Genital Obsession

"Hi!" I said cheerfully. "I'm Ali, a gorgeous blonde with 42DD breasts and legs that won't quit."

Fiona gave me a baleful glare. "What are you - the narrator?"

"As it happens, yes," I agreed, unfazed. "What gave it away?"

"The fact that we're suddenly in some weird fantasy world where your hair is no longer Mediterranean-dark and your breasts are twice their normal size."

I peered down at them. "Not quite twice, I'd say. Shall I describe my genitals?"

Fiona glanced pointedly around the café, which wasn't empty but was quiet enough for our words to carry. "No, thank you."

"But what if the readers get confused? For all they know, I'm a trans woman with a huge cock swinging freely beneath my skirt."

"Ali!" she whispered furiously, and shushed me.

I pouted melodramatically. "It's my story. I can do what I like."

"You may be the narrator, Ali, but you're not God."

But there she was wrong. I was God - or, rather, a goddess, powerful and sexy beyond mortal compre-

"Oh, stop that," Fiona scowled. "If you're going to be unreliable, do it elsewhere. Or at least let me finish my coffee in peace."

"You're no fun."

She sighed. "Only you could make married life sound like a singles' cruise. Speaking of swinging, shouldn't you be at home with your feet up?"

"They were up all yesterday. I'm still sore..."

*

When the only thing standing between you and the love of a woman is the frustrating accident of birth that is her being born straight and then being magically transformed into a rocking hot lesbian...

"What the fuck?" Diana seethed as she joined Fiona and me. "After months of practically throwing myself at him - with barely a glimmer of recognition - now, suddenly, he can't keep his eyes off me?"

I could hardly blame him, and Mark and I were far from the only ones to find Diana's new beauty mesmerising. "I might be able to change you back again," I said reluctantly. "You know, make you straight. If you want?"

Diana shuddered. "No, thank you. I feel like I've woken up from a bad dream in which my whole life revolved about men. You've no idea how good it feels to just say, 'Fuck 'em.'"

Fiona laughed. "I certainly have days like that."

"Says the woman with the millionaire boyfriend."

"You do realise the narrator doesn't have to speak out loud?"

I studied the curves of Fiona's lips, recalling the night before when they had kissed between my thighs, soft yet urgent, impatient to taste me.

"Stop that," she said, interrupting the replay.

"Spoil sport." I stuck my tongue out at her.

"Stop what?" Diana asked, looking between us with a baffled expression.

"Ali's being a narrator."

The explanation, if you could call it that, only deepened Diana's frown. She stared at me, silently demanding clarity.

"Fiona doesn't want me to describe my genitals."

"Why would you -"

"Exactly," Fiona said. "Why would you? Besides, showing is far better than telling, and right now I don't wish to see any genitals, thank you very much."

"She has a point," Diana said, meaning Fiona, not me.

"So you don't want to see what's under my skirt? You're not curious at all?"

"Oh, I'm curious all right, but I doubt my new girlfriend will understand."

"No, probably not." Diana had been a lesbian all of a week before falling head over heels for Becca, a local activist with short hair and tats, an attraction that had proved to be mutual and enduring. Which was great for her but put an end to my planned seduction.

"Ali's worried her readers won't know what gender she is unless she describes her genitals," Fiona explained properly.

"And it's a short story too," I added, "so I don't have words to waste."

"But what's the point?" Diana demanded. "Genitals and gender are different things entirely. Even pronouns don't tell you everything."

"No," I agreed.

I watched as Fiona tipped up her cup for a final mouthful of Peruvian filter coffee. "Finally!" I said. "Can I please now get on with it?"

"Fine," she muttered with a roll of her eyes, and I cast my mind back again to the night before, to the moment she could no longer deny her hunger for my - "Wait!"

"What now?" I growled.

"Word count."

"Oh shit, yes." I laughed at Diana, who stared at the pair of us as if we were quite mad. "Seven forty-six."

"Seven," Fiona corrected.

"Damn!"