Disclaimer: The following story involves transformation fantasy featuring magic, gender, flattening, animal, or inanimate (often clothing or doll/mannequin). The story is implicitly erotic in nature and may feature sexual situations and/or BDSM. All characters involved are older than 18 years of age. If you are offended by this type of thing, please stop reading.
Della stood at the door in a pair of baggy work pants and a formless button-up shirt originally made as part of a man's uniform at any one of a dozen or so businesses around town. There was a blank space where the logo would have gone. She said she liked them because they were comfortable, though I was pretty sure she actually liked them because they were comforting instead.
As a victim of the gender virus, Della had been, up until about a year ago, a man named Dale, one of my best friends since childhood. And now, even after all the doctor visits, both mental and medical, she still clung to her male world with a grip that sometimes frightened us both.
Well, in all things but one.
"No," I said as I opened the door for her.
"No what?" she asked, stepping inside.
"No. Not this time."
"Ah, c'mon, Trent. Stop being a dick."
"That's kind of what I'm saying."
"Huh?"
"That's all you see me as. A dick."
"No. Now you're being a dick. Normally you're pretty cool about this."
"Okay, even worse then. You don't see me as a dick. You see me as a vibrator or a dildo or something."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about this," I said, following her into the living room. She sat on the sofa, crossed her legs then uncrossed them quickly. I took a seat opposite her in my recliner. "You show up once a week to get your fix, then you just take off."
"Are you saying you don't want to fuck me?"
"There. That. Do you hear yourself?"
"Yeah. I heard myself ask yourself if you did or did not want to fuck me."
I sighed. "I just can't do this anymore."
"So you want me to go out and fuck a stranger? Is that what you're saying? You know that the virus increases my sex drive. It's not like I'm trying to be your girlfriend or something. It's just a regular fuck. No ties. No commitments. No nothing."
"Yeah, and I thought I'd be okay with it. But I'm not anymore, okay."
She was already taking off her shirt. Of course it was a simple, almost sexless plain white bra underneath. "So, is that a no on fucking me this week?"
"Stop it. I know what you're doing. You think that when you get naked, then I won't be able to control myself."
"Who? Me? Why would I think a thing like that, Trent?"
"Just stop." I stood up. "I'm gonna get a beer. You want one?"
"Sure." The tossed the shirt on the couch beside her. "That always helps."
"See?" I said, then went to the kitchen. "And please put your goddamn shirt back on."
I got the beers, and when I turned around, Della was standing there in just her plain white panties. "Are you sure?"
"Stop it," I said, handing her the bottle of off-brand swill. "You're still not girl enough to play coy."
"I'm naked. Do I have to be coy too?" She smiled. "Aw, c'mon, Trent. You know I have to do this or else I'll end up in some bar or doing some guy in an alley or worse, hooking up with one of my co-workers who is curious about doing a GV-girl."
"And how is that different from what you're doing with me?"
"I trust you. That's why you're the only person I..." she started, but let the words trail off.
"See, I'm like a toy you get off to once a week just to get your fix, then you go back to pretending to be a man again until the craving gets too strong, and then, bam, you're at my door like clockwork."
She took a long swig from the bottle, then sat it on the counter. "Call me stupid, but I don't see what's wrong with that. You get a weekly fuck from a girl genetically modified to be smoking hot, and I get to give up one hour of my week to reset my brain so I can go back to just being me again. I thought a free fuck with no strings attached was something all guys would kill for."
I looked at my beer, then hers, then the floor.
"Well. C'mon. Look at me.
I didn't.
"Damn, you're in a fucking mood today. Look at me, stupid."
I sighed and looked up, trying my best to look in her eyes. But I failed. Her naked breasts were larger and firmer than a girl had a right to have, and I knew it was only the virus that had done the makeover to lock her into idealized proportions. She was right. She was gorgeous, well, at least after she took off the male uniform and let her body show off a bit. But only to me. It was her gift to me for fucking her each week when her cravings got too much to ignore.
"Okay, fine. You've got awesome tits? What do you want me to say?" I put my bottle on the counter too. "Any guy in town would give his left nut to trade places with me, but that's the point. Any guy isn't me. And those guys aren't your best friend. I'm not just a dick for you to ride, and you're not just some pussy with an addiction. Like it or not, you're a woman now. And like it or not, I'm a man, and I'm a man who likes you for you, not for the hole between your legs."
"What the hell are you talking about? Of course I'm a girl. Just fucking look at me. I've been a girl since last year, March 17th. I know that better than anybody. There's no guy left on me."
I pointed to her head, then walked over and pushed my index finger into her forehead. "Not on you, Della. In you. That organ right there, your brain, that's still one hundred percent man. Why else do you think you dress like a man at work, and not only that, you act like a man when you show up for sex. Just knock on the door, get naked and fuck without having to think about it."
"What's to think about, dumbass? It's just a fuck."
"Do you even listen to yourself? Hell, do you listen to me, for that matter?"
"And of course you're best friend. Why do you think you're the only one I let stick your dick inside me? Goddamn, you're moody today."
I grabbed my beer and drained it, then without saying a word I grabbed another from the fridge, drained it in one long, steady swig. Then I tossed both empties into the trash.
"Fine. Whatever. I'm going to the bed. Whenever you're ready to go, just climb aboard the train to Fuckland."
She stopped me, grabbing my arm as I tried to exit the kitchen, making my way around her.
"Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you today? Are you okay? We can do this later. I'll be... okay. I mean, it'll get a little stronger than I like, but I'm not gonna go bang some dude on the street, you know. Another day or two won't hurt me."
"Let's just do this," I said and jerked my arm away.
"What the hell do you want me from me?" she asked. "Would if make you happy if I showed up in a fucking nightgown with black stockings instead? Is that what you want? Well, fuck you. That's not happening. I didn't ask for any of this, and you're the only person I trust enough to do this. You know what?! Just fuck you." She started to cry as she spoke, and she turned away to keep me from seeing. "Goddamn it. Now you're --" She slapped me. "Just fuck you."
I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her against me. "I don't want anything from you. I never asked you to treat me like your personal fuck toy. I just thought I was helping you out. But I don't think I am. I think I'm hurting you by not letting you actually become the person your body and your brain are fighting over. I think that as long as I'm here and letting you get your fix, I think that I'm getting in the way of helping your figure out just who the fuck you are now."
Without looking up, she said, "I'm the same fucking person I've always been. Dale or Della, it's doesn't matter."
I hugged her deeply. "I think you're wrong. I think it matters more than you think it does and a whole lot more than you want it to."
She looked up, her eyes still moist from crying, but the tears had stopped. "Fuck you."
I shook my head. "Not anymore. Not until I know and you know who I'm fucking."
"You're fucking me, stupid," she whispered.
I shook my head again. "I don't think you know who 'me' is, Della. Are you Dale in a girl's body? Are you Della who wants to be a man but can't? Or is there someone inside you that's some combination who wants to be born?"
"You sound like my fucking shrink," she said, no longer whispering. She pushed away from my embrace. "Get off me. I'm not your motherfucking girlfriend."
"No," I smirked. "You're just a piece of pussy I fuck once a week whether I have to or not, whether I want to or not."
"Goddamn, Trent, I don't know what's gotten into you, but if that's how you feel, then..." "Then what, Della? Who are you going to go fuck then? I'll call someone for you. I'm sure I know plenty of guys who love to treat you like just another piece of ass for them to stick their dick into. Hell, you could even set up a rotation. I bet we could get you a different dick every week for at least three or four months. And just like you want it, that weekly fuck wouldn't matter at all to any of them. You wouldn't matter to any of them."
She stormed into the living room and started to put her pants on, but as she stepped into the leg, she lost her balance and fell onto the couch.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"I'm fine. I'm just fucking fine, asshole. Like you care."
Lying there, she slipped into the other pants leg, then sat up and put on her bra and then her shirt.
"Fine. Don't fuck me then, asshole."
She stormed out, carrying her work boots in her arms.
I felt like shit, sure. But it had to be said.
* * *
The next day during lunch I got a text from Della. It read:
I'm sorry I freaked out. Want to try again today?
I replied:
I said no, and I meant no. I'd be happy to get together for a drink after work, but not for a fuck.
Barely ten seconds had gone by when she responded.
Fuck you.
I ignored her that time and finished my lunch, then went back to the office. It was almost closing time when she texted again.
I'm sorry. Please. Just a drink Need to talk.
I texted back:
Okay. Malley's. 6:30.
I was waiting at the bar at Malley's on Main at five after six, getting myself already lubricated inside with an imported stout, wanting to be sure I was already loose and not wound up so much to cause a scene in public when Della arrived. I hated having to hurt her. She was my best friend, after all. But I equally hated have to refuse to have sex with her. I wasn't helping her at all. I was just the drug that kept her from getting through the changes to figure out who the hell she was. And even if she basically just lay there, she was nice to have sex with, and we fit together like she was made for me.
She showed up at six thirty-four, and I almost didn't recognize her. A floral print dress that went to her knees. I pair of pink sandals. Even painted toenails. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, like normal, but in the new outfit, even it looked different and exotic, not just lazy.
She smiled as she sat beside me at the bar. "What would you like to drink?" I asked.
"You order. Should I get wine or something froufrou?" I could hear the bite in her tone, but she kept it cordial.
"You look nice. What's going on?"
"I'm glad you like it. Is this what you want?" "I don't understand."
"I get it. You get tired of fucking a woman who acts like a man. Well, she is... was... a man. Whatever. But if this is what it takes to get together. I can do it once a week, just for you."
"You don't have to do anything for me, Della," I said, keeping my voice low.
"I do," she said. "Well, what do I want to drink, sweetie?" she asked, giving me and the bartender her best fake smile.
"A beer. Whatever's on tap."
"You got it," said the bartender, and soon he placed a glass in front of her.
"So. I bought it today. I would've done my hair, but I still don't really know how to make it fancy. If you want, I could get it done before we get together next week, if you want me to be even prettier."
I couldn't deny that in her new dress she did make me want her all the more, but she still didn't get it. To her it was all still just about getting fucked, getting her fix. For me it was about so much more.
"You don't have to do this."
"Apparently I do, Trent. You made your point pretty damn clear last night. And as mad as I was, you're still the only person I trust for this. So, if I have to play dress up, I'll put on a nice outfit and show you I can give as well as take."
I drummed my fingers on the counter. "That's not what I mean. You look fantastic, but I don't care how you look. I care about who you are."
"What does that even mean?"
"Refill?" asked the bartender, suddenly in front of us.
I nodded. She shook her head. He grinned and left after wiping a wet spot from my glass off the bar.
"It means that as gorgeous as this looks on you, you don't have to do this. Even like this, I don't want just to have sex with you because you have a genetic addiction. I want to spend time with you because we're friends. You can dress like a monk or a stripper, I don't care. It's not about that."
"So even after all this, you still don't want to help me?"
I let my shoulders drop. She just didn't get it. "That's not it." "Then what do I have to do to get you to help me?"
"For starters you don't want me to help you, you want me to have sex with you." I kept my voice low so the bartender and the other folks couldn't hear us.
"That's what helps me."
I shook my head. "That's what... No. I don't want to start that argument again." She glared at me. "Then what do I have to do. I don't want to go to anyone else." "I'm your favorite tool, huh?"
"God, you're such a dick lately."
"You wish."
She nodded and laughed. "Yeah. I really do."
She turned to the bartender and called him over. "Need something?"
"What's your name?"
"C.J."
"You'd have sex with me, right, C.J.?"
He didn't look like he expected that question. At all. "Excuse me?"
"Look at me. Do I look like the kind of girl you'd like to fuck?"
His cheeks reddened, but he stuck around. "Sure. You're pretty damn hot."
"That's what I thought too. But..." She turned to me.
"Don't do this, Della. Please."
"This guy," she said smiling. "For some reason, he doesn't want to have sex with me. I keep offering, no questions asked, and he keeps turning me down."
"Please. Don't."
"If you need --" C.J. started, but she cut him off.
"No thank you. I want to fuck him, not you, but I'm just trying to make my point."
"I'm sorry," I interrupted, taking her by the wrist and dragging her to a booth. When we got there, I told her to sit and then I took the bench opposite her. "I'm not nearly drunk enough to deal with all this."
She slumped her arms onto the table and grumphed at me. "I'm serious. I want to fuck you. I need to fuck you. And you're the only person I want to let touch me. So, what do I have to do to make that happen?"
"Are you fucking serious?"
She opened her eyes wide and bit on her bottom lip. "Yes. I'm serious. I'll do whatever it takes. Hell, I put on a fucking dress and painted my goddamn toenails just so you think I looked more like someone you might actually want to have sex with."
I closed my eyes and counted to ten.
"Doing your counting trick? I must really be getting to you." I counted a second set of ten.
"Okay. Here's what it's going to take."
Della sat up straight in the booth. "Cool. Shoot."
"We'll still have sex, but we're going to stop scheduling it like a doctor's appointment. We'll get together for drinks, catch a movie, maybe even get dinner. You wear whatever the hell you want. Anytime we're together and you want to fuck, you just give me a signal, and when we get back to either my place or your place, we'll take care of those needs."
"That sounds..."
"Yes?"
"That sounds like a..." I grinned.
"Like a girlfriend. That sounds like we're dating."
"Well, some people would say that when a couple gets together once a week to fuck each other and drink beers afterward, that's dating."
"Yeah, but..."
"But what?"
"People will know. And they'll talk about it, about us, like I'm just some --"
"Some girl I'm going out with?"
Her shoulders slumped. "Yes. I don't mind fucking you, but I don't want to be your girlfriend. I'm not..."
"I never called you my girlfriend. I never called you anything. But if you want to call it something, we could call you my fuck-buddy." I paused a moment to let the word sink in. "Or we could just say we're friends."
"Friends with benefits," she added in a defeated whisper.
"I miss my friend," I said.
"I get it."
"I don't think you do, but you do friend things again, even if you're a girl and I'm a guy, and when you need it, I'll have sex with you." I drained the last of my stout. "You asked me what it would take. Well, that's what it's gonna take."
"So if I act like your girlfriend, you'll have sex with me?"
I nodded. "Your word, not mine, but whatever helps you wrap your mind around it." "And tonight?"
"I'll take you back to your place after we eat something, and then I promise I'll fuck you until you can't stand up straight."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"Good." She took a deep breath. "Then I want a ribeye with green beans and coleslaw, and since I blew my bank account on this dress, you're paying. If playing the boyfriend/girlfriend game is what it takes to get your rocks off, then you're gonna have to pay for my dinner."
"Understood." She sighed.
"Are you okay with this?" I asked.
"Will you still take care of my need for sex on a regular basis?" I nodded.
"We don't have to hold hands and call each other sweetie or honey?"
"That would be super weird."
"Tell me about it. Then I'm okay with it."
"Maybe you could wear the dress occasionally," I added.
"So," she said, her eyebrows arching high and curved. "You do like the dress."
I rolled my eyes at her. "Of course. It looks amazing on you. If you were anyone else, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you."
"If I were anybody else, huh?"
"Right. No need to make this weird."
"Right. So, me wearing a dress makes you horny?"
"You're making it weird, Della."
"Oh, buddy. You just opened up a world of weird. Get me a few more drinks and we'll see just how weird this shit can really get. I could really have some fun with this."
Two hours later, she was drunk, I was drunker, and we were fumbling with each other's clothes in Della's foyer, both leaning against the wall to stay upright. Thanks to the alcohol, we were having the most foreplay she had ever allowed. I was kissing her neck and shoulders as I slid the dress off her, revealing a pink, lace bra instead of the normal, standard, old lady bra she wore. She had really committed to making me happy to get her way. And it was working.
My drunk brain was totally into her.
Her dress fell at her feet, and I rubbed my palm and fingers against the pink lace of her matching panties. She moaned in heat while I kept kissing her neck, and her hands worked my belt loose and started to unfasten my slacks.
Before I realized it in the rational, non-animal part of my brain, I had pressed her head against the wall and was kissing her. She startled for a moment, I guess stunned by the act of my tongue invading the sanctity of her mouth, then she returned the kiss with equal fervor.
By this point, my slacks were kicked off and behind me, and I was bursting out of my boxers. Della knew this and her hand was inside my underwear, hungrily clutching my cock. I returned the favor and had my hand inside not only her panties but her pussy as well, two fingers deep and thrusting while my thumb teased her clit. She moaned loudly and tilted back her head, giving me room to kiss and nibble on her lovely, white neck. Every few seconds we pressed our lips together again and kissed deeply, my mouth swallowing her moans like a starving man eating for the first time in years.
Without warning she shrieked into my mouth and I felt her shudder against me. One arm gripped my jawline with sweaty strength while the other refused to leave my manhood.
"Are... you..." I tried to catch my breath but it was stuck in my throat. "You... okay?"
"Don't stop," she mumbled and parted my mouth with her own.
I lifted her legs around me and with a strength I didn't think I still possessed, I carried her to her bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. I wanted so badly to fuck her, right then and there, but there was still a part of my brain that knew I might not get the chance to really make love to her instead of just fucking her, and I knelt before her and parted her thighs.
"Whatreyoudoing?" she muttered. "Ssshhh..."
And then my mouth was on her pussy, my tongue tracing the inner edges of her labia, then parting them ever so slightly before darting out again. I licked her clit and she clenched the bed covers and groaned so loud I was afraid we'd disturb her neighbors. I kept her legs apart with my elbows, using my fingers to gently part the lips of her pussy, and dive inside with as much of my tongue as I could comfortably push the warm, moist flesh that waited there.
She continued to moan and made up words filled with O's and Ah's and Mm's. She tried to push her legs against my head, but I kept them parted until she had cried out for a second orgasm. Only then did I take those lovely legs and put them over my shoulders as I pushed forward, just lifting her heart-shaped ass from the bed. I pushed my stiff member inside her and she grunted. I watched as her breathing came quick and shallow and her eyes locked closed. Her head rested limply on the bed, and I pumped with slowly and deliberately with a regular, patient rhythm. I was dying to just pound the shit out of her and get the orgasm I had earned, but this might be my only chance, so I kept the cadence slow, filling deeply each time and pulling out just to the tip before filling her again.
Gradually she started to rock in the same rhythm, pushing on me until I could contain myself no longer, and I spurted what felt like gallons of my cum inside her.
Spent, I rested on her for a moment, kissed her lips without parting them, then carefully pulled her up to the top of the bed and started to cover her.
"Stay," she said, grabbing my wrist.
I couldn't think of a single reason not to.
* * *
I awoke with Della's face on my chest, her breathing tickling the dark curls there. I stroked her hair, and her eyes fluttered. In a few seconds she was awake, and she smiled at me before her eyes grew wide and she jerked away from me.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"We..." she started. "You spent the night."
"You asked me to, and let's be honest, I was in no shape to drive home."
I reached for her hand and she pulled it away, covering it with her other hand. "Shit." "What's wrong? We have sex all the time."
She shook her head. "Yeah, yeah. That's right. It's no big deal. We have sex all the time." She forced a smile. "And you were too drunk to drive."
"Besides, I'd say we both enjoyed ourselves a lot last night. I'm not so drunk I don't remember that."
"I'm not your girlfriend," she said.
"I never said you were." I sat up in her bed and popped my neck. "But you have to admit the sex is better for both of us when we let go of our bullshit and just have fun together."
"You didn't just fuck me though. You... you..."
"I treated your body the way it deserved to be treated. I worshipped you like an altar last night, Della. And I'm always ready to do that again, drunk or not."
"No, we were drunk. That's what it was." I nodded.
She shook her head.
"I'm not your fucking girlfriend."
"No," I said calmly. "You're not." I grabbed her wrist and pulled her to me. She half-tumbled across my lap, looking up at me, and I pressed my face down on hers. I kissed her. Her lips parted, but this time she did not kiss me back. I gripped her tighter and kissed her again.
"We don't do that," she said. "We did last night."
"We were drunk."
"Yes, we were drunk. And the sex was better than ever." "But we can't let that happen again. I'm not your--"
"No, you're not my fucking girlfriend. You're just Della, some girl I get to fuck, but the goddamn minute it might mean anything more than that, all the bullshit comes back and you might as fucking well just be Dale again."
I helped her sit up and then I got up and looked for my pants. They were still on the foyer floor, and I stepped into them using the wall for balance. My shirt was draped over her sofa. I slipped it on, then stepped into my shoes.
"I can fix some coffee," I heard her say weakly from the bedroom.
"I'll get some on the way back to my place."
"Don't, Trent," she said, emerging through the open doorway. "Don't be like this."
"Me?" I sighed. "Me?"
"Please," she almost whispered.
"Say that again, but wait and look in a goddamn mirror first, okay." I opened the door and stepped out.
"I'm sorry. But I'm not --"
"Not my fucking girlfriend. I get it. No, you don't have to keep fucking saying it, Della. I totally fucking get it. I'll tell you what though. The next time you need your plumbing cleaned out, go fuck a doorknob. They don't have any goddamn feelings, and they'll always be ready."
I slammed the door behind me. Bastard. Bitch. Dale. Della. Fuck 'em. Fuck the goddamn both of them.
The first text hit my phone mid-morning. I deleted it without looking. The next hit ten minutes later, and I silenced the beep. A third buzzed on the desk, and I finally just turned the phone off, not bothering to check them. She was just apologizing again, saying whatever she felt she needed to say to get back in her fuck-buddy's good graces. Well, goddamn her all the fucking way this time. If she needed to get fucked she could damn well go hit on the bartender. He said he'd be up for fucking her last night. She could get him any time she wanted. Fuck. What a fucking bitch. I was over it. She could either hit the streets or chat up strangers in a bar for all cared. She was not going to treat me like that anymore.
Not my fucking girlfriend. She could damn well bet the fucking bank on that. Not a snowball's chance in hell. Not my fucking girlfriend indeed.
I was stepping back into the office when I sat her sitting in the lobby waiting for me. The bitch had brought out all the stops. She was wearing a black skirt and powder blue sweater with no sleeves, some white tights, and a pair of black flats with a fucking little bow on them.
Well, she could come apologize wearing a teddy and black stockings and heels, and it wouldn't faze me.
Not this time.
"Trent?" she said softly as the door closed behind me. "Do you have a few minutes to talk? I was kind of in shock this morning, and I think I may have said a few things I regret."
"You think?" I said. "Well, I'm busy."
"Even just a few minutes. Can you spare just five? Please."
"For starters, you can forget the little miss demure act because I'm not falling for it twice. And second, I really don't want to talk right now. But I'm not busy. I lied. I just don't want to talk with you."
"Trent?"
"Shouldn't you be at work anyway?"
"I called in sick. I feel really bad, and I can't --"
"I said I don't want to talk to you right now. Besides, you said all I needed to hear this morning."
"I'm sorry. The whole thing caught me off guard."
"I'm at work, and you'll be okay for a few days, so just leave me alone until then. If it gets bad, I'll help you out -- one last time. But after that, we're done. Okay?"
I didn't wait for her answer. I opened the double doors marked "Employees Only" and left her in the lobby behind them as they closed, separating us by a layer of colored glass.
I had just sat down in a huff at my desk when the desk phone rang. Amelia, the receptionist, said, "She's not going anywhere, Mr. Fuller. I asked her, and she said she'd wait right her until the end of the day."
"Shit."
"It's not my business, but isn't that the girl who used --"
"Yes, Amelia, that's Della. She used to be my friend Dale."
"Are you okay, sir?" Then she added in a whisper, "Is she?"
"I don't know." I took a deep breath. I could already tell I wouldn't like the way the next few words would taste. "Is it okay if she stays out there for a bit?"
"Yes. I'll keep an eye on her." "Thanks."
"Yes, sir."
She hung up, and I opened the lobby feed on the security camera. I watched her for two hours as she sat there, looking up each time the doors would open, the hope in her eyes that it was me evident even on the black-and-white feed.
Still, I let her stew for a third hour before I called Amelia and asked her to escort Della into my office.
When she entered, there was no anger in her face. She looked on the verge of tears.
"I don't know what's wrong with me, Trent," she said after Amelia left us alone. "I'm so sorry. I was a bitch, a real bitch, but I don't know why. I think I'm scared."
I motioned for the futon opposite my desk but didn't respond or speak. She sat and crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, and crossed them again.
"Comfy yet?" I asked, sarcasm dripping.
"Even something as stupid as that. I cross my legs like a girl because it's more comfortable for my new body, then I make myself uncross them so I don't have to admit that I'm a girl."
"Men cross their legs too."
"But I didn't. I never did. Dale never did. But Della wants to, and I can't let her." "Have you talked to you doctor about this? It seems he's the person you need to tell."
She nodded. "I did. I used to. But not lately. It hasn't been an issue recently. We had a nice routine, you and me, and I didn't have to think about it."
"Yeah, because I had to think about it for you."
"You didn't have to do that. I didn't ask you to do that."
"Did you come here to fight again? Because I'd really rather not."
She looked at the floor. "I'm sorry. It's hard to talk about. But I'm willing to try different things. I need you, Trent."
"No, you need my body, and not in a way that means anything."
"Well, yes, I do need you that way, but that's not my fault. That's the virus. I don't have a choice. I need you to help keep me safe and not stupid when it comes to that. But I need you other ways too."
"Right. Somebody to bitch at." "Look, I'm sorry."
"I don't mean to be mean about it, but I'll believe that when I see something other than self-serving from you."
"No, no. You're right. All I was thinking about what me, what I needed. I just figured you were fine with free sex."
"I'm not you, Della. I'm not even like you were when you were Dale. I don't just sleep around. I thought you'd know that, you of all people."
"Mainly I just want to apologize. I'm sorry I was so angry and so shocked. And I really did have a lot of fun last night. I just don't want to let it influence who I am."
I stood up and came around to the front of the desk. "Did you ever think that who you think you are isn't who you are anymore? Maybe last night was just you starting to realize you're growing into a bigger person than Dale could have been."
"You sound like my doctor." "Maybe your doctor is right."
"Look, I'm not doing a good job apologizing. I just really wanted to say I'm sorry I snapped at you this morning. I was confused."
"It's okay. I never said you were or tried to make you my girlfriend. You can be whoever or whatever you want, but I can't do it anymore. I can't deal with it. You're going to have to find someone else to... to meet your needs."
She looked up, her eyes wide and suddenly watery. "See, I said wasn't saying this right. I don't want to find someone else. I'll do whatever you want me to do. If you want me to look and act like a girl, I'll do it. You're my best friend, Trent. If I'm going to be a girl with someone, it has to be with you."
"God, you still don't get it. It isn't about acting like a girl. It isn't about being demure or girly and dressing in frou-frou outside or whether you like kissing or whatever."
"Then what is it about, Trent? Because I'm so mixed up I can't think straight."
I walked over and shut my laptop. I called Amelia. "I'm leaving a little early today. Can you let Bill know when he's out of his meeting, please?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Fuller." "Come on," I said. "What?"
"We're going to dinner."
"I --" she started, but stopped and stood up. "Where?"
"What would you like to eat?"
"Italian."
I nodded. "Then Italian it is."
I got the door, and she went out, then I closed and locked it behind us. "I thought you were mad at me."
"I am. I still am. Whatever."
"Then why this?" She slowed to let me catch up and walk beside her. "Why not yell at me?"
"Why? Is that what you want me to do?" She shook her head.
"Besides, I don't want to do that at my place of business. If I was going to yell at you, I'd do it somewhere private."
"Is that it? Are you taking me somewhere you can yell at me?"
"Sometimes you're so stupid." I looked her over. Despite everything I felt, of how pissed I was at her, Della was super cute in her demure clothes, even if it was just an act to keep me off guard. "Do you want to go change first? Put on something Dale would approve of you wearing?"
She shook her head. "You're going to think I'm stupid, but this is actually really comfortable. And I do think it's..."
"It's what?"
"You'll laugh at me."
"Maybe."
"It's cute, okay. I kind of like it. It looks better on me than I want to admit, and I actually like the way I look in it. I think if I give it a try, I might end up being comfortable with something like this that looks right on my new body sometimes."
"Well, you're right. It is cute."
Her cheeks flushed pink. "Now you're just teasing me."
I shook my head. "Why do you think we did what we did last night?" I asked.
"Because we were drunk and horny."
I shook my head again. "Because we wanted to. Because we both wanted to. And I'm willing to bet we might want to again if we give ourselves the freedom to explore that."
By this time we were outside and walking to my car. "My car or yours?" I asked.
"I took the bus. I didn't feel like driving."
I nodded. "Okay. Anyway, I've been wanting to be close like that, to do something real with you for months, something other than just one of us lying there while the other gets off. I wanted to give you an experience like I felt you deserved. I wanted you to let yourself feel free to be Della, even if just long enough to really make love and not just fuck each."
"It was --" She looked at the ground. "-- really nice. I mean that. It felt great, way better than before. And if I'm honest, I really would like to do that again. But I also have to be honest and tell you that I'm terribly afraid of how much I might like that and how that makes me feel."
"Thank you."
I stopped and lifted her face so she looked up in my eyes. "For what?"
"For being honest about being scared, and not just taking it out on me because I'm the easiest target."
"I'm really sorry. I can't just let go of all the stuff I used to be."
"I know."
"I mean, what does it say about it if I want to go to dinner with you and maybe do that, what we did, more often?"
"Do what we did... you mean, make love?"
"I... I guess. I can't call it that yet though."
"That's okay."
"I can't just stop being a confused man in a woman's body because you want me to."
"I never asked you to do that. It's okay to be a confused man in a woman's body because that's who you are. Or at least that's who you think you are. But maybe, just maybe you're not anymore. Maybe you're a new young woman in a woman's body. Maybe that man is more willing to let go than even he realizes."
"I don't think I'm ready for that yet."
I took her face in my hands and leaned in until we were barely an inch apart. "Della?"
"What?" she almost whimpered. "Why aren't you fussing at me?"
"I'm trying not to."
"Are you scared now?"
"Yeah."
"Scared that I'll kiss you?"
"No. Scared that I might want you to."
I let go then took her hand and walked her to my car and got the door for her. "Then let's start here instead. Climb in. I'm taking you to dinner. I, Trent Fuller, am taking you, Della Prentiss, one of the most beautiful women on the planet, to dinner tonight."
"You make it sound like a date."
"Because it is."
"But..."
"But nothing. Nothing needs to happen. I have no expectations. Just a guy taking a girl out to dinner. It happens every day all over the world."
I closed the door, then climbed in on the other side and started up the car. I turned on the radio to a jazz station and turned it down so we could talk if she wanted to.
"And then you'll yell at me later, I guess."
I smiled. "Only if you deserve it. Listen, Della. I know you're scared. You used to be a guy and now you're a girl. I'm still a guy, and I'm attracted to the girl who used to be a guy who was and still is my best friend. I'm scared too, because if we screw this up, then what's going happen to our friendship?"
"I don't want to disappear, Trent. What happens if I go away and just turn into some girl."
"You'll never be just some girl, Della. You'll be you. You may be stuck as a girl now but trust me, you're not just any girl."
"Wait," she said, biting on her bottom lip. "If we screw what up?"
I laughed. "Dinner. That's all. No more getting plastered off our asses and taking advantage of each other."
"What if I actually want to do that again sometime though?"
"Then we do it sober and intentionally. And I can do it better sober, trust me."
"Dick."
I took her to D'Angelos, and afterward, I dropped her off at her house. We stood at her closed door for a few moments, but she didn't reach for the doorknob.
"What are you waiting for?" she asked.
"I'm waiting for you to open the door, so I can look forward to our second date."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Aren't you supposed to try to kiss me? I mean, this is a date, right?"
"That depends on what you want. I'd like to kiss you. I really enjoyed kissing you. But you're not my girlfriend, and I don't want you to feel like you have to kiss me or just to kiss me because you think I expect you too. Or because you think I'll leave you to yourself if you don't let me kiss you."
"You sure do talk a lot." I grinned.
"I guess I do."
"Come in, and I'll fix some coffee. We can watch Game of Thrones."
"And then what?"
"Then I can fix you breakfast."
"Oh?"
She leaned forward, pressing against my chest for balance and pushing up on her toes. "Would you just please fucking kiss me already so we can skip Game of Thrones?"
(c) AmberHuntWrites
This was an amazing story I would like to see more of the follow-through and see where they go
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