by Lisa Change
This book copyright Lisa Change, 2019 ©
Free short story From Man to Mommy copyright Lisa Change, 2016 ©
All rights reserved.
Front cover image via Pixabay. Used under a public domain license.
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“You sure it’s no bother?”
James forced up what he hoped was a casual smile.
“What? No, of course not,” he lied. “Besides, I’m already here, aren’t I?”
At his words, Samantha gave one of those slightly-embarrassed smiles she always gave when she was asking a favor. One of the ones where her lips compressed down to a thin line, and her wide blue eyes grew even wider, like she was both slightly ashamed and trying to hold back laughter.
Although he would never say so out loud, James was certain she knew what sort of effect those smiles had on him.
“Yeah, I know…” Samantha slipped her satchel over one bare shoulder, “but, like, it’s two friggin’ nights, and I thought it’d be fine, but Rory kept saying you’d be bored…”
The sound of Rory’s name almost made James bite the inside of his cheek. He tried not to let a flicker of annoyance pass across his face.
“Bored? Me? You serious?” He gave a fake laugh, gestured the console sat before Samantha’s giant TV. “You’ve got Xbox, food, maybe some pot lying around…”
“Taking that with me,” Samantha gave a faux-apologetic smile, “but, hey, there’s beer in the fridge.”
“Oh wow. Beer? How, uh, exciting.”
“Hey! I was being nice.” Samantha folded her arms over her large breasts, arched one perfect penciled eyebrow. “I could always take the beer with me, too.”
“Nah, it’s cool. Just joking. I just mean…”
James spread his skinny arms wide, taking in the vast, redbrick space around them, “how could I be bored here?”
Here was Samantha’s vast, downtown apartment, the one with the oh-so-trendy bare brick walls, the huge picture window looking out over the city, and the expensive minimalist furniture her parents had had designed especially for her.
Here was also where James would be spending the next two nights, housesitting and keeping an eye out for burglars he already knew would never, ever come.
But it was somewhere else, too.
Here was also the prison James had built for himself, stupidly, brick by goddamn brick.
The prison he returned to, time and again, like some ex-con who no longer knew how to live in the outside world.
As these thoughts flitted through James’ mind, Samantha sighed and gave one of her little smiles.
“Honestly, I don’t think you could be bored anywhere. You’re too… what’s the word?”
“Fun? Awesome? Amazeballs?”
Samantha laughed.
“I was actually thinking happy.” She shook her head, her long, blonde ponytail bobbing behind her, “you just always seem so… content, y’know? I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone as in the moment as you are.”
James smiled back at her, smiled back across the vast, incomprehensible gulf stretching out between them.
If only you knew, he thought.
If only you knew what you’ve done to me.
Whenever he looked directly at Samantha like this, he felt that strange sensation creeping up across his skin.
That weird mixture of fear, and shame, and desire, and self-loathing, and…
…and lust.
As the two smiled at one another, looking for all the world like the most casual friends in the world, James could feel himself studying every inch of her through his peripheral vision. Samantha.
The girl of his dreams for five long, lonely years.
She had a cute face, with a little button nose and high cheekbones, her blue eyes framed by a pair of thick rimmed glasses that made her look like a supermodel from the early 2010s.
Her wavy blonde hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail that almost seemed to shine in the sunlight.
She wore a very low cut mustard-color top, the fabric pulled tight across her large breasts.
Her hips were round – maybe a little too wide for her figure – and clad in a pair of tiny denim shorts.
Her legs were long and pale, decorated with little tattoos, so similar to the long, wavy ink lines on her arms.
She was ever-so slightly chubby, but in a way that made her somehow more attractive. Made her seem more real, and so therefore more beautiful, than any of the girls you saw in magazines.
Even her khaki walking boots were sexy in a way James could only dimly comprehend.
In his opinion, the girl before him was perfect. She was beautiful. She was intelligent. She was fun.
And she was about to head off on a romantic weekend break with a guy James privately thought was a total douche.
At long last, Samantha shifted a little awkwardly. Looked down at her feet.
“Um, so… I guess I’d better be…” she waved one hand vaguely at the door, “Rory’s gonna be downstairs in, like, five…”
She bit her bottom lip gently, momentarily looked anxious.
Then she was turning back to James, a big smile splitting across her face again as she stepped forward, looped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a gentle hug.
“Thanks so much!” She breathed, rocking his slender body from side to side, “you’re such a…
…such a great friend.”
It couldn’t have hurt more if she’d just pulled out a knife and stabbed him through the heart.
But James didn’t let any of this show. He never did.
Instead, he simply hugged Samantha back, aware that he could faintly feel her boobs, pressing gently against his chest.
Aware, too, that he wanted nothing more than to hug her tighter, to feel her feminine body against his, to move his hands down to her hips, to pull back, to look deep into her eyes…
…but knowing also that doing such a thing was no more possible than flying or traveling through time.
There was a distant beep of a horn. Samantha slipped out from the hug, eyes wide.
“Rory. You know, he planned all this, kept it a secret for like, forever? What that cabin must’ve cost him…”
She sighed and gave James another thin-lipped, wide eyed smile.
“Thanks so, so, so much. I promise, when I get back, I’ll buy you a beer. No, two. Three. Like, maybe more.”
“Sure,” James mumbled, “that’d be…”
But then there was another beep, Samantha was shouldering her bag, saying goodbye, and then there was the sound of running footsteps, the distant slamming of a door, and James was all alone.
“…that’d be nice,” he finished.
With Samantha gone, a sheet of silence seemed to drop from the rafters, to settle over the apartment like dust: heavy, suffocating.
For a moment, James wondered if he should go to the big picture window. Tried to picture himself standing there, waving, while Samantha looked back up at him and gave him one, last, perfect smile…
But then he remembered Rory. Rory, who’d give him one of those stony looks from behind his dark glasses.
Rory, the big, confident man Samantha had found at college, who always looked at James like he knew what was going on inside this scrawny boy’s mind.
No, he couldn’t risk waving at Samantha, co
uldn’t risk giving Rory yet more reason to be suspicious of him.
Couldn’t do the one thing that might break him out this cage he’d built.
So James simply stood there, unmoving, until he heard the faint rumble of an engine and knew the rich girl he lusted after was gone, gone to that expensive little cabin in the mountains Rory had paid for with his trust fund.
When he was sure he was all alone, James glanced listlessly around the apartment.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
*
The rest of the day passed in a hopeless daze.
At first, James tried playing Xbox and drinking a couple of the fancy craft beers Samantha had left for him, but he soon grew bored and decided to explore the apartment instead.
He’d been here before, of course.
Whenever Samantha called him out of the blue, in floods of tears, wailing that Rory had just said he didn’t know if he loved her anymore, and could he please come around and comfort her?
Whenever Samantha needed a house sitter, and messaged her very best friend, asking if he could please, please, please help her out, just this once?
Weirdly, she always seemed to be busy when James was the one in need of a hand.
“Don’t be like that,” James muttered as he poked around the bookshelves he’d examined hundreds of times before. “You’re such a fucking cynic.”
Initially James confined his wandering to the living room, flipping through odd books he’d not seen before, examining the expensive vintage radio Samantha probably never used.
But before long, he found himself inside Samantha’s vast bedroom, poking around and wondering why he felt vaguely like he was doing something wrong.
Frame upon frame filled with old family photos lined the dresser and the window ledge, frozen faces smiling out from a distant past.
As James picked through them, examining the unknown men and women, he found himself playing a sad version of Where’s Waldo?, trying to pick out the girl he loved at various ages.
I wonder what it must be like, he thought, looking forlornly at a picture of Samantha in a yellow bikini, grinning at camera from a pristine beach in Europe, having a life like this. Being this rich. This cared for.
Looking so beautiful.
The thought made him look up, glance at his reflection in the body length mirror at the foot of Samantha’s bed.
His reflection, with its unruly dark hair, impossibly skinny frame, soft face and weak chin dusted with stubble stared impassively back at him.
Whatever it’s like, I bet it’s better than living like this…
The minutes passed, stretched out into hours as James continued his bored survey of Samantha’s life.
Almost without meaning to, he soon found himself looking through the clothes racks she kept in the corner of her huge, designer bedroom. Picking up items, examining them.
There were a lot of dresses he hadn’t seen her wear in years. Dresses he vaguely remembered from senior year at high school, when he’d first fallen head over heels for the girl in art class.
When he’d first stupidly let her friendzone him.
James’ fingers closed on the lacy strap of a white bra.
He hesitated, then pulled it off the rack, guiltily looking around, as though expecting Rory to suddenly come bursting into the room with a loud Ah-ha!
But, of course, no-one came. James held the bra in his hands, surprised at how big it looked.
He’d always been aware that Samantha had big tits. Hell, it was all he could do to stop himself from staring at them sometimes.
But seeing her bra like this made him realize just how stacked she really was.
All those times as a teenager, pulling his sister’s B cup bra out the washing machine and going gross!, he’d come to think that was just what size bras were.
Now holding Samantha’s bra, though, he could see just how dumb he’d been.
“Double D,” he murmured, reading the label out loud. “Guess it makes sense…”
It was funny. Somehow, knowing precisely how big Samantha’s tits were made him feel… closer to her, almost. More like he could imagine what it must be like to see the world from inside her body.
James wasn’t sure if he was being empathetic or just creepy.
It was as he was putting the bra back over the railing that he saw it.
There, half hidden beneath some fancy pairs of lacy panties…
…lay a dildo.
It was one of those old Rampant Rabbits that got super popular after turning up on Sex and the City, with the vibrating ‘ears’ that were meant to send your clit wild.
It was pink, long – longer than James’s cock, he was embarrassed to see – but thin, and with a smooth, bulbous end that looked both like a dick and somehow less threatening.
At the sight of it, unbidden images began to rise in James’ mind.
Samantha… lying naked on the bed, her heavy breasts dangling free and her long legs spread apart, her lips dangling open in a dazed ‘O’ as she slowly slips the dildo into her dripping pussy…
Samantha, playing with herself in the shower, her long hair wet and lying down her back, her eyes half closed as she lets the vibrator flick at her clit, sending waves of pleasure shooting across her skin…
Samantha, moaning helplessly as James drove the dildo into her, looking up at him with in surrender as he forced her to experience pleasure beyond anything she’d ever known…
There was a tap at the window. James blinked the images away, a wave of guilt washing over him.
He looked around, quickly trying to hide his erection, but there was nobody there. Just a raven, sitting on the ledge in a beam of sunlight, looking at him quizzically.
“Go on.” James waved his hand at it. “Shoo!”
But the bird didn’t move. It simply kept staring at him, as though its dark eyes could see inside him, see his secret wish.
“Creepy little bastard.” James wasn’t sure if he was talking about the bird or himself.
Still, he put the bra back on the railing, trying to ignore the dildo. Left Samantha’s room, went back to playing Xbox One, trying to convince himself it was all cool, that he wasn’t acting strangely.
He was so convincing he almost believed himself.
*
That night, a huge storm rolled across the city, a churning wall of dark clouds that brought sheets of lightning in its wake.
Lying in Samantha’s bed, James watched the lightning flash outside, casting weird purple shadows on the ceiling.
He’d gone to bed just after half nine, when the power had gone out following a heavy boom of thunder, sending the Xbox silent.
Samantha had laid the sofa bed out for him, all nice and ready, but James had instead found himself fumbling his way into her bedroom, stripping down into his underpants, and clambering beneath the sheets.
Now here he lay, as midnight approached, the faint smell of Samantha all around him, enveloping him, as the storm rumbled outside.
He couldn’t even tell you why he was in this bed, why he’d decided to torture himself by sleeping here.
It hadn’t even felt like his decision. More like he was moving on automatic.
Yet, as James looked up at the distant shadows above him, he couldn’t help but feel like he belonged here. Like he should be lying here every single night, Samantha a faint, sleeping shadow beside him.
“I wish I did sleep here every single night,” James muttered, unaware he was talking out loud.
No sooner were the words out his mouth than there was a terrific burst of white light that burned strange shapes on his retinas, followed by an almighty CRACK!
Jesus, that was just outside the window, James thought.
He yanked Samantha’s sheets up over his head, like he was a kid again, breathed her scent deeply in, so it filled his mind.
How the Hell am I ever gonna get to sleep in this weather?
Before he could even answer himself, there was another bur
st of light, this one so bright that it seemed to burn through the sheets, to make his entire body vanish on a wave of white.
He didn’t know if he fell asleep immediately after or what, but he never even heard the thunder.
*
What finally woke James up was the rain.
It was falling in sporadic but heavy drops outside, hitting the windows with a repetitive thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
At first, he tried to ignore it. Threw one slender arm over his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, a soft whimper of protest escaping his throat.
Tried to recapture the dream he’d been having, the one that had given him a deep feeling of pleasant warmth in his crotch.
The dream involving Samantha.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
Did I leave the damn window open? James groused in his mind. Why the hell is it so loud…?
Thunk! Thunk!
“Oh for fuck’s sake!”
James was out the bed and on his feet before he even knew what he was doing, groggily staggering across Samantha’s bedroom in the weak gray light, one dainty hand irritably rubbing at his eyes.
His long hair trailed out behind him as he went, tickling at his bare back, irritating him.
Should’ve worn a hairband…
There seemed to be something weird about the thought, but James was far too sleepy to put his finger on it.
Just as he was far too sleepy to think much about the weird weight that seemed to be pulling on his chest.
The window was indeed open. Just a crack, but enough to let the thunk! of each raindrop onto the metal fire escape go from a distant irritation to a potential headache.
His eyes still mostly closed, James yanked the window shut. It was stiff and took him longer than expected, almost like he’d become weaker overnight.
God I hope not. I’m already weedy enough as it is…
The strange thing was, though, he didn’t feel weedy.
Even through the fog of sleep, he could feel the slight doughy feeling around his stomach, the way his sides felt a little… softer, almost like…
Almost like I’ve put on weight… James frowned. But not just any weight…
He could feel the new heaviness, centered on his ass, which suddenly seemed to be stretching the fabric of his boxers. Could feel it, too, centered on his chest, weighing him down.