Chapter 28: The Bes of GirlhoodSix weeks ago, waking after a few hours of fitful dozing, sliding quietly out of bed and into dy’s daily routine: dropping to the floor o the bed, silently cursing through alternatis of push-ups and ches.

  Then shit, shower, shave: armpits and legs, carving tracks through sweet-smelling foam with Julia’s ft-handled razor, leaving smooth skin in its wake. Struggling to remain upright in her expansive shower, fighting fatigue and daily despair, arms braced against the ceramic-tiled wall, hair a heavy hanging cascade as near-scalding water sluiced away the sex and sweat of the night’s passion. Stinging fres as heat discovered bites and bruises across the pert flesh of my tits, especially around puffy nipples still tender from Julia’s abuses.

  In the dim light of early m, within the momentary tranquility and privacy of ablution, I began to doubt yesterday’s choices.

  I hadn’t felt this intensely aware of my enforced femininity sihe initial awakening several months ago. Not so much Julia’s words and threats as her familiarity with the man I’d been served to highlight how much I’d ged, how much I’d lost and sacrificed. The sense of the profound alienness of my own body had faded over the months—unnervingly so—but now it felt as though everything that had slowly drifted into normality came crashing back as weird and absurd.

  Under pounding water, I felt those physical differehe pull of long, wet hair; water c over the curves of breasts and hips; plumper thighs and rounded rump; even the droplets that hung suspended in longer shes and fuller lips. My awareness of these features felt, now, as though I was seeing them from outside myself, imagining how I looked from aernal perspective: Julia’s.

  These tits, pert and proud B-cup handfuls of fatty tissue and useless milk ducks topped by -sized areo and promi nipples, made a sharp trast with the hard and sculpted chest of my mase past. These slim arms, smooth and supple, weak and thin, so easily restrained pared to my previous mase strength. A decade ago I’d cradled Julia in bed and she’d rested so easily in my embrace, head o, loving the power and trol implicit in those arms that held her close, protective, vigint. Those same arms had oninated her, gripped her by the shoulders and pinned her to the bed as we rutted like animals before colpsing in joyous exhaustion.

  And now?

  Julia had taken drunken pleasure in highlighting ead every one of my now-diminished features st night, with geroking touches; coy words and mog insults, surreptitious licks and kisses and sharp bites; at times with painful yanks and sudden smack.

  And it was galling and frustrating and insulting and excruciating and….

  I’d fug loved it.

  Our sex was fantastic: Julia’s appetite voracious and vigorous, my own stamina remarkable. I’ve read somewhere that men peak sexually ie teens, women in their mid-thirties. If so, then perhaps we’d fucked in a way only a psychologically damaged, revenge-fuelled thirty-five-year-old woman could, paired up with an artificially youthened man rog the body of a twenty-year-old girl: which is to say, passionately, skillfully, repeatedly and exuberantly.

  There’d even beeing moments during the night, when drunk on wine a felt as I’d recimed some lost part of myself, uncovered a precious of masity buried these past months urata of straps and satin and bsp; Lucid fshes when I could fet my own jiggling tits and shapely curves and lose myself in fragments of Julia on her back, moaning iasy, bent double with her legs over my shoulders, me burrowing deep into her, digging deeper, excavating each precious gasp and grunt ahy demand that I fuck her, fuck her harder, yes, yes, like that, God, oh God, yes….

  I came, wearily and I was bader scalding water. Semen and soap swirled down the drain. One hand on my cock, the other massaging water-slick tits. Jesus Christ, what was wrong with me? Like, sure, I’d beey much jerking off daily since waking up in this body, but the enter with Julia felt as thought it had awakened a whole new level of sensuality—and pleasure; it felt as though something fual had shifted in my retionship with my body… with this body, I mean.

  Flig a protuberant nipple produced a shiver. Until st night, I hadn’t really pyed with dy’s tit—I hadn’t really dared to—nothing more than a firm, drunken grope. Now, I wondered what I’d been missing out on.

  Groaning, I savagely twisted the water over to cold. Pushed back but not quite defeated by an barrage of icy spears, arousal and exhaustioreated and remai bay. I ehe assault for as long as possible, deying the iable.

  Today was Monday and dy had to work.

  Trudging bato the bedroom, I balefully observed that Julia hadn’t stirred. The first rays of summer sunshine were creeping over the horizon, flooding the room with a russet glow. There wasn’t time to head home, ge ao work, so I was going to have to make do with what I already had. Yesterday’s stay-ups were a lost cause, stained and crusted as they were. The skirt and top were just about acceptable for work – I could s the shoes over once I reached the office but despaired at the thought of ming my way into the offi heels of that height. Sighing, I resigned myself to the fact I’d be strapping myself bato yesterday’s push-up bra and have tits riding underwire in my face all fug day. But I drew the li the panties – they were a sodden, stretched mess, and I couldn’t bear the thought of that scrap of silk threading my ass, let alohe o tape my cock babsp; I’d have to borroair of Julia’s panties, hopefully a pair of tights to hold bay bulge.

  And that’s when it hit me, really: how the fuck had it e to this? Wearing an ex-girlfriend’s panties, silently slipping into a bra in the near-dark, sitting half- her mirror to put on makeup. Exhausted, mentally rebelling against the idea ing myself—ing dy—into work today, knowing how she’d appear to others, the half-smiles, the smirks and knowing gnces behind her babsp;

  Six months ago, I’d witnessed one of the most powerful men in the world murder his rival. An hour before that, I’d been fug his executive secretary hard against the wide windows looking down on the distant glittering city sprawl. And now, somehow, I was the fug secretary.

  The sense of absolute emascution was nearly crushing.

  I rolled my shoulder. Shifted my boobs in their cy cups into a more fortable position. Sighed, and steeled myself aed the daily mantra: just get through this, another day, hour, minute. Looking into the mirror—but not too closely, not into the eyes, studiously avoiding my own gaze, avoiding judgment—I reached for makeup.

  Moments ter, I swore. “Dammit, Julia,” I hissed under my breath. Tiny vanity drawers cpped open and shut as I cwed through her assortment of vials, tubes and jars. “Where d’you keep the fug mascara?”

  “I could watch this all day,” a tired, amused voice called out from behind. From the bed, and with an infuriatingly pleased smile dang across tired lips, she watched my attempt at reassembling my face from the wreckage of st night.

  “It’s… that one,” she said, waving an idle hand, and then wing as I banged another drawer open. “Chrissake, David, just… chill.”

  “Fuiss work-from-home.”

  “That’s Miss Director of Research to you, thank you very mubsp; Rank hath its perks, bitch.” She paused, as if in thought. “What’s your title again? Secretary?”

  I paused in my efforts to gre at her over my shoulder. “Administrative assistant.”

  She smiled. “So… secretary.”

  Flippihe finger, I turned my ba her and focused on the pallid fa the mirror. up a curt prayer to the god of eti thanks for cealer, I popped opeiny bottle. With swift strokes I began erasing the tell-tale signs of the night’s hedonism, wiping out the rash-like redness ay cheeks, blueish patches below the eyes: the evidence of several bottles of wine and hours of pounding each other like beasts i. Fug hell, I looked rough; and I struggled to suppress a momentary smile.

  “What were you before?” she called out. In the mirror, Julia began to slide out of bed. “Manager of something or other?”

  “Assistant Director,” I muttered. “Global Brand.”

  “For Neopharm?”

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  She gave a little whistle, half-sarcastic, half-real. “Top job.” I watched as she stood, stretched, tossing long ebony hair back, tits fttening in an all-too familiar way as she reached for the ceiling. Tired, humiliated and angry, I heless felt a yearning to reach out to her, to take her back to bed. I might hate the bitch, but she was fug geous.

  “Now look at you,” she tinued, padding towards me. “How the mighty have fallen.”

  I smmed the tube of cealer down with a bang, resumed my repairs.

  “Sitting in panties and bra, putting on your fabsp; Slipping into a cute dress, scurrying to your little desk. Sitting pretty, low-ine wage-sve, really drawing on that uy education, aren’t you?”

  “Back the fuck off, Jules.”

  She sauntered clrinning. “Or what?”

  I opened my mouth, said nothing, closed it.

  “Exactly,” she said, reag past me. “So just shut it, okay?” She crouched to my level, and with one haly cupped my . “You’re pretty good at this,” she said, and there was something grudgingly admiring ione. “You’ve only been doing this for a couple of months?”

  “I’m a quick learner.”

  “A natural, you mean.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Shh,” she whispered, putting one fio my lips, then bringing a lip pencil to bear. “Let me.” With luxurious strokes she began to draw in my lips, t carefully but fidently. “Something a little more daring for a Monday m.” And there was something undeniably erotic about the attention, her breath on my cheek, the closeness and care with which she painted my mouth. An echo of st night’s submissiveness, that sensation of preciousness and being cared for, welled up; so did my cock, tenting Julia’s borrowed panties.

  She noticed, smiled, tapped the tip with the pencil. “Easy there,” she said, “I like that pair.” Her touch was delicate and g. “Enjoying this?” she added, knowing I couldn’t answer as she dabbed a touch more colour to my lips. “Surely you admit some of the bes of girlhood.”

  I waited till she pulled the pencil babsp; “No.”

  “Shame. You could really enjoy it if you let yourself. Being a girl be a lot of fun.” She reached for a lipstick, adding, “though I’d prefer you suffer, of course.” She residered, took another. “Crimson Eclipse,” she said, twisting the slender metal bullet.

  And yeah, if I allowed myself, I’d admit that it did feel good as Julia slowly, sensually slid the slick stuff ay lips. It felt lighter on the lips than the cheap stuff I wore, and if I wasn’t so goddam boired, so sick-to-the-soul exhausted after months of hiding—or rather, living—this disguise, then yeah, maybe, just maybe I could’ve taken some perverse enjoyment out of the whole situation, the dressing up and role py and the deviant pleasure of it all. That is if my goddamned life didn’t depend on pying a part I hated.

  A gentle urned me towards the mirror. Her efforts had transformed the face I saw there: a glossy, darker red shimmering like a veil of early night stars glimmering behind the light of a setting sun, a vivid trast to the paleness of dy’s skin.

  “Jesus, Jules, everyone’ll be staring at my lips all day.”

  “I know,” she giggled. “That’s the point, right?” She tapped me lightly on the nose a final time with the closed lipstibsp; “Just imagine what the guys’ll be imaging you could do with those lips”

  I groaned.

  “Let’s get you dressed,” she said.

  Which she did, starting with sheer tights with a bright sheen to help keep dy’s secret tucked away—“And don’t you dare tear them,” Julia insisted—but yesterday’s skirt and top; she clearly liked the idea of my heading into work a little rumpled, my appearance hinting at te night indiscretion and debauchery uhe veneer of makeup. There was no esg the heels. Nor Julia’s final effort at embarrassing me: brushing my hair out aing it into a high ponytail dangling dowween my shoulders. The final look was somewhere between sexy secretary and naughty schoolgirl. I hated it; Julia loved it; and she was very good at getting her way.

  Author's Notes

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