Stroke number five falls right across the middle of her lovely cheeks and there is the satisfaction of hearing a genuine cry of pain, something to file away for later enjoyment. I lay on a few more punishing strokes and watch her wriggle. Then I kiss her and help her up. A hug, a cuddle, it’s time for a rest. A pit stop to take on fuel before more circuits of the track. More drugs, more depravity. A hint of tenderness now and again. No arguing about sheds, shelves or parental visits. You could get used to this. It’s sweet watching Nicola rubbing her bottom and smiling ruefully.
“It wasn’t too hard for you?” I ask, past an age when I might want to use people or hurt them, a veteran of too many broken love affairs and one broken marriage. Which is the only broken marriage I am ever going to have.
“You look amazing,” I tell her. “A true Princess.”
There was a time when I might have wanted to say “Goddess” there. Although believing in a female deity that doesn’t exist turned out to be no more fruitful than pining for a grumpy old male God.
At some point round about now, when he feels happy or positive about trans-gendered activity, Nick usually says: “I want to be me. I want to be who I really am.” The tone is defiant. Perhaps he’s addressing his wife or some other ex-partner. I still think that s/he is looking for a woman. As I am, despite it all. Except that she is looking in the wrong place. For real girls often tire of helping trannies find the right wig, the best eye shadow. There may well be women who will put up with not being centre stage: if there is a power imbalance, if there is a significant age difference or if they are doing it for money. Women looking for life partners tend to want raw clay they can mould into something they want. So cross-dressers had better get used to looking for that ideal woman inside themselves. Which may be a sensible strategy anyway. Tired of chasing genetic girls? Been hurt too often? Think there are too many design flaws in the original product? Well you can always come up with a better prototype yourself. Maybe you already know the love of your life, your own female persona. After all, if you want something doing, sometimes you have to do it yourself . . .
The Permanent
Catherine Lundoff
Run, my mind sings. Run. And I do. I am almost flying now, my heart thudding against my ribs like a rabbit pursued by hounds. My bare feet pound against the dirt as I do my best to outstrip whatever it is that hunts me. Bare? I glance down at a frothy lace confection of a nightgown, at my pale naked feet twinkling below me in the darkness. Why am I wearing this . . . thing? The thought jars me awake just ahead of the phantom grasp of my pursuer.
Just ahead of the alarm as well. I sit up, heart still pounding as I turn off the clock radio. When I look down, my nipples are gradually relaxing and I can smell the dampness like rust between my legs. I scramble for a tampon, coffee, and clothes, then drag my carcass out to catch the bus. It stops in front of a big redbrick building with high arched windows. Two large stone pots filled with scraggly brown leaves and twisted stems stand on either side of the doorway. I wonder what it was before it died.
I’d also wonder why they don’t shell out for landscaping, but I’ve been inside. I know the answer to that already. Genteel decay doesn’t begin to cover it. Once through the doors, I have to stop and blink for a while to adjust to the dimness and the dust. There are ancient red velvet curtains and musty old Persian carpets and dark, dark wood everywhere. I don’t see Terese until I almost bump into her. Not that I mind that part. She and her brother Gerard are the best part about working here, besides the pay, of course.
“Hello, Magda,” Terese purrs down at me, not bothering to step back. She’s about five inches taller than me and round and curvy in all the right places. Her big black eyes come into focus as my eyes adjust and she flashes a bright white grin at me.
I love hearing her say my name. In her deep voice with its indefinable accent, “Magda” becomes an exotic Eastern European beauty with cheekbones to die for and yards of black hair. Of course, I do look just like that, except for the cheekbones. And the hair. Well, all right, and I’m not particularly exotic; can we drop it already?
Terese moves slowly away from me as Gerard comes in to the hallway. “Hello Magda. We’ve got some fun stuff for you tonight.” He smiles reassuringly, teeth dazzling in the gloom. He is long and lean in contrast to Terese’s abundant curves. They both have the same melting eyes though, and black hair that looks more like ravens’ wings than ravens’ wings if you know what I mean. Their hands are pretty similar too, all long fingers and slightly tapered nails. Just the right size to fit into all kinds of inappropriate-for-the-workplace things.
On the other hand, Samuels, the other employee, is more than a little creepy. He has eyes that kind of slide away before they really catch yours. I follow Gerard into the next room where Samuels wanders up to us. When I glance up it looks like he’s trying to smell my hair or something.
I back up until Gerard speaks. “Didn’t you say that you wanted to get started on the billing, Dick? I’ll be in to talk to you about it in a few minutes.” Gerard’s voice has just the right authoritative ring to it and Samuels dutifully trots off without a backward glance. I hope the office lights are too dim for Gerard to notice my small sigh of relief. I wouldn’t want him thinking that I don’t play well with others.
He keeps the lights low and they work mostly at night because he and Terese are both light sensitive. I’m finally getting used to it; soon, like their general gorgeousness, I’ll just take it in my stride. I tell myself that when he leads me over to his computer. His hand rests lightly on my shoulder. All of a sudden, I want that frothy lace horror I was wearing in my dream. I wonder if he’d like taking it off. Then he breaks the mood by taking his hand away and standing tantalizingly out of reach as he tells me what he wants me to do.
But I’m having trouble concentrating. The room is getting warmer. Maybe it’s just the dark red velvet of the curtains drowning out the setting sun’s watery light. Maybe it’s the rise and fall of Gerard’s voice as he speaks to me. I reach up and unbutton the top two buttons of my blouse but he doesn’t seem to notice and it doesn’t cool me off at all. The room spins slowly around me and instead of listening to the wonder of invoices, I find myself imagining the touch of his lips, the feel of those long fingers on my skin.
“You’re confusing her, brother dear.” Terese slinks in to sit on the edge of the desk, as close to me as she can get. I turn my chair a little so my leg touches hers ever so slightly, just enough to send shivers up my spine. I am getting wet listening to them banter back and forth above me, soaking my tampon until I wonder if my blood will pool beneath me in a small sea. I contemplate throwing myself at both of them. But what if they say no? How humiliating would that be? Coward says the little voice inside my head.
Terese leans forward to point out something on the screen and I can see down the front of her dress. Round breasts glow like alabaster against the soft dark blue of the cloth and I long to bury myself in them. She reaches out and I feel her white fingers caress my face. I turn to kiss them. Wait; that’s not it all. She’s reaching out to get a paper from Gerard. Damn, Magda, get a grip. I drown in her eyes anyway and come up gasping.
My fingers play with the next button on my blouse. “Are you too warm?” Gerard purrs solicitously and from somewhere a cold breeze startles my flesh from its daydreams. Goosebumps run down my arms and my nipples leap erect and I gasp aloud at the sudden chill.
“Too much, I think.” Terese stands up, her fingers now gently stroking the goosebumps from my bare arm. I chew my lip in a frenzied effort at self-control. I should go get a glass of water, take a break, do something, anything, so I don’t make a fool of myself. Not here, not in front of them.
With a huge effort I make myself say, “I’m fine, really. Well, I should get started on this stuff.” They both smile down at me and for an instant, I remember my dream and my body braces for flight. Then the moment’s passed, leaving nothing but my pounding heart behind as they glide like p
anthers from the room. Terese gives me what I interpret as a smoldering gaze over one shoulder and my lips part in a soft pant.
The door shuts behind them and I am left alone in Gerard’s office with its ancient wood furniture and red velvet curtains and a giant stack of invoices. When I look down I can see the rivulets of sweat run down between my breasts. Are you showing enough cleavage there, Magda? the voice of my common sense demands shrilly but I ignore it in favor of wishing that I had worn my good lace bra today instead of my sad nylon one.
I don’t rebutton the shirt, but I do make myself work for a while, make myself pretend that the growing wetness between my legs isn’t there. I try to squelch my new fantasy of being chased through the woods by both of them. And better yet, being caught. It works for a while. Then I give up and begin typing with one hand as I unzip my boring khaki skirt with the other. I stick that hand inside the waistbands of both skirt and underpants.
My fingers swim upstream to my clit and I imagine they’re Terese’s tongue, circling, stroking, then darting inside me. Heat washes up my thighs and I quiver against their touch. I abandon the keyboard to stroke my nipples through my shirt and bra, first one then the other, pinched into points with my, no her, free hand. My clit hardens beneath my fingers, her tongue, skin slick with my own juices, with her imagined softness. Her phantom fingers slip inside me and I ride the wave, cresting it with a soft moan, legs shaking against Gerard’s chair.
I hear the click of the door before I open my eyes. In an instant, I am looking doggedly at the screen, both hands resting on the keyboard. Casually, I reach back and zip up my skirt. But when I look up there’s no one there.
Dinnertime rolls around eventually and I go and eat my sandwich in the backyard, which is about the size of a postage stamp and overgrown with old rosebushes and morning glories. I can pretend that I’m Sleeping Beauty while I sit on the old iron bench and remember what summer looks like. Samuels glances out of the door at me, faded eyes sliding all around me, but he doesn’t come outside.
I’m overjoyed when he disappears back inside. There’s something creepy about that wrinkled face with its weird eyes shifting and wandering but never quite coming to rest. If it weren’t for the pay and the chance to lust after hotties like Terese and Gerard, I’d ask to be pulled from this job. Not that I think that way once I’m back inside.
I close the door behind me and notice Terese through the open door of her office. She’s meeting with someone, perhaps an actual client. They don’t seem to have all that many of those, possibly because of the evening hours. Or maybe it’s that silly slogan: Forever Insurance Insures You Forever. I mean, who needs insurance forever? Lifetime total is usually enough for most people.
Terese leans forward, talking with her hands all the while and looking earnest. Definitely a client. I wander back to Gerard’s office in time to find him sitting at his desk. He gives me a sleepy grin and ushers me back to his chair. The way he hangs over me when I sit down almost makes me wonder if he can smell my wet warmth and I squirm against the upholstery at the thought.
I wonder what would happen if I turned around and unzipped his fly and took his dick in my mouth. In my mind, it’s just the right size and he groans at the touch of my tongue. I rock my head back and forth, then pull away to lick my way slowly down to his balls. His breath quickens into short gasps as I embrace him with my mouth once more. He clutches my shoulders in an effort not to ram himself down my throat. I can feel him shake with desire and I smile a little. I just love polite boys.
He reaches down to grab one of my hands and pulls it up to his mouth. I can feel his mouth on my fingers, then his tongue on my wrist: distracting, but not unpleasantly so. I work harder until I can taste his salty tang and, as he comes in my mouth, I feel his teeth sinking into my wrist. I groan in surpise and desire, panting as I watch him drink from me. His tongue pulls at my wrist like a tongue on my clit and I spread my legs, straining against the chair. My fingers stroke my clit until I forget where I am and come in waves.
When I’m ready to start paying attention again, he’s gone and I’ve got nothing better to look at than the computer screen. I remind myself sternly that there was no way Gerard was going to be doing the temp at work, not with the door open, anyway. The voice of my common sense takes over despite the imagined slight ache of jaw and wrist.
I type listlessly until it’s time to go home. Terese’s client is gone and she and Gerard are talking softly to each other when I say good night. They stop talking to smile at me as Samuels holds the door open for me. I wonder if he lives upstairs. He’s always there when I get there and still there when I leave. I look up at the curtained windows of the second floor where I have yet to venture. They look deserted but my flesh crawls a little as my eyes meet their glassy blank stares.
The dreams are more intense tonight. This time, I worry that something serious will happen if I get caught and I run faster than ever. Still, something grabs me and I fall, tumbling not to the ground but into the afternoon and safety. The last things I remember seeing in my dream are the curtained windows of the second floor of Forever Insurance as I run past them, pursued by whatever it is. Terrific. I hate it when my subconscious works overtime.
I decide to take the proverbial bull by the horns, or any other available body part, and check out the second floor. Once I knew there were no dead bodies or whatever up there, I’d get over this whole thing. Or so I tell myself.
The groovy ghoul is the only one at the office when I show up. “Terese and Gerard are meeting with clients downtown,” Samuels informs me in a voice like a damp fog. His bulbous, colorless eyes gaze just past me until I get impatient and slightly queasy. I flee to Gerard’s office and my very safe invoices. Joy.
But at least I’m not working with him. He has his own office down the hall. As long as he’s busy, this is probably my best chance for checking out the dreaded upstairs. I just need to know that I’m overreacting, then I can make it all go away. Tomorrow I’ll go have lunch with some friends, maybe catch a matinée. Get back to normal, whatever that is.
I do remember being normal. That was the time when I wasn’t having weird dreams about things chasing me and could enter invoices for hours at a time without even once thinking of fucking my bosses. Back then, I wasn’t looking at little cuts on my wrist and wondering where they came from. It’s not like anything actually happened yesterday so I really don’t have a clue. I rub them a little and they fade under the pressure, disappearing into my skin like they were never there. Bizarre.
I wait a reasonable amount of time before I head out into the hall. I poke my nose around the door of Samuels’ office and wave the universal signal for “see you later.” He bares his teeth at me, whoops, no, that was a smile. Sort of. He goes on talking on the phone, so I move as quietly as I can to the big staircase, just out of sight of the door. It has dark wood banisters that curl at the ends and it’s very dark up at the top. All right, just go up, look around, then back down I tell myself.
I’m shivering a little on the first step and more on the third. By the time I get to the seventh I know this isn’t a good idea. But on step ten I know I might as well go all the way up. Five steps more and I’m on the landing. There’s a little light coming in from somewhere, but not much.
The air is really still up here, like it’s anticipating something, and it’s a lot cooler than downstairs. There’s a short hallway to my right and I walk down it, swearing to myself that I’ll just peek into that open door on my left. Then I’ll go back downstairs. Just one little look . . . the room is almost empty, except for the two long boxes on the floor and the hurricane lamp on the table above them.
I make myself open the boxes. I just have to know. They aren’t sealed or anything but the dirt inside doesn’t tell me much. Maybe they’re into gardening. Or maybe, they’re . . . What? My little inner voice demands. Bloodsucking fiends from Transylvania? Outside in daylight, I would have laughed. Up here in the dark, crouched over two big
boxes of dirt, I start shivering.
I close the boxes as quietly as I can and stand up very slowly. Just a few steps and I’ll be down the stairs and out the front door. Then all I have to do is call the agency tomorrow and tell them things haven’t worked out. I don’t see Terese in the doorway until I bump into her. “Hello, Magda. I see that I don’t need to chase you this time.” Her eyes are black pools and I fall in, drowning until I would crawl over broken glass to get to her. Or let her chase me through my dreams until she catches me.
Then she kisses me, with lips so cold they burn mine and a tongue that freezes the inside of my mouth. I kiss her back, trying to warm her with my breath, my desire. We move slowly down the hallway to another room, her hands busily unbuttoning my shirt. Tonight, I wore my good bra, the red lace one with the snap in front. She has both shirt and bra off in moments. Her cold lips pull away from mine and drop to my breast. She takes my nipple in her mouth and it hardens until it’s almost numb.
I don’t feel her teeth sink in, just the sense that she is drinking, draining me of something I didn’t know I had. Something I hope I don’t want. She unbuttons my skirt and it falls to the floor. My underpants follow after an expert tug. I am pushed backward onto a bed, an antique four poster with curtains. Black velvet, natch, the analytical portion of my brain notes, as my eyes adjust slightly to the glow of the single candle.
Terese releases my breast and looks up to meet my eyes at the thought. I whimper as I watch her lick my blood from her lips and she smiles knowingly and slides down between my legs. Her icy caress finds my clit and strokes it, first with fingers, then tongue and I shiver and shake with longing and desire. She tugs the tampon from me and I close my eyes as she slides her tongue over it. Then I come, bucking wildly against the glacier of her mouth, and she drinks from me like a goblet.
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