgmental—especially with guys. She knew she was going to have to work on that side of her personality in order to become a good psychologist. "Sure," she responded flatly, making sure not to sound too nice. She ripped out a few pieces of paper from the back of her notebook and handed them to the guy without looking at him.

"Thanks," he responded and walked off.

Nivea shrugged off the interruption and got back to work. About 45 minutes later, she gathered up her things to leave. She noticed that the guy who had interrupted her was still sitting at the table outside. 'He's kinda cute,' she thought, sneaking a quick look at him. She adored young, thin guys. He was writing somewhat frantically and seemed to be extremely focused on his work. Confident that she would not be discovered, Nivea gave him a long measured look.

'Sheesh...he sure seems driven. I wonder what he's writing about?' She was tempted to walk by him and peak over his shoulder, but she didn't succumb: it wasn't her style, she decided. Instead, she threw her empty paper cup away and walked down the street to her car.

 

A week later, Nivea was sitting in the Tulane library doing some research for her paper when she saw the guy from the coffee shop walk by. It was the third time she had seen him in the library. While nibbling on the end of her pen, Nivea checked him out and decided that he looked a little tired, but that he was definitely a cutie. 'He wouldn't be much work either...just a couple of edges to smooth out,' she thought presumptively–taking it for granted that she could snatch him up.

The guy had a large notebook and several note cards in one of his arms. He was walking with a quick, determined pace, as if he had an important agenda. Nivea watched him out of the corner of her eyes until he disappeared between the stacks. She thought that he must be a graduate student, and then started wondering what he was working on. Education? Law? Psychology? She waited for a few minutes, but then her curiosity overcame her will to resist. 'So much for my play-it-cool slick-chick style,' she teased herself, smiling with a mixture of humor, self-contempt, and disbelief. She pushed back her chair, stood up, and walked after him.

A few minutes later she saw him at the far end of a long row of books. There was a small stack of books in front of him. She walked toward him but stopped about 20 feet from him and pretended to be looking for a book. 'You're acting SO silly you desperate thing,' she chastised herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he picked out a book and scanned through the table of contents. He quickly closed the book and set it aside. He went through several more books, adding a few of them to his stack and placing others back on the shelves. He seemed so efficient and oblivious to everything around him. Nivea crept a little closer, close enough to read some of the titles of the books in the guy's stack.

She found his choice of books to be bizarre. The books appeared to be related to a wide-variety of topics, but many of them were about alternative lifestyles and sexual preferences, predominately lesbian/gay studies. She also noticed that there were a couple of books about music: a book about Rave music and Techno, one about acid-Jazz, and another about Madonna. She looked up and noticed that he was flipping through a book on women's fashion. Nivea was surprised to see him add it to his stack. Seconds later, he collected his books and walked off down the aisle. Nivea waited for a moment and then followed him again: her ballooning curiosity had been fueled, not satisfied.

He walked over to a table and sat down. Several more books were strewn about the table. Fortunately for Nivea, there was an empty table right next to the guy. She grabbed a book off the closest shelf (without looking at it), sat down at the empty table, and pretended to read.

'What am I doing? Why am I following this poor guy?' She thought. Let me see...I can think of several reasons...A: I am procrastinating...B: I'm curious...C: I want him to notice me..., D: I'm prowling....or E: all of the above.' She exhaled deeply. 'Now that I think of it...this is getting rather pathetic.' She decided to go back to work. She stood up but couldn't resist taking a peak at the guy's books as she slowly sauntered by him. She could see some of the books, the ones closest to her: a book on drug addiction, Grey's Anatomy, a book about Virginia, a book about Tulane, and a book about make-up.

'Now that's weird. What is he doing with all that stuff...what a weird assortment of books.' Just as she passed by she also saw the DSM-IV TR (a psychological diagnostic manual) and a social psychology book. 'Hmmmm,' she mused, bitting her lower lip.

 

Nivea couldn't stop thinking about the guy she had seen at the library and the café. His cute face kept creeping into her mind during Mr. Dayton's boring lectures on industrial psychology. At first, she couldn't understand why she was so impressed with the guy when she had never even talked with him. But after she thought it through several times, she figured that it must be a direct result of her current dry spell in the man department. How long it had been since she had had a boyfriend–or even a steady fuck? Two, three years? Heck, even a couple of her female classmates were starting to look irresistibly sexy to her at times. She finally admitted to herself that she was practically desperate to meet a cute guy. 'Never underestimate the mind's ability to repress the truth,' she could hear her favorite professor chirping in her ears, 'we humans can only handle so much, so we only let ourselves know the information that we can handle at a particular time.' Nivea had been repressing her needs for a long time, but now they were bubbling to the surface.

Nivea consciously admitted to herself that she HAD to meet someone. But meeting a nice, interesting, attractive guy proved more difficult that she thought it would be. She started going out with her friends a little more, but she didn't meet anyone who she was interested in–with the exception of a married guy who was in town on business for a week and just wanted a good fuck (he was nice looking and had a strapping body, but Nivea turned him down, of course). Nivea was pretty, and had a warm personality, but it just wasn't easy findings someone her own age and her own type in the city during the summer. Not to mention that the confidence wasn't there either–she always seemed to feel sticky due to the overbearing heat and humidity. So, as sticky and sweaty as she was, her dry spell continued.

Nivea saw the guy from the café again and again in the library and found him more and more attractive each time. Her overactive, relationship-craving mind had already created a personality for him: SWM, 26, sweet, likes to cuddle, good in bed, likes fine wines. At the same time, she also admired the guy's work ethic: he always seemed to be in the library, leafing through books, jotting down notes, and typing away on his lap-top. And speaking of lap-tops...after her fantasizing really took hold of her, she wanted to be his little lap-top...for a couple of hours on an unbearably hot summer night. Some nights after seeing him, she would actually go home and take cold showers to simmer down. And other nights, she dealt with her arousal head on—imagining how his naked, sweaty body would feel pressed against her own, his soft tongue in her mouth, and his hands on her butt pulling her into him–while she masturbated with her internet-bought vibrator.

Several times, she thought about introducing herself to him, but it never felt right. Also, she just couldn't manage to plan out a smooth introduction. All the introductions she considered felt forced, staged. Why not the truth? She imagined herself waltzing up to him and chirping, "Hi, I'm Nivea. I've been fantasy-fucking you for several weeks now, just thought that I'd finally introduce myself." Oh no, she would have to find another way. She was angry and amused with herself at making such a big deal out of it, but she couldn't help feeling so awkward. In the chess game of human relationships, Nivea–like many pretty women–liked to be black, to let the guys make the first move; then she would have time to plan a calculated counter-move. So, due to lack of practice, she wasn't good at making the first move. True, she had done it before, like many women, but it had been a long time since she had chased a guy, so she didn't feel like she was familiar with the latest techniques. And the more she thought about it, the more nervous she got.

Instead of a full-frontal attack, she decided to use more subtle ways to lure: feminine charm and cute revealing outfits. She started devoting a couple of hours ever week to Vogue and Cosmopolitan to brush up on the latest seductive fashions, behaviors, and moves. She crammed most of her "weekday wardrobe" into the back of her closet. She set aside her shorts and started wearing skirts on weekdays. She bought a couple of ankle-bracelets, several pairs of sexy sandals, and loads of new jewelry. She bought a couple of push-up bras and some sexy tops and blouses (although it was a struggle to pull off the sleeveless look in the ice-cold library). She got manicures and pedicures more frequently. She even started to let her hair grow out. And to top it all off, she bought an enticing new perfume, J'adore (Christian Dior), which she wore daily. Unfortunately, the mystery guy didn't seem to notice any of this. Nivea's friends, on the other hand, noticed the changes immediately. Nivea always dressed nicely on the weekends, but she rarely wore anything hip during the week. So, the first time Nivea's friends caught her in the library wearing a pink miniskirt and a pair of strappy, pink, flower-print, platform wedge sandals (her latest purchase from Mia Shoes) they demanded an explanation. Luckily for Nivea, there wasn't much to tell at that point: the fantasy relationship had been completely one-sided.

In addition to the clothes, accessories, and perfume, Nivea tried laying on the southern charm. The problem was that she couldn't manage to get her strappy-sandled-foot in the door to show the guy just how charming she could be. She tried smiling at him, but he never seemed to be looking her way. She tried asking him for help once or twice–he indulged her, was pleasant, and courteous, but he didn't respond to her attempts to engage him in conversation. She tried numerous little tips from her magazines to get the guy's attention, like letting her shoes dangle at her toes to display the curvature of her feet. Unfortunately, nothing worked.

After several weeks of planing, debating, and failed attempts to entice, Nivea finally decided to go right for the prize and ask him out. If she got rejected, so be it: she was tired of her Friday night foreplay consisting of nothing but romance novels and scented candles.

 

Ben was in a deep sleep. Of all things, he was dreaming about rollerblading. "That's strange, I haven't been on roller-blades since high school," he thought. His dream became more clear. He realized that he was in City Park, rolling along. A pretty dark-brown-haired young woman rolled up along side him. She smiled at him and waved.

'Hey...wake up...it's time to go,' she said, smiling.

Ben was confused. Go where? What was she talking about? Everything started to turn greyish white and then fade out.

Ben felt someone shaking him lightly. With moderate difficulty, he forced himself to open his eyes. A pretty, young woman was staring at him. Most of her dark-brown hair was pinned back in a little pony-tail, while the rest hung down on the sides of her small face. She had huge brown eyes, a button nose, and an adorable dimpled smile. She had a light tan and exquisitely smooth skin. She was of average height for a woman and was trim, but she still had the wide hips, thick thighs, and stunning curves of a fertile woman.

"The library is closing, it's time to go," she said.

"Oh...thanks," Ben replied, looking at his watch with a confused look.

"It's closing early tonight. Remodeling," the woman clarified.

Ben nodded. All of sudden, he felt self-conscious. He quickly turned away from the woman and wiped the drool off his mouth with the back of his wrist. When he turned back to face her, he realized she was reading the titles of the books that were piled up all around him on the table: "Good Sex", "Feminism in the South", the DSM-IV, and "Raves and Ecstacy" just to name a few.

"I'm doing research...for my novel," he explained with an embarrassed smile. He thought about his statement for a second and realized how ridiculous and unbelievable it probably sounded.

"Oh...you're a writer," the woman said pleasantly.

"Yes. You see...I'm trying to develop interesting and realistic characters, so I'm studying different life-styles and topics...so my narrow-minded personality and my background knowledge don't interfere with my ability to create the characters."

"Ahhh....I see. I'm a writer too, but I don't write fiction. I'm working on a sike thesis," she said.

"Sike? Oh...yeah...psychology. Sorry, I guess I'm still half-asleep," he laughed at his own stupidity. "That sounds really cool. Psychology is fascinating."

"Yes, it can be. Hey...do you want to go get a cup of coffee?" The young woman asked, taking advantage of her opportunity.

"Sure," Ben responded. "I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Ben," he said, sticking out his hand. "What's your name?"

"Nivea," she said in a cute, charming voice, taking his hand lightly.

 

Nivea and Ben went out for iced-coffee. She found him interesting, funny, and good-looking. However, despite their lengthy conversation, he didn't disclose much personal information about himself and, instead, barraged her with questions about psychology. Nivea was more than happy to discuss the subject, but she was hoping that he would open up a little; she wanted to get to know him better to see if they were romantically compatible.

After they talked for a while, Ben said he had to get going so he could get back to his novel. Nivea was disappointed: he hadn't even asked her for her phone number. She played with her ponytail and bit her lower lip while she thought. After a few moments, a cute, devious smile spread across her face. She had resolved not to let him go so easily. She reached into her fake Kate Spade purse and pulled out a scrap of paper. She scribbled her name and phone number on the paper and handed it to Ben.

"I really enjoyed our conversation....it was stimulating. Give me a call if I can help you with your novel in any way...or if you just want to have a coffee break or something," she said trying to sound casual, but feeling extremely nervous for some reason–she could feel the blood rushing into her cheeks. He took the number and thanked her. She watched him as he walked off toward St. Charles Ave. 'Ooooh...is he cute!' She thought, hoping that she had a fresh set of batteries at home to get her through the evening.

 

A few days later Nivea got a surprising phone call from Ben. He asked if she was going to be at the library later that day. She said she was. Ben said he needed to ask her a few questions about psychology. She was thrilled: it was another chance to show off her intelligence, charm, and sex appeal.

The opportunistic young woman wore her cutest daytime outfit: her Steve Madden leather loafers with the two-inch rubber soles; a plaid, cotton sun-dress with a hem-line several inches above her knees (it was black, white, and various shades of pink); and a long-sleeved, thin black sweater to keep her warm while in the library. Her hair was tied back into a cute ponytail with a shinny baby-pink-colored ribbon. She had also used a tad more make-up than usual, applying the pink glossy lipstick, pink blush, and pink eyeshadow to give herself a sweet yet sexy look.

When they met, Ben took the bait easily. By the end of the night, Nivea had him back in her apartment and was giving him a series of long, tantalizing, open-mouthed kisses.

 

Over the next few weeks, Nivea and Ben really got to know each other. As it turned out, they didn't become a steady couple: Nivea was crazy about Ben, but he lacked the enthusiasm and interest that Nivea demanded from her boyfriends and seemed more interested in his novel. Nivea wasn't sure that she was ready for a serious relationship either; the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she was too absorbed in her thesis to be much of a girlfriend. But the two really enjoyed each other's company, and ended up becoming best friends–with occasional libido-driven benefits.

Ben continued to work on his novel and as the scorching-hot August days went by he devoted more and more of his time to writing. His relationships and health were suffering as a result. The only meaningful human interaction he had was with Nivea. He wasn't taking care of himself: he wasn't exercising, he was eating poorly, and he was drinking a lot of caffeine. Not a good combination.

And above all else, he was sleeping way too much.

 

Part 3 - September 2002

"I...feel you, yes I can, what about that don't you understand? And I...sense you, it's something sensual, but it's less than I planned." Stroke Nine

Early one afternoon in September, Ben awoke in front of his computer. It was the fifth day in a row in which he had fallen asleep at his desk. He had been sleeping excessively, and having a lot of headaches.

He rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers; his head was aching once again. After he gathered his thoughts together, he called Nivea and asked her to join him for coffee. She couldn't make it, but asked him to pick her up a latee for the ice-cold library. In order to get her the coffee, he would have to drive.

Ben walked down the steps in front of his apartment and out onto St. Charles Ave. He seldom drove anywhere these days. He walked around the block to where he had last parked his car–the best spot on the block to avoid the dreaded flood-waters. When he reached his car, he saw a ticket tucked underneath one of his windshield wipers.

"Shoot! What's that for?" He thought. He flipped the ticket over. It indicated that his car's registration stickers were not up to date. He unlocked the car and put the ticket on the passenger seat. All of a sudden, he was hit with a burst of emotion and he started to cry. He touched his lower eyelids gently with his hands. "You've got to be kidding me. Am I actually crying?" He asked himself, incredulous. A couple of tears ran down his cheeks giving him the answer. "Man, I've got to get a grip," he said between soft sniffles. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he couldn't stop the tide of emotion that had overwhelmed him. Nor could he deny it. Simply put, he felt awful. Nevertheless, after a few moments, he managed to compose himself and walked off toward the café.

 

"Shhhh," Nivea put a finger to her lips to shush Ben. They were at the library. Ben had just finished what he was working on and had started humming–apparently it was getting on Nivea's nerves. "Oh...alright...let's take a break," she said, capitulating. "Was that a Jennifer Lopez song you were just humming?"

"I don't think so," Ben shook his head.

"Hmmm. It sounds familiar. Anyway....tell me what's going on. When you left a message yesterday you said that you were feeling strange. What is it?"

"I really don't know what it is...I just don't feel right," said Ben. Nivea took a sip of her coffee.

"So, you've been sleeping a lot lately and you've been having headaches. Ya know what the scientific term for that is?" She asked, sounding serious and concerned.

"No," Ben said, slightly worried.

"House-wife-itus," Nivea laughed. Ben shook his head and forced a smile. "Sorry Ben, I was just teasin. You've probably just been working too hard on your book. It's not like you get out much. You could also be dehydrated–too much caffeine can do that. Have you been drinking much water?"

"Not really."

"Well, there's your answer," Nivea concluded.

"Well...," Ben said slowly, "I don't know if that's all there is to it."

"What do you mean? Is something else bothering you?"

"Yes...well...I've also been having mood swings lately."

"Mood swings?"

"Yeah. I get really happy at times and emotional and sappy at other times. Maudlin is the word I'm looking for. And the rest of the time...I just don't feel myself. I feel kind of...detached...overly calm. What do you think that could be from?"

"I'm not sure," Nivea said, crinkling her forehead slightly and looking pensive. "How intense are the mood swings?"

"Well...they're not horrible....but I do a fair amount of crying," Ben said, slightly embarrassed. He looked down at his watch and then put on his coat. "I better get going. I need to get home to..

"I know...I know...you need to work on the book. Don't stay up all night writing, Ben...give yourself a break. You need it. And make sure to drink plenty of water!"

"I won't. And I will, and I will!" He got up. "Hey, Nivea...thanks for listening to me. You're gonna make a great psychologist one day."

"Don't be silly, Ben. That's what friends are for," she winked.

"Thanks. Let's get coffee again tomorrow. See-ya." Ben walked around the corner and toward the elevator. Nivea watched him as he walked off.

'It's too bad he's so dedicated to his book....I'd really like to make him mine. Maybe when he's done,' she thought. She opened up her notebook and flipped to the back. She jotted down Ben's symptoms and made a note to do some research on it.

 

The next day, Ben woke up in his bed. He felt extremely stiff. He looked at the clock and realized he had slept for almost ten hours.

'Wow...I've really been a bum lately. I haven't slept ten-in-a-row since my college days,' he thought. He got up quickly, fixed himself a cup of coffee, and started writing.

Ben was thrilled with his progress; the novel had been going well lately. He felt that his characters were realistic and had super-charged personalities. After a couple of hours of writing, he fixed himself a sandwich and went downstairs to check the mail.

Ben's mailbox was practically overflowing; he hadn't checked it in days. He separated the bills and was about to throw everything else away when he saw a bright pink envelope with no return address. Ben's name and address were written in neat cursive on the envelop.

"Well, if it's an advertisement or something...they certainly got my attention," he laughed and opened the envelope. There was a piece of pink stationary inside the envelope. He unfolded it and saw a hand-written message:

"I'm tired of sharing you. I want you all to myself."

There was no name, no address, and no signature at the bottom of the letter. Ben flipped the piece of stationary over; there was nothing on the back either.

'Who the heck sent me this?' He wondered. The first person that came to mind, of course, was Nivea. 'But why would she say that...and what does it mean?' He mused. Perplexed, he sat down and stared out the window. He tried to figure out what Nivea's message was supposed to mean. It was sunny out; St. Charles Ave. always looked so beautiful when it was sunny. He studied the gigantic live oaks which lined both sides of the street. He marveled at the beauty of their huge, twisted, reaching branches–and the way they shaded the sidewalks and much of the street. Marti Gras beads from last year's parades still hung in some of the trees. 'When did I start admiring the beauty of trees?' He wondered, but then realized that it must have had something to do with the writing conference he had attended back in January. From then on, he had forced himself to pay attention to the details of everything and to try to learn new terms that would help with details in his writing.

A street car rattled by and snapped him out of his trance. He was still holding the piece of pink stationary. He read the two short sentences once again.

"Now why would Nivea say that?" He said, focusing. With all the time he had spent on his novel, he had never consciously analyzed his relationship with Nivea and what it meant to him–or her. He had been so caught up in the details of everything else, that he had ignored the details of the only meaningful relationship he had going. He thought about her note yet again and wondered what it meant; seconds later he had his answer. 'Maybe it's her way of telling me she wants to take our friendship to the next level. DUH! Hello McFly!!! I should have known that all along. Sheesh...did that take so much thought? Maybe she's tired of the novel taking up so much of my time. I bet that's it. But why wouldn't she just tell me? Well...it's probably tough for her to say it right to me....maybe it's easier for her to say it in a letter.' A few lines from a Vertical Horizon song slipped across his mind "send it in a letter....make yourself feel better."

'Yeah...that's gotta be it. If she's too embarrassed to talk about it, I obviously shouldn't bring it up. He put the letter away and thought nothing more of it. He decided that he would make a concerted effort to spend more time with Nivea.

 

As much as Ben tried, he could not figure out a way to spend more time with Nivea. First, classes had started back up and Nivea was now teaching an undergraduate class on adult psychopathology. She was busy, busy, busy. More importantly, his own addictive habit, writing, was still taking up most of his time. It had actually reached the clinical obsession point. Almost every waking hour was devoted to the novel. He got extremely frustrated, even visibly angry, when any obligation (other than sleeping) pulled him away from his writing for longer than 20 or 30 minutes. He was also sleeping more and more. His sleeping had become so intense that on several occasions he clocked in over 12 hours of sleep without so much as rolling over.

(So he thought).

In addition to his long sleeping sessions at night, he was taking more and more naps. His naps had increased in duration as well, and frequently lasted between three and four hours. Ben was only awake about eight or nine hours each day, so he was forced to work that much harder on his novel while he was awake. Despite all the sleep, he still felt tired a lot.

Ben's poor-health life-style was clearly taking a toll. He was losing muscle tone and gaining weight. He felt lethargic much of the time, depressed, detached from reality, and emotional. He was having extreme difficulty remembering things. Sometimes, he found it difficult to remember basic things, such as the day of the week or Nivea's phone number. His sex drive had dropped as well. Nevertheless, he continued to pour himself into his novel: it had become an escape from reality.

 

From Ben's Novel, "While in the Arms of Morpheus"

Amanda leaned back in her chair and sighed wistfully. Her medium-length, light-brown hair was held in place with her brown, cat-eye sunglasses. She stretched, ran her hands through her hair a couple of times, and adjusted her sun-glasses ever so slightly. She was wearing a short skirt, dressy sandals, and a pleated, sleeveless top with the collar turned down. As always, she looked beautiful.

It was really unbelievable how things had turned out. How was it that she was so infatuated with Rachel, the woman who had seemed so conservative not so long ago? How was it that every moment they were together Amanda was practically beside herself with desire, thinking what it would be like to kiss Rachel, her closest girlfriend, on the mouth? Why was she so desperate to have a monogamous relationship with the one woman who most certainly was not interested in her romantically, the only woman she was friends with who was apparently one-hundred percent heterosexual?

'And you thought that she was such a bore...ha!' Amanda laughed at herself and took another sip of her mimosa. 'Only one glass today', she reminded herself, 'you've got to go rollerblading this afternoon.' She watched Rachel walk across the courtyard back toward their table, secretly admiring and lusting over the young beauty's voluptuous body–especially her large breasts. Amanda had a lovely body herself, but was small-chested, your classic b-cup; it was the one thing about her body that she had always wanted to change. As she watched Rachel approach, she wondered just how obvious her feelings were. When they were in public together, Amanda felt so transparent–like others could see her heart and how it had Rachel's name written all over it. She looked around the courtyard at the people dabbled about the other tables, wondering what they thought, what they knew. 'Oh who gives a damn!' She laughed to herself, her small moment of insecurity passing quickly. 'The one thing that matters is that Rachel doesn't know I'm madly in love with her...not yet. She wouldn't know it if I crawled into bed with her and started french-kissing her inner-thighs!' Amanda smiled pleasantly at her lascivious thought. She crossed her soft, silky smooth, well-toned legs and sat up straight. She then focused her pretty gaze back on the object of her affection, Rachel, and the darling little white sun-dress that Amanda had helped her pick out; the dress that flattered Rachel's sonsy, voluptuous body by clinging and receding in all the right places.

Amanda and Rachel had met through Henry during their last year of college. When they first met, Amanda guessed that they wouldn't like each other. Based on the way Rachel had dressed at the time–like Ms. Young Rich Republican–Amanda figured that she was uptight and snobby and narrow-minded. But within minutes of first meeting her, Amanda realized that Rachel was intelligent, witty, and thoughtful–yet naive and clueless at the same time. For example, Rachel could have deep, intellectual, open-minded, philosophical conversations yet couldn't tell you who the Secretary of Defense was; or she could get through a long novel over a weekend and understand much of the symbolism and irony, yet she couldn't tell you the price of a gallon of milk. Rachel also had trouble understanding people's motives in real life: she was too trusting and just plain-ole unaware. She never suspected people's dark motives and took almost everything for face-value. She wasn't wedded to political causes or feminism like most of Amanda's friends. In some ways, she seemed like a twelve-year-old in the body of a woman. After getting over her initial shock and disbelief, Amanda found Rachel's unique combination of personality traits to be charming and fun.

The more Amanda had gotten to know Rachel, the more she liked her. Rachel was genuine, optimistic, and warm: traits that Amanda found refreshing and enviable. And Rachel loved to listen to other people talk so she could learn from them. While most girlfriends Amanda had were self-centered, Rachel was the exact opposite. She was very pliable, demure, and open to suggestion, especially when she was around Amanda. She could listen to Amanda talk about fashion, philosophy, and music, for hours. Amanda felt like she finally had a sister; she found this exciting and irresistible and quickly opened up to Rachel. As a result, after a few weeks they became close friends, notwithstanding their obvious differences in style, appearance, taste, and attitude.

Despite their close friendship, Amanda didn't become attracted to Rachel until several months after they had graduated from college. It all started, in a way, because of Henry. Rachel had been infatuated with Henry for months, so she enlisted Amanda's help to "catch his eye." Amanda was thrilled to be Rachel's fashion and seduction expert. She got Rachel to work out and slim down to a perfectly delicious, big-breasted size nine. After significant effort, she also convinced Rachel to embrace her voluptuous figure (rather than to try to stifle and hide it) by wearing outfits that were snug and a tad more revealing. Amanda helped Rachel work on her make-up techniques too, teaching her how to attract attention to her huge brown eyes and her luscious mouth. She introduced Rachel to romance novels–taking special care to give her the names of titles that had latent, bisexual sub-plots embedded within them–and trashy, girly magazines, encouraging Rachel to explore her suppressed sexuality. And finally, Amanda agreed to teach Rachel how to dance in a sassy, sexy way that would be sure to attract Henry.

Unfortunately, Henry didn't take the bait: he was too busy lusting over and chasing after Amanda. But sweet, understanding Rachel did not become discouraged, jealous, or angry. Instead, with her boosted self-confidence spawned from her new attractive look and attitude make-over; the buxom, dauntless young woman simply waited patiently for her chance. And with Amanda by her side encouraging her to chip steadily away at Henry's disinterest, Rachel knew that her chance with Henry would come. As it turned out, she was right. But the major question remained: what would Rachel do with her big chance? Would she be able to collar Henry for good, or would he slip away?

While Rachel's new look and slightly changed attitude didn't have an affect on Henry, it packed a one-two punch on Amanda, walloping the unsuspecting woman in both the heart and libido. At first, Amanda was merely tickled by Rachel's improving look. But as time wore on Rachel's style began to take on her own unique touch. Day by day Rachel became more and more unpredictable and attractive to Amanda...then sexy and seductive...and then downright irresistible. Soon Amanda found that she was thinking about Rachel all the time, and she couldn't take her eyes off the luscious young thing. It was so unlike her: usually she was the one who was desired...the one who taunted the others into mental submission.

Amanda could remember the exact moment when she realized that she had fallen for her own creation. It was on the dance-floor at the Audubon Tavern of all places. She had been suppressing her true feelings for Rachel for months. At first, she thought it was just a crush or lesbian lust, but her inner-most feelings snuck up on her slowly and then exposed themselves to her conscious mind in a tidal wave of emotion as she watched Rachel dance with a young college guy to a Madonna song. Amanda was so shocked and taken aback by the powerful nature of her realization, that she put down her drink and ran across the park by herself to catch a street car home in the dead of night.

Little snippets of the past whipped through Amanda's mind as Rachel finally reached the table. Amanda watched with hidden desire as Rachel took her seat gracefully, smoothing out the bottom of her dress before sitting and then crossing her legs. Her long, slightly teased hair looked so silky in the bright, mid-day sunlight of the courtyard.

"So, do you feel like going out tonight?" Rachel asked, smiling pleasantly as always.

"Hmmmm....I don't know Rachel...a funk band that I really want to see is playing at the Maple Leaf tonight," Amanda said.

"Oh no," Rachel pouted. She knew that Amanda was serious about her music and probably couldn't be persuaded to miss a funk show. "You've got to come out with me...Henry won't go if you don't," Rachel pleaded. "Besides, I have such a bad time when I go out without you!"

"I don't know..." Amanda teased. She fully intended to go out with Rachel and Henry, but she wanted to see Rachel beg: it was so becoming.

"Pleeeezzz Amanda....pleeezzzz," Rachel implored, reaching across the table and grabbing Amanda's hands gently. Her huge, innocent eyes begged shamelessly.

'I don't think I could ever say no to her. How could I possibly resist those eyes...those lips...that smile,' Amanda wondered to herself with amazement. The grip of Rachel's soft, cold, smooth hands was so comforting that Amanda couldn't even keep up the teasing any longer. "Oh...alright," she capitulated, "but you have to go by the Maple Leaf with me first." The thought of Rachel–her long hair swept back into clips–moving her hips and shaking her plump butt to funk music was too much for Amanda to handle. She picked up her ice-water and took a long drink to cool her passion.

"You've got a deal, girl!" Rachel smiled. Amanda returned the smile, still contemplating just how powerful and gripping her feelings for Rachel had become. Mirthful and jubilant, Rachel took a sip of her mimosa. Her gaze shifted down to her thighs. She slipped her dress up a couple of inches, the corners of her mouth turned down into an adorable pout. "Darn...! I cut myself shaving...again. I hate that."

"Raych...how many times have I told you...you should really try waxing. I've been doing it for years. It's a little painful, of course, but it's worth it. Your legs get soooo smooth...and it lasts for weeks."

"IF I do...you'll go with me, won't you?"

"Of course...what are friends for?" The thought of Rachel lying stretched out in a bikini bottom with another woman touching her caused Amanda to heat up again. She took another large drink from her water.

 

Back to the Main Story

"Do you want the usual?" The pretty young woman at the counter at BJ's café asked.

"Ummmm...not today. I'm going to try a mocha this time...I'm really craving some chocolate today."

"Sure," the woman said with a pleasant, genuine smile. She shouted "mocha" over her shoulder to her co-worker.

"A mocha! I knew you would come around eventually, Ben!" Nivea exclaimed triumphantly.

After they got their mochas, Nivea and Ben sat down at their table and started talking. Nivea had been trying to get in touch with Ben for a few days, but he hadn't returned any of her calls. She was worried about him, so when they started talking, she didn't waste any time and started right in on him.

"Ben...you've been spending WAY too much time on your book. You've really got to come back to reality," Nivea pleaded.

"I know...I know...you're right," he responded glumly. "But...I just can't help it. I'm obsessed with it. If I keep it up, I'll probably be done in six months."

"Six months? That's crazy! At the rate you're going, you'll be in the gutter by then. Why don't you take a break? Give yourself some rest."

Ben's thoughts turned inward. He was getting annoyed with Nivea. 'Rest? What the hell does she know? I've been getting plenty of rest lately,' he thought to himself.

'Oh really?' A little voice in his head spoke up.

'Well...I've been getting plenty of sleep, there is no denying that.' He corrected himself and then turned his thoughts back to Nivea. 'She forgot to mention that I should be spending more time with her. She just wants all my time....like she said in her not-so-anonymous, cryptic letter. Why won't she just say it?'

"Ben," Nivea said, taking his hand. "I hate to say this...but...I think you might have a slight, slight......psychological condition. I think you may have Hypersomnia," she gulped.

"Hypersomnia?"

"Yes. It's like...excessive sleeping, or excessive sleepiness. It can be really dangerous if you don't get treated. All of the problems you've been having...and your...symptoms...they all point toward Hypersomnia. You're weight gain....your headaches...your daytime sleeping episodes."

Ben pulled his hand away from Nivea. "Gee...thanks a lot. I try to open up to you and you start diagnosing me."

"Ben, don't be upset. I care about you, that's all. I'm not trying to play psychologist with you...this is serious. Believe me...it wasn't easy to try to tell this to you. I think you should get a consultation if things don't get any better in the next few weeks. Look, it can't hurt. I can refer you to someone really good. Maybe you don't have Hypersomnia...but you definitely have some of the manifestations. You should stop writing for a little to see if the symptoms go away. If they do, then the writing is probably causing the symptoms." Ben didn't respond; he looked dejected and angry. "Look...Ben...It's not that big of a deal. Everyone is human...we all have our moments of weakness. People often get psychological conditions for short periods of time and then get back on track with a little counseling and sometimes medication. Of course, it's your decision. But, if you decide you want to see someone, let me know." She gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

 

One day in early October, Ben bumped into Nivea at the library. She was sitting by herself at a large table; several books and papers were spread out around her. "What happened to you last night?" She asked him as he pulled up a chair. It was late afternoon and the long, dark shadows were creeping down the rows of books.

"What do you mean?" He asked, looking genuinely confused. He was still standing.

"We were supposed to meet for coffee. Remember?" She stared at him with mild anger: her lips were pressed together in a thin line and her eyebrows were raised. Nivea absolutely hated being stood up without getting a phone call. "You could have at least called me. You know more than anyone how important my time is to me!"

"Nivea, what are you talking about?" Ben asked, giving her an annoying, overly-indignant look.

"Re-mem-ber. I called you around one yesterday afternoon. Re-mem-ber?" Her voice was still quiet but it definitely had an edge to it. Ben could see that she was serious.

"I'm not making this up Nivea...but I don't remember at all. I'm really sorry...I could have just forgotten," he said, looking rather frumpy as he plopped into a chair.

"Look...Ben..it's okay. I'm sorry for snapping at you. I'm sure you were just finishing a chapter or something. I forgive you. Just call me next time so I don't have to sit by myself for an hour."

They both started working. Within minutes they were immersed in their own worlds, practically oblivious of each other.

A couple hours later, Nivea was deep in thought, trying to analyze some testing data on patients with Kleine-Levin syndrome (a sleeping disorder), when she noticed that Ben was humming a song by her favorite band, Radiohead.

"Ben," she whispered, "I didn't know you liked Radiohead."

"Huh?" He looked up.

"Radiohead...the band. I didn't know you liked them."

"I don't really listen to Radiohead. The only reason I really even know about them is because of one of the characters in my novel."

"But you were just humming one of their songs: Fake Plastic Trees. Maybe you do like them. I wish I had known that before...it could have made our romps in the bedroom a little more fun," she giggled.

"Nivea...tisk tisk. Where is your mind wandering off to, young lady?" He said in a fake mocking tone. "I must have heard the song on the radio and just picked it up. You know how the subconscious works, Ms. Psychologist. But now that I know you like Radiohead during sex...I'll be sure to buy all of their albums!"

"Oh sure...you tease," Nivea joked. But something in the back of her mind was pecking at her subconscious. A few hours later she realized what had been bothering her. It was the song that Ben had been humming. She was positive that radio stations didn't play Fake Plastic Trees anymore; in fact, she didn't think the song had ever been played on the radio very much.

'He could have heard it in a bar,' Nivea thought. 'No...he never goes out.'

'Not that you know of anyway,' a little, pessimistic voice of doubt in her head countered. 'Something is going on. He's hiding something.'

 

Everything went along as usual, Nivea attended her classes and Ben obsessed over his novel, until one afternoon in late October when Ben awoke to find something rather shocking.

As he awoke, he stretched underneath the covers. His body felt unusually cool. His eyes were still closed. He was imagining himself making love to Nivea, caressing her breasts, kissing her mouth. He shifted his body; his legs slid across each other smoothly. There was barely any friction at all. His legs felt smooth and silky. Surprised by the strange sensation, he opened his eyes and pulled off the covers.

His legs were completely hairless.

'I've got to be sleeping,' he thought. He ran one of his hands down his legs. There was nothing there, no hair at all. His legs looked a little red and they felt sensitive. He touched his skin with complete disbelief. He looked in the bed to see if his hair had fallen out during the night; why that would happen, he couldn't possibly imagine. There was no hair on the mattress. He picked up the sheets and comforter and shook them several times, but there was still no hair to be found. 'Maybe it came off in the shower last night,' he thought, perplexed. He wasn't satisfied with this pathetic explanation. It didn't make sense, but he couldn't think of any other possibilities. He rushed across the livingroom and into the bathroom to check the shower. He pulled back the curtain; there was no hair in the tub at all.

"This is too weird," he said aloud, looking down at his legs again. He thought about calling Nivea but decided against it. What was he going to say: 'Hi Nivea...this is Ben. My legs are hairless and as smooth as silk, and I have no idea how it happened?" No. He would not call Nivea.

He sat down at the computer and inspected his legs more carefully. They were completely smooth, not a single hair on them. But what really unnerved him was that his legs looked extremely feminine. 'What do you expect? You don't have any hair,' he said to himself. But deep in the back of his mind he thought something else looked different about his legs.

(They were softer.)

"Great, how am I gonna explain this to Nivea?" He said aloud. He lifted his head and noticed that his computer was still on. He took a look at the last scene he had written in his novel. His addiction gripped him and took over. Before he knew it, he was typing away–when he really should have been trying to find out what had happened to his legs.

Ben managed to hide his smooth legs from Nivea for the next several weeks. He had some help from Mother Nature; the temperature got unusually cold so Ben had managed to get away with wearing pants every day without drawing suspicion to himself. Eventually, the hair on his legs started to grow back in. But it seemed different somehow, it grew very slowly and seemed much more thin. The new hair seemed to fall out on its own; every few weeks Ben's legs would be completely smooth again. After a few months, he got used to his legs feeling different; he was so absorbed with his novel that he didn't think about his legs at all.

  

Part 4 - December 2002

"I'm gettin' in, under your skin." Luscious Jackson

"Ben, you really need to start exercising. I hate to put it so bluntly, but you're really starting to put on some weight," Nivea said one afternoon. Ben was in the middle of a rather large slice of chocolate cake. He put his fork down and looked up.

"I know. You're one-hundred-percent right. I really don't know what my problem has been, but I've been eating a lot of chocolate lately. I just get these crazy urges. It's not like me."

"Well, that could be responsible for some of the weight gain, but your body has softened up too. You're lost a lot of muscle since I met you. You really need to start exercising to get your muscle tone back and to speed up your metabolism. I don't mean it in a bad way, Ben. You still look cute...it's just that you used to be more chiseled, more healthy looking. It's harder for you to see because the changes have been gradual. I don't see you every day...so I notice more."

"Yeah...you're probably right," he moaned, looking down at his body. He pushed the cake away from himself, feeling disgusted. He looked his body over critically for a few moments. 'How long has it been since I worked out? A year? A year-and-a-half?" He wondered.

"Okay, Nivea. I'm gonna start tonight," he said, trying to sound determined.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"It will give you more energy, and you'll be able to concentrate better. So....it will help improve your writing too, because you'll be able to focus," she added, trying to give him an extra incentive.

Ben took Nivea's advice and started working out. He found it invigorating and kept at it regularly, but his old body shape didn't return. Instead, he kept putting on weight, particularly in his thighs, hips, and butt. His chest also seemed to become more flabby. As a result, he began to feel self-conscious about his body and made a point to stop playing kissy-face with Nivea.

 

Ben awoke one Sunday afternoon at his computer. It was late January. It was grey, cold, and overcast outside. He looked at the clock and was completely shocked: it was four in the afternoon. He had worked out the night before and forced himself to go to bed early, at ten. That meant that he had been sleeping for eighteen hours.

"That's insane," he muttered. He was extremely groggy and his head throbbed. His chest, legs, and feet also ached. Over the past couple of weeks, he often awoke with pains in his legs and feet. He figured it was because of his workouts.

He waddled over to the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and got himself several Tylenol. He was parched. He gulped down the Tylenol, took off his clothes, and stepped into the shower. 'Maybe Nivea was right about that sleep disorder...maybe I have...Hipposomnia...or whatever she called it.'

When he stepped out of the shower he looked at himself in the full-length mirror on his bathroom door.

"I still look flabby...and I've been working out for five weeks. My chest is so flabby that I practically need a bra," he said. 'Maybe it's the sleep. Sleeping too much probably slows down your metabolism. I'll have to ask Nivea,' he thought as he continued to look himself over.

"But I should at least have some definition by now," he whined. He ran his hands up to his chest and over his pectoral muscles–or the area where they used to be. Instead of muscles, he felt two soft, plump,

(Budding)

mounds. As his palms brushed against his nipples, he winced slightly. "Ouch...my nipples feel sensitive," he said, touching them lightly with his fingertips and pressing against the fleshy areas around them. He felt small, hard lumps somewhere behind each nipple. Concerned, he moved closer to the mirror and inspected his chest more closely. There were no bruises or discoloring that he could see. 'Maybe I've built some muscle tone underneath this baby fat,' he hoped. He was itching to get back to his novel but he found that he couldn't think about anything other than his body. He took a shower and then went for a walk out in the cool air to try to clear his mind. The January air sobered him up quickly, and before he knew it, he was back at his desk, clicking away.

 

More Excerpts From Ben's Novel, "While in the Arms of Morpheus"

Amanda was thrilled: after weeks and weeks of prodding, she had finally convinced Rachel to attend a rave with her. The two women were walking from Amanda's apartment to the small theater-house that often hosted raves in the Warehouse District. The walk was only a couple of blocks, otherwise they would have driven: walking the streets at night in rave-ware was just asking for trouble–unless you were in certain parts of the French Quarter. The February night sky was dark—an odd mix of purple, black, and maroon—and thick with clouds. It was going to rain.

Amanda looked up at the sky and laughed with delight. Some of her hair was swept back on the sides and clipped on top with an eye-catching, white, satin bow; while the rest fell several inches past her shoulders in elegant, temporary curls.

She felt so alive! The thrill of the hunt and night ahead had her adrenaline pumping. Every nerve in her body seemed to tingle in anticipation. Her senses were sharp and alert. She could hear the sound of her knee-high, white, fake-leather, platform boots clicking rhythmically on the cement. She could smell her own perfume, Red, in the cool winter air. She always loved smelling her perfume outdoors on her way to and from wherever she was going: there was something so energizing and enticing about it. She could feel her long, sparkling earrings dancing freely with each step she took. Her strides were unnaturally short due to her constricting, white, take-no-prisoners nylon-spandex mini-skirt and the huge heels of her boots. Her light-toast, ultra-shimmery Danskin tights shimmered in the glow of occasional street lights and stretched against her sexy body as she walked. Underneath her black, leather jacket, she was also wearing a sheer, white, long-sleeved, button-down top with thick, satin, seventies-style cuffs. Her satin panties and matching push-up bra were clearly visible through her tight, thin skirt and sheer top. Her bra and panties were white and covered with quarter-sized hot-pink-colored triangles. At this particular rave, her bra and panties were sending a message to others: she was interested in women only.

At first, Amanda was nervous–an unusual trait for her. She knew that she had a lot at stake tonight. If her attempts at seduction failed (or even if they succeeded), she might lose Rachel as a friend. The thought was scary and realistic, but she didn't have many alternatives. She couldn't afford to hang on in quiet desperation any longer: her pent-up love and passion for Rachel would certainly drive her crazy if she didn't make a move, a decisive move.

Amanda also didn't know when she would get another opportunity like this one. The rave gave her a huge home-field advantage–the care-free atmosphere, the haze, the disorientation, the passionate music, and the easy-access outfits. Oh yes, their outfits would make it easy for Amanda to rub and caress Rachel...to tease her...to seduce her. And to top it all off, Henry was away visiting a friend in Lake Charles...so he would not attract Rachel's attention, not tonight.

As they walked, Amanda's nervousness subsided and her confidence grew. She looked over at Rachel and gave her a huge, excited smile.

Rachel returned the smile. She had mixed feelings about attending the rave but was happy to see Amanda so perky. Like Amanda, Rachel was clearly dressed for a rave. She was wearing a funky nylon-spandex dress, with a high-cut neck line. The hem-line was nice and short—perfect for dancing. The dress had a wild pattern that demanded attention: black, orange, and white circles of various sizes, most of them large. It clung to Rachel's hips, butt, and breasts, and made a slight swishing sound as she walked along in her matching, patent-leather, platform heels. She too was wearing a pair of Danskin, ultra-shimmery tights. Her black, satin bra and high-cut satin panties were slightly visible through the thin, clingy dress. Her hair was pulled back into a long, loose, sassy ponytail. Amanda stole a few glances at Rachel's butt as they walked; she had helped Rachel pick out her outfit and now was starting to regret the choice: it was teasing her mercilessly.

Rachel was tentative and uptight for the first half-hour of the rave. But, after some convincing and a drink, she started to loosen up and enjoy herself. And before Amanda knew it, Rachel had moved off on her own with a cute guy.

Thirty minutes later, Amanda was beside herself with frustration. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Rachel danced and danced with the same guy, Kurt Cobain-look-alike. Should could tell that Rachel was definitely into the guy. She was just about to go grab a drink when she saw a petite blonde through her arms around Rachel's new friend and start kissing him on the mouth. After a few seconds, the guy started kissing back. Rachel stopped dancing. Amanda's lips parted in shock, but a few seconds later her look turned to one of pleasant surprise, and was quickly replaced by a smug, confident smile. She moved across the dance floor and slipped her arms around Rachel's waist from behind.

"You look gorgeous tonight. Another one will be along in ten minutes! Come on, let's get a drink," Amanda shouted over the music, tugging Rachel away from the guy.

A few minutes later, the bar tender handed Amanda a whiskey sour, a beer for Rachel, and two waters. Amanda was just about to take a sip of her drink when a pair of slender female hands with elegantly manicured pink nails slipped over her eyes.

"Guess who," the woman said in a cute, high-pitched, immature sounding voice. She appeared to be in her early twenties.

"Wonder woman?" Amanda asked, smiling but slightly embarrassed.

"Very funny!" The woman responded, her hands still over Amanda's eyes.

"Hi Eva," Amanda said, turning around and taking hold of the woman's hands. The woman moved in and kissed Amanda firmly on the mouth. Her lips lingered for a moment before she pulled them off. Rachel watched with a mixture of humor and embarrassment.

'Uuugggg! The girl practically ignores me for three weeks but attacks me the first night I show up with Rachel,' Amanda thought petulantly. She didn't want Rachel to get the wrong idea about Eva. Amanda and Eva hadn't been an item in over three months.

"Who's the panty candy?" Eva asked brazenly, smiling at Rachel lasciviously.

"Eee-VA!! She's a friend of mine from college!" Amanda scolded with genuine disapproval and embarrassment. She couldn't hide the fact that she was also annoyed with Eva for interfering with her plan. Eva sensed it: she knew Amanda well. "She's vanilla," Amanda mouthed at Eva.

"Oh...my apologies," Eva purred to Rachel, giving her a charming smile. Rachel returned the smile; she didn't really understand what was going on, or that Eva had made such a blatantly sexual remark about her.

"I'm Rachel! Amanda's introducing me to the rave scene tonight." Rachel held out her hand to shake; Eva took it with both of her hands, brought it to her lips, and kissed it.

"Oh...a rave virgin...hey," Eva joked "Nice nails." She smiled again, holding onto Rachel's hand a few extra seconds before letting it go. Rachel's glossy lips parted in surprise and embarrassment. She felt the blood in her cheeks start to warm: she was going to blush.

"Are you rolling on ex or something?" Amanda asked with a laugh. "You seem very friendly tonight."

"Bingo! And it's your lucky day sweety...I've got some really clean and fun eeeee and it's really mellow...not speedy. It's definitely your kind," Eva said.

"Oh..." Amanda looked at Rachel with a half frown and then back to Eva. "I'd love to...but I can't...not tonight. This is Rachel's first time...I can't take E and just run off."

"She can have some too, if she wants," Eva said, eyeing Rachel's curves. "I've always got plenty of E for rave virgins."

"Oh...no...she doesn't do E, Eva. She barely ever even smokes pot, Eva," Amanda cautioned. She was embarrassed that the subject had even come up in front of Rachel.

"Okay, just thought I'd ask...southern hospitality, ya know," she winked at Amanda. There was a brief pause and then Rachel did something that shocked them all.

"Actually...I think I'd like to give it a try...the Ecstacy," she said nonchalantly. "You don't mind do you, Amanda?"

Amanda's jaw dropped in disbelief while Eva perked up even more. In a way, Amanda felt uneasy about Rachel taking Ecstacy; it was her protective side coming out. But at the same time, she realized that Ecstacy would help her seduce Rachel. Thus, in the end, she put her own needs fist and didn't object to Rachel's decision. Plus, Rachel was an adult, and quite capable of making her own decisions.

"Watch this," Eva whispered. Seconds later, she slipped a pill out of a hidden pocket inside her skirt and dropped it in Rachel's drink in a series of quick, fluid, discreet moves. Rachel was nervous. She exhaled deeply, and without further ceremony, downed the last two ounces of her drink along with the Ecstacy. Amanda was still speechless as Rachel put her glass on the bar and dried her lips with a napkin; she couldn't believe that Rachel had just taken Ecstacy. "I assume you'll be joining us," Eva said, holding a pill over Amanda's drink. Amanda nodded. Eva dropped the pill into the drink and watched as Amanda drank it down.

"Okay! Let's have some fun with the rave-virgin...let's bust her cherry," Eva chirped at Amanda. She quickly turned to Rachel and added, "on the dance floor, of course." Rachel was mortified by the sexual joke, but she thought Eva was funny and harmless. Eva led the other two women onto the dance floor.

About thirty minutes later, Rachel started to feel slightly dizzy. Her heart-rate increased and she began to feel anxious. She started to feel disoriented, wobbly. The feeling was not pleasant, not what she expected Ecstacy to feel like. She stopped dancing abruptly and hurried off the dance floor. She found an empty chair along a wall on the other side of the bar, away from the music. She wanted to go to another room, where it would be more quiet, but she didn't think Amanda would be able to find her. After she sat down, she realized that she was shaking.

Her mind started to panic as she considered what was happening to her. Why did she take the ecstacy? So she could feel adventurous? So Henry would think she was fun and cool like Amanda? Or was there another reason? Did she want an excuse to do something wild, like sleep with some guy? So far, she was regretting her decision terribly.

"Don't worry, it's just the E...it's a little weird for the first few minutes. It gets much better," Amanda said, handing Rachel a glass of water. Eva's face popped over Amanda's shoulder.

"Awww....don't worry sweety....you'll be feeling great in about five minutes. I'll go get you some more water," Eva said.

"Are you sure?" Rachel moaned nervously. Amanda nodded and put her hand on Rachel's shoulder.

"Just relax...and drink some water. You'll be okay. I was a little dizzy too, but it passed quickly."

A few minutes later, Eva was back with more water. Rachel took a few sips and then put the cup down. She felt a pleasant tingling sensation creeping down the back of her neck. She ran her hands up to her neck and started caressing it. The sensation grew more intense, pleasantly intense. It crept over her mind like a thick malaise and then began to spread. Thirty seconds later she could feel it all over her body, especially in her fingertips. The skin on her neck felt so smooth on her charged-up fingertips. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her hands slid down her neck, slowly. Then she started caressing her stomach through her tight dress. The nylon-spandex felt delectable to her hungry fingertips.

"Mmmmmm..." she moaned. It wasn't sexual; instead, it was like a woman sighing with content as she rolls over in a warm bed on a cold winter morning. She opened her eyes and saw her ultra-shimmery tights shining in the dark, colorful, rave-lights. She started rubbing her legs, gently, just above the knees...enjoying the smooth, sensual feeling of creamy, nylon-spandex-covered, flesh against her palms and fingertips.

"It looks like someone is starting to feel better," Eva said in a sing-song voice. Rachel looked up at her and smiled, her eyes half-closed.

Rachel's lips parted but she didn't say anything for a few minutes. Eventually, she willed her hands away from her thighs and brought them back up to her neck. "I feel...unbelievable," she said, her voice sounding slow, deliberate, and intense. Her gaze shifted over to Amanda. "Amanda!" She moaned, sounding like she hadn't seen Amanda in months. "I had no idea...it was...like this."

"It's nice to see you're feeling better, dearie," Amanda purred, feeling rather high herself.

"Ready for some dancing, Miss Rave Virgin?" Eva asked, holding out an arm. Rachel laughed and got up slowly. Seconds later Amanda and Eva whisked her off to the dance floor.

 

A half-hour later, Rachel and Amanda were sitting outside getting some fresh air and drinking some water.

"I'm dying for a glass of wine," Rachel purred.

"Really? I've got some Chardonnay in my apartment. I think I might even happen to have a bottle in the fridge," Amanda said trying to sound nonchalant but not completely succeeding.

"You do?"

"Yeah...it's a French wine...Pouilly-Fuisse."

"Amanda, that's one of my favorites! You bought that just for me, didn't you? You're such a sweety." She was surprised at how maudlin she sounded when she spoke. It had been that way ever since the ecstacy kicked in, especially when she spoke to Amanda. She had tried to check herself several times, but she couldn't: her voice just kept coming out sounding desperate—like she was Amanda's long-lost sister or something. "Oh lets go open it!" She tugged on Amanda's arm and pulled her off the step.

"But don't you want to dance some more? The E is just getting started. We have several hours to go."

"Sure...we can always come back later if we want, can't we?"

"Yes," Amanda responded, even though she had no intention of going back to the rave. She had other things in mind.

 

Back to the Main Story

Ben continued to work out, even more than he had before, but his sleeping habits didn't improve. In addition, his chest became more and more flabby. Because he was so obsessed with his novel, he didn't completely notice the gradual changes his body had been undergoing for quite some time–not even when they started to become rather obvious. It was Nivea, of course, who finally convinced him to see a doctor.

One night in February, Nivea and Ben had gone to Tippitina's (Uptown) to see a band play. Both of them ended up having a little too much to drink. The two hadn't hooked up in over a month and Nivea was craving a night in bed with Ben. So she took advantage of the situation and lured Ben back to her apartment. A little sexy dancing and heavy flirting was all it took.

The next morning Nivea woke up slowly at around ten. She was wearing nothing but a pair of Victoria's Secret panties: pink satin with big, bright, colorful flowers all over them. Ben was still sound asleep; he was lying on his back. Nivea snuggled up to him, slipped her left thigh over his body, and nuzzled it between his legs. Ben's skin felt warm and smooth.

"Mmmmmmmm," Nivea purred, closing her eyes. She loved waking up next to Ben, it made her feel so secure, content. A smile grew across her face as she remembered the night before and the amazing oral sex Ben had unleashed on her. Ben had gotten much better at oral–he was like no other man she had been with in that department–somehow he knew exactly where to touch and lick her to get her completely riled. Thinking about it was getting her worked up all over again. She slid her thigh back and forth across Ben's, slowly, in a gentle caressing motion. Her thigh slid easily across his silky skin; it felt so comforting. She reached up to his waist with her left hand and started rubbing him. The skin at his waist felt smooth, too. She slid her palm and fingertips up and down his side repetitively. "Mmmmmmm....you feel so good," she whispered. Her eyes were still shut; she was caught in that strange, foggy state somewhere between full consciousness and sleep. She was still somewhat tired and rather relaxed, so she drifted back into a light sleep.

Nivea began to dream. In her dream, she was with another woman–her lover, perhaps. They were lying next to each other on a bed. This didn't alarm Nivea, oh no. Since sophomore year of college, she had had heavy bisexual tendencies. Periodically, she tried to suppress the lesbian part of her bisexual desires, but she had not been successful. In her dream, the woman lying next to her had a smooth, voluptuous body. Nivea couldn't see the woman's face, but it didn't matter–it was the body she was interested in. She slid one of her hands up the woman's body and caressed her naked breasts. They were small compared to the rest of the woman's body, but they felt warm and perky. 'It must be a college girl,' Nivea thought to herself. Nivea imagined herself sliding on top of her young partner and pressing down against her warm body. She imagined kissing the woman on the mouth...running her long nails through the woman's hair, and devouring the woman's nipples slowly, throughly–getting her lover hot and needy. She imagined herself crawling up the woman's body, her mind filled with many mischievous ideas but planning to act on only one: the hottest, most self-serving one. Now Nivea could see the woman's face...she was young and pretty with rosy cheeks and plump, wet lips. Seconds later, Nivea was sitting on the woman's face, moving her hips in tight, tiny circles; brushing her moistening, satin-covered panties into the woman's face suggestively, waiting for her lover's lips to open and tongue to emerge. Oooohhhh...she longed to feel her young lover's hands on her inner thighs...spreading her apart.

But then, Nivea remembered she was not with a woman; she was lying next to Ben. Her dream quickly faded and she started to wake up again. Her eyes were still closed as she continued to caress Ben's body with her left hand–over his wide hips, his narrow waist, and up to his chest. She felt a dampness between her legs and a building sexual itch that need to be taken care of. She opened her eyes, ready for sex. She realized that her thighs were spread apart and were wrapped halfway around Ben's soft thigh. She also realized that she was rubbing herself against his smooth, voluptuous thigh, building her own arousal. At the same time, she felt a soft mound on Ben's chest; it felt like a breast. Nivea's hand slid across to the other side of Ben's chest, where she felt another breast. "This is some dream," she whispered to herself smiling. But a part of her realized that she was no longer sleeping. She rubbed her eyes, blinked several times, and looked up at Ben's face. He was still asleep. With her eyes open, she slid her hands across his upper body again: she felt the two fleshy mounds once more. And the skin was...creamy.

'Wow...his chest is still really flabby, I wonder if he's been lying about the gym?' Nivea thought, caressing the mounds on Ben's chest. 'I doubt it...he isn't the lying type. But his skin is sooooo smooth...it's almost like I'm with another woman.' All of a sudden, she realized how strange it was that Ben's skin was so smooth. The sensitive skin on her legs and upper thighs confirmed that his lower body was girlishly smooth, too. Nivea pulled back the blanket and sheet slowly and inspected Ben's chest. He had two small, budding breasts and no chest hair at all. "Oh my gosh...he's not flabby...he's got....breasts! What is going on with him?" She worried, sitting upright and then slipping out of bed quickly.

"Ben! Wake up," she huffed. Ben didn't move. "Ben...wake up!" She repeated. Still no reaction. "Ben...way," she started to say it a third time but then stopped herself. Instead, she quickly pulled the covers back from the rest of his body. She inspected his body with the eye of a jeweler for the next several minutes. "Oh no...he looks so....strange," was all she could muster. With the exception of his male anatomy, he had the body of a high-school girl who was slowly but surely becoming a woman. There was no hair on his legs, chest or face. The rest of the hair on his body was extremely thin, barely noticeable. His hips and thighs were plumped up and his skin looked soft and ultra smooth for a guy.

Nivea thought about it for a few minutes and decided not to confront Ben–not yet anyway. As hard as it was, she decided that Ben would probably tell her when he was ready, and that she should just wait. She didn't know what was going on with him, but one thing appeared obvious: he was taking female hormones. She jotted out a note, quickly, in her bubble-letter script, and placed it in one of Ben's tattered shoes. The note said that she had to get to the library to work on a project for the class she was teaching.

Nivea walked to the library with a mixture of emotions. She was appalled, confused, and irritated with Ben. First, she was thinking that he should have told her, they were so close–heck, they were best friends. Second, she didn't understand why he would do it...why would he want a sex change? Third, she wondered whether he was just perverted. 'I'm WAY to judgmental to be a psychologist!' She thought in a panic, but quickly reminded herself that she would probably be more objective with someone she didn't love. "Ugggg!" She said, frustrated.

By the time Nivea got to the library, she had calmed down, some. Before starting her work on her thesis, she found a couple of books on Gender Identity Disorder (GID) and transsexuals and started browsing through them. She had read about these issues before, in undergrad human sexuality class and in a graduate survey course, but she had never studied them throughly: she was not planning on practicing in this area.

Nivea read about Gender Identity Disorder all morning and into the afternoon. The more she read, the more her feelings about Ben began to change. Despite her close relationship with Ben, her training and professional mind took over and she began to see his situation objectively. She realized, of course, that Ben was not a pervert and probably was suffering from GID.

 

Over the next several days, Nivea quickly made herself a semi-expert on GID. The more she read about the subject, the more empathy and compassion she felt for Ben. Over this time period, she also sorted through her own personal thoughts and emotions, and quickly realized that she had felt rejected by him. Her feelings of rejection slowly subsided. A small, emerging part of her hoped that Ben might still be attracted to her and would want a relationship, since many transsexuals are still attracted to women after transition. She didn't know whether she could handle being in a relationship with someone who was TG, but she vowed to be understanding and supportive of Ben in every way. In order to stay focused and help Ben emotionally, she promised herself that she would sort out the romantic part of their lives later.

Once she had thought everything through ad nauseam, Nivea felt extremely relieved. She was so happy to finally know what was going on with Ben, and she now knew that he would probably be okay–provided he had the proper supports in place.

  

Part 5 - March 2003

"I've already planned it - here's how it's gonna be I'm gonna love you and - you're gonna fall in love with me...Just like I should - I'll getcha good." Shania Twain and Mutt Grange

Ben couldn't figure out what was going on with Nivea. Ever since they had slept together in February, she had seemed different. For several days, it seemed like she was ignoring him. And after that, she seemed to be on the verge of tears every time he saw her. He vowed to fix things between them once he had finished his novel.

Ben was about to start writing, when he realized that he hadn't checked the mailbox in over a week. He went downstairs, got the mail, and sorted through it. He sifted through the pile and pulled out the bills; he threw the rest away. But right as he dumped the pile into the trash can, he noticed another pink envelope, like the one he had seen months and months ago. He opened the envelope. Just like the first time, there was one sheet of pink stationary. The note on the letter said:

"You can't keep ignoring me, Ben. I will get my way."

Just like before, there was no name, no address, and no signature at the bottom of the letter. Ben thought about the letter for a few minutes and then tossed it aside.

'Nivea...why won't she just talk with me about it? It sure seems like an odd way for a future psychologist to be dealing with a relationship.' He shook his head and then sat down to write.

 

More Excerpts From Ben's Novel, "While in the Arms of Morpheus"

"Mmmmmmm!!" Rachel moaned and licked her lips after she sipped her wine. She was already on her second glass. She was leaning back on the couch in Amanda's apartment with her eyes closed. The two women had just returned from the rave. Both of them were on ecstacy and had at least four hours to go. "I feel sooooooo good, Amanda!"

"Do you want to hear a little music?" Amanda asked, already adjusting her IPOD to play a seductive mix of rave, pop, and dance-music. The IPOD was hooked up to her stereo and set on random play.

"Definitely!" Rachel responded. "That's the only thing missing right now."

"We're also missing a little pot, but I can fix that." Amanda held up a long, thin joint for Rachel to see. "And let's not forget your darling Henry, dearie!" She teased.

"You wanna know something....you're not going to believe me...but, I haven't thought about him much tonight."

"Shhhuuuure...." Amanda lit the joint, took a couple hits, and offered it to Rachel.

"Oh...why not?" Rachel said after pausing briefly. She put the joint between her glossy lips and inhaled timidly. After her first hit she tried again, this time inhaling more deeply. In the background, the first song on the IPOD came on. It was a rave tune by Malyssa, the "Here with You" club mix from the Reminisce album. The mesmerizing music with its enchanting bass-line floated out into the room and–slowly but surely–worked its way into Rachel's mind. The two women passed the joint back and forth until they had smoked half of it; at that point, Amanda put it out.

"That's all we should have. A teeny bit is all it takes to do the trick when you're on x." Amanda lit several candles in the living room and then walked around into the kitchen, out of Rachel's sight. She turned off the florescent kitchen lights, letting the candlelight take over. She remained silent on purpose to let the music work its magic on Rachel's vulnerable mind.

Sitting on the couch, Rachel started to slip into a trance; the pot was enhancing the effects of the ecstacy in a soothing, melo way; it was also enhancing her senses dramatically. Her fingertips sought out her nylon-covered thighs and began rubbing again–it felt even better than before. She was quite aware of what she was doing and was slightly embarrassed, but she couldn't stop herself: the feeling of her soft, nylon-covered flesh on her fingertips and palms was too much for the charged-up girl to resist. The music sounded better, too. She had never heard Malyssa before, but it didn't matter, the song just grew and grew on her. Before she knew it, she was twisting her waist and rolling her shoulders ever so slightly to the music.

"I like this music, it really makes you want to dance," Rachel confessed after a few minutes.

Amanda took a long sip of her wine and set it down on the counter between the kitchen and the living room. "I know...especially when you're on x. It's really outta-this-world to just let yourself go with the music...really let it flow through your body and influence you," she replied, eyeing Rachel with barely concealed desire. She stood still for a few moments as she thought about her next move. She was convinced that if she could just get Rachel to dance with her, she would probably be able to decoy the unwitting girl into bed. Throwing caution to the wind, she walked into the livingroom and directly up to Rachel. Rachel was still dancing in her seat with her eyes closed. Amanda bent over and touched Rachel's wrists gently. "Come on...you look like you could use a dance...I can show you a few moves if you want."

Rachel's eyes opened and she smiled. "Awwww....Amanda...that's so cool," she said in a gentle, grateful voice, still sounding maudlin–like a sappy lover. Their hands locked and Amanda pulled Rachel up off the couch. Amanda turned and faced the stereo speakers and started dancing, swaying her hips and rolling her shoulders to the beat. Rachel felt completely comfortable and started dancing too; she ran her hands over her head, feeling her silky hair tease her fingertips. Seconds later she undid her ponytail and fluffed her hair a few times.

The nylon tights caressed Rachel's lower body and crotch; stretching against her thighs, hips, and ass tightly as she danced. With her senses enhanced by the drugs, the sensation was unbelievably sensual. Her sense of touch was so enhanced that she could actually pinpoint the precise feelings and sensations that each piece of tight clothing caused as it pressed against her body. Slowly, she became increasingly aware of the snugness of the tights on her crotch, and how the nylon material smothered and gripped her in such a tantalizing way. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips parted in surprise as she realized that she was feeling slightly aroused. She pushed the thought into the back of her mind recklessly, and focused her attention on Amanda's dancing instead.

Amanda quickly noticed that she had Rachel's undivided attention. She smiled, turned her body toward Rachel, and started to dance in front of her. She was supposed to be showing Rachel "some moves," but in reality, she was beginning a dance that was meant to seduce in a subtle unsuspecting manner. Amanda had been dancing on a weekly basis since she was twelve years old, so by now, she knew exactly how to attract attention to certain parts of her body while dancing. She began to sway her body more slowly, erotically. She rolled her hips sensually and moved her butt and thighs in time to the music, intending to hypnotize and lure Rachel's mind in. 'First her mind, then her body,' Amanda thought to herself, as her eyes met Rachel's with a mischievous twinkle. Her eyes moved on, but not too abruptly: she didn't want to give her hidden intentions away, not yet.

Rachel was dancing and rubbing her thighs as she watched Amanda with awe and admiration. She so desperately wanted to be able to move her body in such a graceful and sensual way, but she felt like she would never be able to dance like Amanda. She would never be able to show off every curve of her body like Amanda.

Amanda twirled around a couple of times and wound up with her back facing Rachel. She stretched her arms high into the air, leaned her head back, and shook her silky curled hair in-time to the beat. Then, in an incredibly sexy and rhythmic motion, she slid her hands down her body to her hips, one at a time. Her hands positioned themselves so that the thumbs were pointed toward the front of her body while her fingers were stretched out over the sides of her round, thick butt. She began bouncing her hips more deliberately to the music—in a sassy, taunting way—intending to draw Rachel's attention to her butt and the satin and nylon covering it. She knew Rachel's greedy fingertips would want to touch the smooth material (the poor girl hadn't been able to stop rubbing her own thighs all night). Amanda leaned forward slowly as she danced and gradually stuck her butt out farther and farther, causing her nylon-spandex dress to creep up and expose the bottom of her satin panties. She gave a subtle, gentle tug at her dress with her fingertips, causing it to inch up even farther. Her panties were now almost completely exposed. She snuck a peak over her shoulder and saw that her ass had certainly captivated Rachel's attention. She bounced her ass back and forth a few times to taunt and entice, and then slowly moved her way back up.

Rachel felt a pang of disappointment when Amanda's dress inched back down and covered up the enticing, lustrous satin panties with the pretty pink triangles. Rachel continued to stare at them through Amanda's dress until Amanda did another twirling motion and wound up facing Rachel once again. Just then, the song began to fade out. Amanda continued to dance as she stared into Rachel's eyes.

"You're amazing, Amanda. You're so beautiful...you're like a dancing goddess. How do you do it?"

"It's easy...I'll show you. You just need a little one-on-one instruction," Amanda said, stepping closer to Rachel. She was getting ready to teach Rachel by using a "hands-on" approach.

"Okay, what do I do?" Rachel said, with an excited look on her face.

"Just stand still for a sec and wait for the next song." Amanda reached out and placed her hands gently on Rachel's waist. There was a slight pause, and then the song began. It started with just the drums, a straight four/four beat with the bass drum hitting on one and three and the snare drum hitting on two and four. (Boom....snap...boom....snap....boom....snap....boom....snap). Amanda recognized it at once, it was "Hella Good" by No Doubt. "Oh....this song is perfect for you. It's got a simple but strong beat. Let me start it over." With one arm still on Rachel's waist, Amanda reached over to the IPOD. "Are you ready, girl?" Amanda laughed, eyeing Rachel with an expectant smirk.

"Yes, I'm thrilled to get a real dance lesson!" Rachel was bubbling with enthusiasm, despite her relaxed, euphoric state. Amanda put the IPOD on repeat mode and then pressed play. She put her other hand back on Rachel's waist and tightened her grip. The song began; Amanda waited until the second measure and then started guiding Rachel's waist back and forth to the beat (Right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left) while she moved her own body in the same manner. Rachel began to catch on and swayed her body in time to the music. The bass line kicked in on the fifth measure. Amanda's hands slid down a few lovely inches and planted themselves firmly onto Rachel's jutting hips; she began to guide Rachel's body much more deliberately.

"Come on...move those curvy hips...make em really bounce," Amanda directed, pushing even harder on Rachel's nylon-covered body. Rachel giggled and complied. Seconds later her smile was gone and she was feeling every beat, deep in her body, as the music began to take hold of her. Amanda inched in a little closer; the two young women were bouncing seductively from side to side in their short, clingy dresses and shimmery tights, their faces no more than a foot apart.

And then the vocals and keyboard kicked in. Amanda began to sing along with Gwen Stefani's sensuous, enchanting voice as she stared into Rachel's eyes.

"The waves keep-on crash-in on-me for some rea-son," she sang in a beautiful, seductive voice, her hands still on Rachel's hips. (Right, left, right, left their bodies moved to the beat). A woman's voice began panting on the vocal track on each quarter note as the guitar played a catchy rhythm. "But your love keeps on com-ing like a thunder-bolt," Amanda continued, with a sassy smile. (Right, left, right, left). "Come here a lit-tle clo-ser," she moaned along with the lyrics, stepping up and nudging her right thigh between Rachel's. She slipped her arms around Rachel's waist and pulled her in even closer—their mouths were inches apart. "'Cause I wanna see you, ba-by, real close up."

Then the chorus kicked in. "I'm feelin hella good so let's just keep on dan-cin!"

Rachel moved back and forth to the music, her hands contracting into tight little fists and then relaxing, over and over again. Her fingers wanted to start rubbing her thighs again, but Amanda's arms were in the way.

"Now...pump your hips forward on every fourth beat. I'll show you what I mean," Amanda said, fighting to prevent herself from sounding too desperate, too sexual. "Here, hold on to me." She took Rachel's hands and guided them downward—seconds later they were on Amanda's butt. The two women continued to bounce and sway to the music, now looking more like lovers than close friends. Amanda's hands dropped to Rachel's butt and she pulled her in gently on the fourth beat while pumping her own pelvis forward. Amanda's right thigh pushed into Rachel's crotch while Rachel's right thigh pushed into Amanda's crotch.

"Uhhhh...," Rachel gasped and then giggled.

"See...it's easy. And it drives the guys wild." Amanda guided Rachel's body—right, left, right, pump...left, right, left, pump; each time their right thighs thrust into each other's crotches on the fourth beat (unfortunately for Amanda, Rachel's dress was getting in the way).

The chorus ended, but they remained close together as they danced in the same pattern (right, left, right, pump, left, right, left, pump), their hands on each other's butts. After another few pumps, Rachel realized that her fingertips and palms were rubbing Amanda's butt. She tried to stop herself but couldn't—the ecstacy had completely overpowered her, and her fingers hungered for the feel of satin. She began to blush, but she still couldn't stop herself. 'Oh...she won't care...it's Amanda,' a little voice in her head spoke up. She gave in to the voice and let her hands go. At the same time, the erotic dance was taking over the rest of her body, inch by inch. Her pelvis began pushing a little harder on every fourth beat, seeking out the tantalizing pressure from Amanda's thigh. It was all the more dangerous because she he didn't realize what she was doing, where her body was leading her.

Amanda was lost in the same world of drug-induced pleasure...her eyes closed as she felt Rachel rubbing her butt. 'Ohhhhh yes...things are going along sooooo nicely!' She thought to herself, practically in bliss. She knew that rubbing was one thing...and making love was another...but it was definitely a good start. Part of her felt completely content to just dance, but another part of her–the hedonistic part–wanted more, a lot more. And she knew that if she didn't take decisive action, things would go no further. She gathered her resolve, opened her eyes, and prepared for the final seductive attack.

Amanda gripped Rachel's dress gently with her hands and started pulling the material up, very slowly. The next verse started, and Amanda began singing with the lyrics once again. Rachel watched her face intently, soaking in every word as their bodies bounced back and forth and pushed into each other's. "Your performance deserving a standing ovation," (Right, left, right, pump, left, right, left, pump), "and who would have thought it'd be the two of us." (Right, left, right, pump, left, right, left, pump). "So don't wake me if I'm drea-ming," (right, left, right, pump, left, right, left, pump). "'Cause I'm in the mood come-on and give it up." (Right, left, right, pump, left, right, left, pump). With each pump, Amanda hitched up Rachel's dress a tiny bit further. Finally, Amanda felt her thigh sliding across Rachel's tights. She inched her body in even closer so their upper-thighs swished against each other's on every beat–nylon on nylon.

After the chorus kicked in again, Rachel noticed a slight, familiar tingling in her suddenly warming crotch. She could feel Amanda's thick, nylon-spandex covered thigh grinding into her crotch on every fourth beat.

"Uuuhhhh...."Rachel moaned out of pleasure after one particularly powerful pump. She breathed in deeply and got a huge whiff of Amanda's perfume, Red–a scent that Rachel loved. "Ohhhh...," she moaned again, but she was still unaware of what was happening–unaware that she was being seduced.

Amanda smelled blood. She moved forward as far as she could go, wedging her upper thigh snugly against Rachel's pelvis. At the same time, her grip on Rachel's butt tightened, locking Rachel in. The pressure on Rachel's crotch became constant, and it oscillated in intensity as she and Amanda bounced back and forth (right, left, right, pump, left, right, left, pump). The pressure felt amazing: Rachel's clit buzzed with anticipation beneath the thin layers of nylon and satin. Her lower-body had a mind of its own, and it quickly realized that the more her hips moved the better the tantalizing crotch-pressure felt. Rachel's movements became intentionally more dramatic; her moans became more frequent and more intense, more desperate. 'Oh my god...I'm completely turned on.' Her mind finally admitted the true nature of her moans, but it was too late: she had surrendered to the dance. And the dance had become a separate entity, overriding her mind and body.

Amanda watched Rachel's eyes intently as they continued to dance. 'She's gonna be like putty in my hands in another few minutes,' she thought. The song ended and she pulled back from Rachel, breaking their embrace.

"Aw...it's over," Rachel said, with obvious disappointment. Her body was tingling all over and absolutely craving human contact.

"I'm getting a little warm, I'm gonna take off my skirt," Amanda said nonchalantly. She turned her back to Rachel, unzipped her skirt, pulled it over her hips, and let it drop to the floor. The skirt got caught on the heels of her boots momentarily as she stepped out of it. Her butt stuck out purposefully as she bent over, picked up the skirt, and tossed it on the couch. Rachel's eyes locked in on Amanda's butt...and the shiny, satin panties. Her fingertips wanted to touch the fabric, to caress it.

The music started; once again, the solid dance beat of "Hella good" crept out into the room.

"Do you wanna try again," Amanda asked, sweeping her hair up in a cover-girl pose and bumping Rachel in the hip playfully.

"Sure," Rachel laughed nervously.

"Okay then...but first...let's get you out of that dress. Since we took the ecstacy, we have to be careful not to overheat." Without waiting for an answer, Amanda stepped behind Rachel, unzipped her, and pulled the top of the dress down, exposing the back of Rachel's black satin bra. Instinctively, Rachel wriggled her body so the dress could pass over her hips. A moment later, she was standing in her bra, tights, high-cut satin panties, and heels, with her dress in a pile at her ankles. She stepped out of it and Amanda kicked it off to the side.

"Okay...now close your eyes, and let the music take you," Amanda purred, putting her hands on Rachel's hips again. Rachel obeyed. They picked up right where they had left off–right, left, right, pump, left, right, left, pump. Amanda had her right thigh pressing snugly against Rachel's crotch and her hands planted firmly on Rachel's butt. But now, their dresses were not in the way, so the sides of their satin covered breasts were also rubbing into each other. By the beginning of the first chorus, Rachel was moaning again.

As they danced, Amanda's soft lips brushed against Rachel's upper neck, an inch below Rachel's ear. Since they were such close friends and had had many revealing talks about sexuality, Amanda knew where many of the erotic spots were on Rachel's body; now she was taking advantage of that knowledge. Amanda's lips parted and she began sucking Rachel's neck gently.

"Ohhhh," Rachel moaned as they pumped into each other again. She was now rubbing herself on Amanda's thigh incessantly. She knew it, too, but she couldn't help herself: she was held captive by the music, the candlelight, the ecstacy euphoria, the pot, the dance, and....Amanda.

Amanda paused and then started kissing Rachel's neck again, more deliberately. At the same time she began caressing Rachel's nape softly, running her hands through Rachel's hair, and scratching her head lightly. She was also grinding her thigh into Rachel's crotch with amazing pressure. After a few minutes she pulled her upper body away from Rachel and looked into her eyes. The innocence in Rachel's eyes was completely gone; it had been replaced by a deep, smoldering need.

"Uhhhhhh....mmmmmmm, mmmmmm." Rachel moaned as she bucked her hips back and forth pleasuring herself in the process. Amanda leaned her face in and brushed her lips across Rachel's suggestively. She nudged her lips and nose against Rachel's cheek, and then started french-kissing her neck again. She ran her nails up and down Rachel's back while she continued to work on Rachel's neck. Rachel's breathing became heavy, her hands squeezed Amanda's butt tightly as she felt her crotch moistening even more. Amanda's lips moved back to Rachel's cheek, and then over her mouth once again, where they paused.

Rachel's eyes focused on Amanda's beautiful, wet lips. They looked so smooth, so soft, so sexy. She wanted to feel the lips pressing against her own. 'I bet they feel as nice as her panties do...' a voice whispered seductively in her head. Amanda brushed her lips over Rachel's again, and let them linger there–challenging, tempting, and teasing. Unable to take any more, Rachel kissed Amanda gently on the mouth. It felt so smooth...so nice. She closed her eyes and kissed Amanda again, this time firmly, with parted lips. Amanda took Rachel's face gently in her hands and kissed back. The kiss turned into a lingering, passionate, open-mouth kiss that completely overwhelmed Rachel. The tingling in her crotch intensified in response–she was a sucker for passionate kisses, as Amanda knew all too well.

But what happened next surprised both of them: Rachel took Amanda's hand and started leading her toward the bedroom. Amanda stopped her briefly, just to turn on the bedroom speakers, but then Rachel was on her again. It was Rachel who initiated and kept up the constant kissing the entire way down the hall. Tickled by Rachel's passion, Amanda let her soon-to-be lover take the lead momentarily, but when they were next to the bed, Amanda turned Rachel around. Seconds later, Rachel was on her back getting her tights pulled down to her ankles. She kicked off her heels quickly. Then, Amanda went to work on Rachel's inner thighs, french-kissing them in all the right places. Amanda's hair lay all over Rachel's thighs and pelvis as the teasing continued. Shameless in her sexual need, Rachel's thighs parted wide and her hands reached out for Amanda's head. After several tantalizing minutes, Amanda worked her way around and into a sixty-nine position. Rachel started rubbing her hands all over Amanda's nylon and spandex covered butt, while Amanda began teasing Rachel's labia. Amanda's tongue traced up and down Rachel's labia in a V-pattern over and over before finally assaulting Rachel's clit.

"Mmmmmmmm....ohhhh.....," Rachel moaned as Amanda licked her. Amanda started grinding her own crotch into Rachel's face, which sent a mild, tingling sensation through her own lower body.

Over the next twenty minutes, Amanda brought Rachel to the brink of orgasm over and over again, only to hold back. After the merciless teasing, Amanda got off her abruptly and went into the closet.

"Why are you leaving...please finish me off....." Rachel moaned from the bed as she rubbed herself with her fingers. Amanda emerged from the closet with a long, fat strap-on dildo protruding from her pelvis. She smeared some K-Y-jelly on the dildo and approached Rachel. Rachel's jaw dropped open in surprise, but before she could object, Amanda's mouth was french kissing her vagina again. After another tantalizing licking, Amanda spoke up.

"Roll over and get on your knees and elbows," she whispered. Rachel complied. She had never done it doggy-style with a man before, let alone another woman, but her libido had taken over her body and was making all the naughty decisions. Amanda kneeled on the bed and pressed her body firmly against Rachel's. She guided the dildo into Rachel's wet canal and started pumping slowly.

"Mmmmmm," Rachel moaned, the penetration felt amazing. Amanda's long, delicate hands gripped Rachel's hips for leverage. Once she had a good grip, she listened for the music and then started pumping Rachel in time to the song Hella Good.

A few minutes later, the bed was creaking loudly as Rachel experienced the best sex of her life. She had never been fucked like this before, with such passion, stamina, and talent. At first she was a little tentative, but her inhibitions were fucked away slowly and steadily. Soon she was surprised to hear herself caterwauling like an animal in heat as Amanda pounded her with the long dildo. Amanda's pace quickened; Rachel lowered her head, closed her eyes, and surrendered her mind and body to Amanda. Her large breasts bounced back and forth wildly as Amanda's nylon-covered upper thighs slammed into her butt over and over again. The two women fucked, teased, and made love in various different ways deep into the night.

 

Back to the Main Story

As the weeks went by, Ben occasionally complained to Nivea about his health. He said he was still having bad headaches and sleeping an inordinate amount of time. He also complained that he was forgetting things. Nivea listened to him and was empathetic, but she figured he was fine and that the female hormones he was taking coupled with his obsessiveness with his book was causing him to feel run down.

Nivea was not overly concerned about Ben's symptoms even though he continued to complain about them.

"I'm still having headaches, I still feel depressed, and I'm still sleeping a lot–sometimes up to eighteen hours strait." Ben said.

Nivea thought for a moment, her brow wrinkled and she stuck the cap to her pen into her mouth. 'Well, I guess he could have sleep apnea AND Gender Identity Disorder. He still seems to fit most of the criteria for sleep apnea,' she thought. She decided that she wouldn't share these thoughts with Ben until she had more information. She had tried several times to get Ben to open up to her and confide in her: she wanted him to "come out" about his TG issues, but he never would. A couple of times she even brought their conversations around to transsexuals, saying that gender issues had come up in one of her classes and that she could really empathize with transsexuals. Unfortunately, Ben didn't take the bait. It was really burning Nivea up inside, she was dying to talk to him about it. She knew it would help make him feel better if he realized that she completely respected and admired him. She decided to push a little further.

"Are you taking anything....any pills...any steroids....any hormones...any supplements?" She asked nonchalantly. "If you are, that could have something to do with the way you've been feeling."

"No. I'm not taking anything like that."

'Wow, he's a good liar after all,' she thought. She found it a little disturbing that she couldn't even detect the slightest sign of a lie on his face. 'Maybe he's had a lot of practice...lying to me,' she thought. A feeling of doubt ripped through her as she considered whether everything he had told her had been lies. 'Maybe he's not even a writer!' A voice in her head concluded. 'Oh don't be so judgmental! You KNOW him, he's not the lying type...or should I say her? No...it's 'him' until he tells me otherwise. Anyway, I guess it's still too difficult for him to tell me.' All of a sudden, Nivea had another panicky thought: 'If it's too difficult for him to tell me, then maybe he doesn't even have a doctor! He could be taking the hormones without proper medical supervision.' Oddly enough, this thought had never occurred to Nivea before. She confronted him immediately.

"Ben, have you seen a doctor?"

"No, but I'm thinking about it. I know this sounds rather stupid, but my chest doesn't feel right," he gulped nervously. "I was too embarrassed to tell you, but my chest is kind of...." he stopped.

"Yes...yes...go on..." Nivea encouraged.

"Well, it's kind of...lumpy," he finished. Nivea gave him a knowing smile and reached out and touched his hands. She was about to tell him that it was quite normal for what he was going through, and that the two hard lumps in his breasts would go away, but he interrupted her.

"I hope it's not some sort of cancer."

Nivea looked at him closely and continued to hold his hands. "That's it Ben. You're going to a doctor. You and I are gonna go back to your apartment right now, and I'm gonna watch you make the call and set up an appointment."

"Nivea...not today," Ben started, but Nivea held up her hand and cut him off.

"I DON"T want to hear it, Ben: this has gone on long enough."

 

The next day, Ben was sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's office. A forty-year-old, petite, and very cute nurse called Ben back into an examination room.

"Please, take off your shirt and pants and have a seat. The doctor will be with you shortly," the nurse said warmly. She took Ben's blood pressure and temperature and then left the room.

Ben pulled off his shirt and then his jeans–the jeans that just didn't fit right anymore. He had tried several sizes, styles, and brands over the last few weeks: none of them fit right. They were all too tight in the butt and hips yet too loose in the waist. Fifteen minutes later, the doctor came in. She was tall, medium build, and probably in her early forties. Her long, gorgeous, black hair was swept back on the sides and held on top of her head with a large dark-brown hair clip. She was wearing a long white coat and was holding Ben's medical file in her hands. A stethoscope dangled from around her neck.

"So...you're having headaches, you're sleeping a lot, and your chest has become flabby," she said looking up from the chart. Her voice was loud, confident, and somewhat abrasive.

"Yes, that's right," Ben said nervously. The doctor looked back down at the chart. She walked over to him and listened to his heart and lungs through the stethoscope. She conducted a quick breast examination, re-checked his blood pressure, looked into his ears, and felt the area around his waist, hips, and abdomen with her firm hands. She was efficient, thorough, and methodical.

When she was finished, she said, "Everything is fine Mr. Newcomb. How long have you been taking hormones?" She said, sounding like a police officer asking how many drinks he had had before getting behind the wheel.

"Huh?"

"How long have you been taking hormones?" The doctor repeated, a little louder this time.

"I'm not taking hormones. What would I be taking hormones for?" Ben responded. The doctor smiled and sat down on her rolling stool. She rolled it closer to Ben and softened the tone of her voice.

"Mr. Newcomb...it's quite okay. I've seen just about everything in my years as a doctor." She waited for Ben to respond, but he looked stupefied. She continued, "I'm no psychologist, and I'm not going to ask you why you are doing it–that's entirely your business. I may appear to be unsympathetic, but I take my job seriously and I do care about all of my patients, no matter what their needs are. So, I'm not asking you this to be difficult, or to humiliate you, but I need to know exactly what you are taking, the doses, and how long you've been taking them for."

"I really don't understand what you're asking me. I'm not taking any hormones. Why would I be taking Testosterone?" Ben said, confused–he didn't understand that the doctor was talking about female hormones. The doctor folded her arms and sighed.

"Mr. Newcomb...pardon the pun, but I'm running out of patience here. Based on the look of your hips, your thighs, and your breast size, I am going to assume you've been taking hormones for at least five or six months. What are you taking? By the look of your fat distribution and breast size I'm going to guess that you are taking progesterone along with your estrogen. Am I right?"

"Estrogen? Why would I be taking Estrogen?" Ben asked. And then he realized it: the doctor thought he was taking female hormones. Shocked, Ben couldn't manage to say anything else. 'What the hell is this doctor talking about? Where did Nivea find this bimbo?' He thought.

The doctor continued without answering Ben. "Your breasts are fine and are developing normally. They will probably get slightly bigger as you continue with the hormones–depending on what other women are like in your family and your overall genetic predisposition–but it is possible that they have already reached their maximum size. Although...you never can tell; sometimes it takes up to five years for them to develop completely," she added. She paused briefly and rested her chin on her folded hands. She gave Ben a forced but slightly empathetic smile and began talking again. "I have to tell you that I'm a little disappointed with your evasiveness: you've going to have a very difficult time with the transition process if you can't be open and honest with your medical care providers. I'm going to ask that you at least cooperate with me by taking a blood test before you leave. I'll have a nurse call you to disclose the results. I'm sorry if I offended you in any way. Have a good afternoon," she said and walked out of the room quickly.

Ben was terrified. He knew what Estrogen was but he couldn't understand why the doctor had "assumed" that he was taking it. He was convinced that his body looked flabby from the lack of exercise earlier in the year, not because of female hormones. When the nurse came in to take his blood, he asked her a few questions.

"I know that this is going to sound a little strange, but what are Estrogen and Progesterone?"

"Female hormones," she answered sweetly, confirming his suspicions. "Hasn't your doctor told you?"

"Why would a man take either of those?" He asked. She looked at him quizzically.

"Isn't it ironic for you to be asking me that? It seems you would know much more about that than I would," she said pleasantly.

"Please, I'm not trying to be funny. I just don't understand what's going on. I've been having these health problems and I finally come to the doctor's office and nobody will explain to me what's going on," Ben pleaded.

"Oh...I see, you just want to know the nitty-gritty details. I'm sorry no one has taken the time to explain it to you, dear. Well, the Estrogen changes the balance of hormones in your body to make you a woman–physically and mentally. Eventually, the Estrogen will effect your brain and turn it female too–so they say. And the Progesterone helps further the process along. You see, that's why you now have such darling little curves," she smiled and pricked him with the needle so she could take his blood.

 

Ben stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom in his apartment; he was naked and staring intently at himself. Now that he was really inspecting his body, it definitely looked different to him. He openly admitted to himself that his body was extremely feminine. The changes to his body had been so gradual (and he had been so preoccupied with his novel) that he hadn't completely noticed them while they were happening. The entire time he had thought that he was just out of shape.

"This is SO CRAZY! So crazy! I don't understand what's going on. Maybe it's the exercises I've been doing. I'll have to ask the doctor when I go back in. I really need to change up my workout routine."

'But that still doesn't explain your

(Breasts)

chest,' a voice in his head countered. 'How did your chest get like this?'

Ben gave up the argument and went out to check the mail and clear his head. It didn't work. There was another pink envelope in his mail box. He checked the postmark: it had been mailed from somewhere in New Orleans. The message read as follows:

"Dear Ben, why won't you open up and really let me in? Why won't you pay more attention to me? You can't deny the special bond between us...why won't you just accept it? It will make things much easier. I'm not going anywhere, Ben. You can't get rid of me...no matter what you do. You can't just write me out of your life."

The message was unsigned.

  

  

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