Dont Anyone Tell Sybille

I was once known as Sybille, but not anymore. May I explain?

Dad was a farmer who grew up loving stories of the Old West, so much so he named me 'Jesse'. What with our last name being James, I went by my middle name 'William'. Most folks ended up calling me 'Willy James', suiting me just fine. Mother died a year after I was born. She was a troubled woman who never got over post part-em depression.

My old man had been set on naming his next son 'Frank', in keeping with the outlaw theme. He never remarried and we were to become an army of two. We rarely saw eye to eye on things but he persevered to make a man of me.

He taught me everything he knew and half of whatever he could make up. He was also a damn fine auto mechanic, too fine to resist passing his skills onto me. I went on in life to tell that, without him, I wouldn't have amounted to anything, not a goddamn thing.

He taught me all about hunting and nature out on the land around our farm. Our earliest walks found us together with him leading me by the hand. For many years, we walked shoulder to shoulder. At the end, I steadied him along the path.

Sometimes, I feel like we're still out there; with old eyes looking, with young eyes looking.

My constant contact with nature refined my senses of intuition. Once when putting a mange ridden coyote out of its misery, an ancient presence flooded in around me. From that day on, I experienced premonitions and visions, enabling me to predict events and to see into people's beings. I did, on occasion, see an entity within people while looking into their eyes. This made me uncomfortable at first, but I learned to cope with a world where horror lurked behind every blade of grass.

Visions in dreams were far less disconcerting than those that gripped my waking mind. I predicted some people's deaths and sometimes detected serious illnesses hiding in the still living. Also, I began having vivid wet dreams, always with the same woman. During these cathartic encounters, I would be paralyzed and without voice. I had no girlfriends while growing up, so I became adept at pleasing myself. Often I would heighten my arousal with women's lingerie, something I regarded at the time to be a shameful practice. I'd learned it was wrong but it felt too good to stop.

I tried to live on my own after Dad passed on. Finding I had lost my taste for farming, I reluctantly sold the place. I met a great girl and did alright as an auto mechanic in the cities and towns all over Western Canada. This would all end for me when I fell prey to a bad head injury. I couldn't talk properly afterwards, nor could I sequence the steps to take in repair jobs. My personal life took a hit too. I would lose my patience and my temper with people very abruptly.

I had been neat and calm person before the accident, that changed as well. I would act on impulse with no thought of consequences. I was left unemployable and unable to love.

I was forced out of my chosen career and started living on my meager savings.

My girlfriend left me and I don't blame her. I acted like I was possessed when she would come near. I couldn't bring myself to listen to her voice anymore or even let her finish a sentence. When she began to think I just used her for sex, everything fell apart. I still loved her but couldn't stand living with her reproachful brand of pity anymore. I was certain the day would come when I'd fly off the handle and hurt her. I came to be glad she found the strength to leave me.

In time, my powers of speech returned to near normal. I still spoke with a slight slur, which thwarted many a job interview. I could see things in the eyes of my interviewers; some had shockingly sinister beings looking out of their pupils, staring into me, mocking me. Needless to say, I wouldn't return to employers bearing evil.

I was no stranger to these visions but things had turned to the worse. During mundane one on one conversations, folks would break into monotone voice, with eyes glazed over, changing the topic to reveal secrets of my own. I was no longer an observer, no longer a hunter. I was the one being pursued.

On occasion, it would be me who blurted things out without the slightest idea of what I was about to say. Once someone asked rhetorically, musingly, what would become of some rich woman's daughters. I replied, "By this time next year they will both be gone. One's running away with an army boy and the other to another province. She'll never see them again." This abrupt statement was met with shocked silence.

I left their house immediately, never to return. A year later, my prediction came true. Until then, I'd been discreet with my predictions but I had gone and publicly outed myself as a psychic. I was told it ran in the family, so nobody was all that surprised. I became Willy, the reluctant clairvoyant.

What some would call a gift became a nightmare. Word of my abilities spread. Although some avoided me, others set out to meet with me when I could barely tolerate their company. I was too depressed already and advising people only added to my exhaustion.

Enough was enough. I did a midnight packing job, on impulse one night and by morning, I was headed to the west coast. Dad had always wanted to go there, planting the idea in my head many years ago. With a weary sense of well being, I set my sights on my new home. I'd found a small upstairs apartment in a medium sized tourist town. It was time to make a deal.

Oddly, the elderly landlord told me I could use the vacant storefront space downstairs for no extra charge. Cautiously, I peered into his eyes, seeing nothing sinister. Instead, a bewitching female spirit appeared, one of a benign and knowing nature. She smiled sympathetically as she made a 'come hither' gesture. It was her, the one who had kick started my sexual awakening, my dream lover. Although memories of her nocturnal visits caused my scalp to tense and tingle, seeing her convinced me I was on the right track.

The landlord sent me a note later, telling he had a good feeling about me. He said to send the rent, in the form of money orders, whenever I could manage. He had moved to the south to stay, entrusting me with his property. For the first time in the longest while, I had gotten a break and was where I belonged.

But what to do with the store downstairs? It was too small, too seedy looking to sublet, plus the landlord said it was something he'd rather I not do. "Should I sell antiques?" I asked myself aloud. No, I liked them too much to sell to the trendy tourists just looking for the cute and quaint. Oh, how that would have frayed my nerves. A few more possible ventures occurred to me. Each new idea tired me more thoroughly than the last. I climbed the stairs and went to bed.

I dreamt of her. Again she beckoned. In one hand she held a shining bowl of water, in the other, she held gold coins. She held the latter towards me and smiled. My own face appeared above the bowl, peering down into its depths. Seconds later, I found myself staring into the eyes of myself as a woman. My female image mouthed the words, "Shed light on them," followed by "Scryer". I trusted that the familiar spirit in the dream had my best interests at heart. I learned 'scrying' was a form of fortune telling.

I awoke in a cold sweat. What was the meaning of this? After a few days of thought following a few nights immersed in the same dream, its meaning became clear; I was to open a fortune teller's shop, acting the part of a woman. I felt that I'd attract far more clients as a woman, gaining as a bonus the anonymity I so craved. I had to admit to myself the excitement cross dressing held for me. It was something I'd sworn to leave in my past, yet had listed it in a nonchalant manner as one more part of my business plan. The cobwebs of my past had gained the strength of cables. I surrendered to the undertow.

I tried to talk myself out of embarking on such a cliched and hackneyed venture. My landlord's trust pushed me to proceed, as did my fear of poverty. I still held stoically to my values, even though some people would take a dim view of my plan. Screw them.

The first order of business was to register for a small business license. This was no problem as I had gone through it before with my ex girlfriend. The act of repeating it brought back memories, and with them pain. I wanted her back in my life for the first time in years. I quickly banished all thoughts of trying to contact her when I pictured myself telling fortunes while masquerading as a woman.

The job of reverse painting a window sign didn't worry me, as I'd done a few years ago. The next thing was to find suitable store decor items. It wasn't nearly as costly as I'd feared. I found most of what I needed at an estate sale held at a town nearby. The items I bid on were those of an actress, long since retired. The best of the bunch was an old steamer trunk packed full of stage apparel. "'Tis a harbinger of good fortune," I laughed in a theatrical voice, as I lugged the taboo cargo upstairs to my bedroom.

I draped each and every item of the ladies' clothing against my body, estimating their affect to my appearance. I was standing at the forefront of a new awakening. Erotic energies flowed throughout my being as I felt a compulsion to dive into my new clothing collection. Maybe prompting this was the lingering female scent; maybe it was something deeper.

My farm bred self reliance paid off, made apparent by the fast remodeling of my store as well as myself. I had put the hard work behind me and was fully committed to my new role in life. I had to learn the ways of successful cross dressers. I cavorted around wearing richly decorated antique gypsy dresses with long, flowing wigs and thick layers of make up. The false eyelashes completed the illusion nicely. I had yet to wear any female under-things; I reserved the luxury of that thrill for later.

I began to love going out into the streets of town. I felt so free, so alive, barely feeling the ground beneath my feet. Locals had gotten accustomed to me. Some of the men would even flash me a broad smile, nodding a greeting of approval when passing me by. For the first time ever, I felt compelled to glance down at the front their trousers, wondering with morbid curiosity if I'd excited them. I'd caught sight of the occasional splendid phallic outline, causing me to blush. I even began fantasizing about making love to certain men, but only with me as a woman. I guessed I had changed more than I thought.

Every time I would pass by a mirror, I would be taken aback by the new exotic creature I'd become. Worse than giving myself an occasional start was how I ached to make love to the female me. Fearing I was going insane, I kept telling myself, "This is your life now; don't you ever look back."

I had yet to open my store, as my permit had a specific starting date. I attracted some attention, however, while putting the finishing touches on my shop. I opened the velvet curtains to burnish the golf leaf letters in the window, giving many a curious passer-by a good look at the new me. These bold, gothic letters proclaimed me a true mystic: Sybille, the reasonably priced clairvoyant. I was well versed in the strategies of people engaged in the business, legitimate and otherwise. I felt I was ready for anything.

I awoke to perform a full body shave followed by a cleansing shower. I stood at my bedside, my skin tingling and tender, sorting my feminine apparel. I was far past the point of feeling any shame while doing this, feeling only the elation of a soon to be released prisoner.

For the first time ever, I went all the way, lacing up a red and black corset with padding that gave me an unbelievably nice set of curves. To this, I added stockings, panties, breast forms and high heel shoes. I was unnerved by the unbridled longing I felt towards my reflection, causing my hands to tremble while fastening my garter stays to my lacy stockings. I sighed at the pleasure of my gypsy dress swishing against my silk encased legs. "Oh that I could emerge from this silk cocoon as a real woman," I mused.

After applying makeup with precision, I gave my reflection a playful wink. I sat in front of my mirror, leaning in to greet the new me, "Hi there sexy. How'd you like a fuck?" My cock reacted, rearing with an intense throb while ejecting beads of pre-come. I bolted upright, crossed my legs, trapping my aching cock between them. I grasped the arms of my easy chair and ground my bottom against the seat cushion, providing the root of my cock with a good massage. "Okay, okay, save this for later. Get to work, dammit!" I chuckled.

I couldn't resist stroking my manhood while wriggling around in my snug little panties. I paused to adjust my wig, then started handling my cock again, yearning to venture past the brink. I closed my eyes, losing myself to intense pleasure. I was filled with sensual fulfillment I had lacked for so long. I remembered relations with my ex girlfriend, imagining I was about to flood the clutches of her appreciative pussy.

My sexual release was not to be. Mere seconds before coming, someone shook my shoulder roughly. An icy and unseen hand held my wrist, freezing me to stillness. I felt a cold breath against my ear. It chilled me to the core, impressing upon me its message. It said simply, "No. Shed light on them. Go now." The voice had a musical cadence, its pitches rose and fell, breaking into complex harmonies that ricocheted around the room.

The strange thing was, I wasn't at all surprised. Instead, I was grateful for guidance. I supposed that my sexual energy had something to do with my ability to consult the spirits and needed to be conserved. Naturally, I couldn't promise deny my sexual needs forever, but for today I would.

For today was a very special day; it was opening day. I recalled sincere letters from people who wanted their turn at the soothsayer's table. Whenever someone had knocked to be let in, I would answer with a gesture to a small sign in the window stating the first day of business. No early birds.

The clock struck nine as I sat at my table. Around the corner was my small waiting room. I had filled it with all description of occult paraphernalia, all safe guarded against pilfering. You can't always predict what people are up to, not even a psychic can do that.

My first client arrived. I glanced at her as the door chimes rattled a random song. I sought to hold her gaze as a confidence building measure. She was too nervous for this, looking away as she took a seat in the waiting room. She dutifully studied the instructions spelled out on the dividing wall. She was to wait there before entering the sanctity of my scrying room.

I called to her in the deep and sultry voice I'd been practicing, "Come to me, the spirits await." I was briefly disgusted, regretting the triteness of my own words. I motioned towards the carved wooden box to my side. She inserted a twenty and leaned in to face me. She wasn't at all whom I'd expected to meet; she wasn't some middle aged, flustered housewife seeking relief from boredom. "She's a fair and winsome lass," I joked silently.

She was tall and leggy. I estimated her age to be in her mid twenties, maybe younger. Her jeans were worn thin from neglect and travel, perhaps. She had the most striking face with captivating green eyes and opulent, pink lips. Her hair was long and blonde, flowing down around her shoulders, prompting in me, urges to caress her slight shoulders. Her jean jacket swung open, revealing her jiggly shelf of breast flesh.

I savored the ripe fullness of her natural endowment straining behind the thin fabric of her blouse. Her lack of a bra allowed me to easily discern the location of her proud nipples and even her puffy, dimpled areolae. With my face awash in the heat of her exposed cleavage, I wondered just how soothing it would be to have my hard staff between them. How unladylike was that?

"Just a second," she said, breaking my reverie. She turned her back to me while removing her jean jacket. My eyes widened upon discovery of her perfectly curved derriere crowning the glorious curvature of her legs. She paused to raise the belt line of her jeans, coaxing the constrictive, threadbare denim into her most intimate of areas.

I was treated to the brief, pulse quickening view of a tiny triangle of light, peeking out from between the convergence her thighs and the mound of her sex. I tried in earnest to look the part of a lady; lustful interests were to be denied. I repeated to myself once again: avoid seeing her in a prurient way, for the sake of the reading.

She introduced herself as Lena Jones, a false name, I presumed. Most notably, was how distinctly out of place she seemed. Maybe she was uncomfortable in her own skin, maybe it was something else. I peered into the polished bowl of water between us. Would anything come through? She was my first paying customer and my acceptance of money threatened to dull my gift of vision.

At first, I saw nothing. When Lena started to speak, I responded with a dismissive gesture, frowning intently into the swirling scrying bowl. I focused on a point below the table in silent meditation. I realized the door had been left unlocked. "Lock the door child, we can't have others with us." My words floated away to acknowledge the unknown.

Lost in images and faint voices, I didn't notice her follow my instructions. With eyes closed, I reached out to her. The second her fingers graced my waiting palms, I reopened my eyes to discover her likeness in the shifting waters.

What I saw there was shocking. There she was with a full sized, erect penis jutting proudly from her unzipped jeans. She was attempting to persuade my likeness, my female self, to perform oral sex on her. I began to tremble as I watched the image of her round hips rotating in a vulgar fashion. She was trying to tease me, to have me drop my guard, to have her press the bulging head of her erection to my red lips.

I watched with detached fascination as our likenesses locked eyes and she inched her cock towards my mouth. At that instant, I felt a heated swarm of electricity, like the vibration of angry bees, converging around my throbbing genitals. I was lost in weightless, dizzying bliss. I dropped her delicate hands and grasped at my temples. I tipped my head back in ecstasy.

My erection, having escaped the confines of my lace panties, spewed forth ecstatic ribbons of my sexual essence across my quivering thighs, coating my stocking tops. I released a reverberating guttural moan. The secrets and intimacy of the moment would be etched indelibly in my memory.

"Oh wow, what did you see, Sybille?" She searched my bleary eyes as I struggled to recover.

"I can't tell you," I answered dryly. I crossed my legs in vain, failing to contain the shifting remains of my thick, white eruption.

"I see. I suppose you'll need more money now." She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"No, that is not that at all the case. You will need you to return however." A familiar voice in my head told me what to tell her next. Without questioning how my message may upset the girl, I continued. "I know your secret. You must purge yourself of all sexual tensions before our next meeting. You must give yourself an orgasm." I looked away while shifting around uncomfortably. I squared my shoulders, bracing for the onslaught to come.

"What!" shouted Lena. She leapt to her feet, sending her chair screeching across the ancient hardwood floor. Her breasts rebounded together, juddering wildly, punctuating her outrage. She grabbed her jacket and spun around to leave. She slammed into the locked door, fumbled with the lock and was gone. I noticed she had forgotten her purse. I sighed while prodding at it dejectedly with my foot.