This is not so much a sex story as a love story with sexy bits and, even then, it's not very sexy unless you're one of those who dig the whole transgender thing.
So, don't go looking here for cheap thrills, you won't find any.
What is more, this is chapter four. If you haven't started at the beginning I strongly advise it.
*****
I lay in bed but I wasn't yet ready for sleep. After the high drama of the day I was finally in a position to quietly contemplate the sheer magnitude of what had happened to me. I assumed I was not the only guy to wonder what it was like to be a girl; now I had the chance to find out. What is more, given the opportunity, I felt so much more comfortable as Tiffany than as Tom. Maybe it was the novelty; maybe as time wore on I would become blasé, bored, and never want to change again but, right now, I couldn't get enough of it.
I lay on my back, pulled up the tee shirt that was acting as a nightgown and looked at how my breasts lay. Years of cartoons and video games had totally misled me as to what they would look like. They weren't loose or floppy but neither were they unaffected by gravity. This was real flesh, yielding, tender, female flesh. When I was standing they took the classic tear drop shape; now I was lying down they flattened out, became rounder, gentler. But then they weren't the only part of my body that felt strange. Every part of me seemed to be subtly different. Whilst Tiffany was just as fit as Tom she was nowhere near as muscular; she was softer and I delighted in the touch of my skin under my fingertips.
If I'd have been Tom at this point my hand would have gone straight to my prick and I would be pumping away furiously as I headed towards another frantic orgasm. For Tiffany, although my groin and nipples were super sensitive and felt delicious to the touch, they were only part of a larger picture. They were like the cherries in an ice-cream sundae; to be sure, they were the best bits but they were far from the complete picture and who wants to eat cherries all on their own. It was as if all of me was sexual or none of me was and, at that point, all of me was. I stroked, teased and titillated enjoying the smorgasbord of sensations.
But, for all that, I knew that I wasn't going to come. There seemed to be some trick to female masturbation that I had yet to learn. I wasn't exactly frustrated, the low level buzz was plenty to be going on with, but I was more than aware that this was not the full story. Gently tiredness overcame me and I drifted off to sleep.
I could feel his lips as kiss after kiss after kiss covered my shoulders, my neck, my upper arms. He lay over me, not crushing but protecting, his weight a comfort not a burden. I was his in every sense of the word. Down below I could feel his strength, feel the heat of his passion and, in time, I wanted to savour every inch of it but not yet, lover, not yet. Soon, very soon, but not yet.
His kisses moved to my breasts and his teeth teased at my nipples causing little golden threads to tingle through my body, exciting me, awaking me, arousing me. Oh, yes, lover, like that, like that! I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer, grinding us together. I want to feel him closer still, conjoined, as one. I'm nearly ready, lover, nearly.
He reaches down and guides himself towards me. He's pushing, pushing, pushing and I open up and welcome him. He slips inside, just a bit, just the tip, withdraws and then, this time, he's deeper, deeper, he's filling me, completing me, taking me, fulfilling me. Please, lover, just a little more, just a little, just a bit more, take me, hold me, make me whole...
With a start I awoke from the dream. I put my hand between my thighs and found that I was wet with my juices and my lips were inflamed and oh, so sensitive. I tried so hard to remember how it felt but the dream, as all dreams do, faded away and all I was left with was the sense of what might have been.
Anyway, my fingers, even if I knew what to do, could never take the place of my dream lover. I ached, not for an orgasm, but to feel his warmth, his strength, his passion and, when the time is right, to surrender to his power.
On a more practical note, whereas Tom had had his fair share of conquests, Tiffany was nowhere near ready for any sort of relationship, let alone sex. I had too much to learn before I would trust myself to get that intimate with anyone. That didn't stop me wanting it.
I rolled over and went back to sleep. Maybe I would dream again.
I awoke to my alarm on my mobile feeling curiously refreshed given my broken night's sleep. It was Monday morning and, inevitably, it was time to get up, get dressed and go to work. What's more, it was time to change back and become Tom again. I got out of bed, knelt down on the floor and took off the necklace.
As I went through my morning routine everything felt a little flat. There was no earthy reason why life should feel better, more fulfilling, when I was Tiffany rather than Thomas. Maybe it was simply the novelty; maybe it was simply Monday morning blues. Still, there was rent to be paid so money had to be earned and that meant going to work spending the day sorting out misdirected office supplies. I couldn't put it off any longer; it was time to tidy away the breakfast things, grab my coat and leave. As an after thought, before I headed for the door, I threw all my female clothes into the washing machine and put them on a wool cycle.
I found it really hard to concentrate at work. Sure, paperwork came in and paperwork went out and, as I didn't get more than the usual number of complaints, I guess it all got processed correctly but my mind wasn't on it and, come lunch time, I was looking through fashion blogs searching for a look that was 'me'. OK, so I had become a little obsessed but this was so big, so all encompassing; this was, quite literally, life changing.
And, on a completely different level, it was fun. I'd never really looked at fashion before. As a boy, why would I; none of the clothes were for me. Now, with a little imagination, I could see myself wearing the same clothes, looking like the women on the screen.
Some of the clothes still left me feeling wistful. There was an ever so smart outfit in light grey; an A line knee length skirt with a matching jacket, classic white blouse and black patent leather heels that would be just the thing for the office. But with Tiffany having no paperwork, no legal identity, I couldn't see how she would get a job, open a bank account, rent a flat, do any of the things that are involved in a practical life. If it were only possible I'd have worn the necklace all the time but I was always going to have to revert to Tom who had to do the boring bits.
As soon as I got home I wanted to change back to Tiffany as soon as possible. However, my clothes were still wet so I shoved them into the tumble drier and, as Andy worked later hours than I did, I was able to get them dry and ironed well before he got home. As soon they were ready I was off to my room, my boy clothes were off, I put the necklace on and, bingo, Tiffany was back.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I just loved Jen's blue dress and along with the kitten heels, I felt so fine. Of course there were one or two issues. I hadn't started to address the whole make up thing and I still hadn't bought a bra. Mind you, as long as I wasn't planning on going out it really didn't matter too much.
I went back to the kitchen and put on an apron to protect the dress before starting in on the evening meal.
"God, the traffic in town gets wor.... Oh! Wow! Hi Tom, er... Tiffany."
"Hi Andy. Dinner in half an hour, OK?"
"Yeah, fine."
I turned and looked at him. He was looking me up and down.
"Yeah, I'm Tiff for the evening. Is that going to be a problem?"
"No, no problem at all."
"And get that look out of your eye. Whatever you're thinking ain't gonna happen. Got me?"
"Got you. But a boy can dream, can't he?"
"Dream on, sunshine because dreams is all that will ever be. Now, get out of my kitchen."
As I shooed him out of the kitchen I was both exasperated and pleased: exasperated because his eyes had gone straight to my chest and stayed there and pleased because well, because his eyes had gone straight to my chest and stayed there. I returned to the stove with a flush to my face and not entirely in control of my emotions. Part of me was disgusted at him because, as ever, all he could think of was sex and part of me was thrilled to the core that it was me that he found sexy.
Not that I had any plans to do anything about it.
Over the meal it was more of the same. However, this time it went far beyond flattering and into the realms of annoying until, finally, I had to put my foot down.
"Please, Andy," I protested, "stop looking at my chest all the time. It's very off putting."
"I'll tell you what's off putting," Andy retorted. "Having you wandering around not wearing a bra. Sorry, Tiff, I don't mean to be rude but if your not going to restrain those little puppies then I'm going to stare. I can't help it."
