Transformation Story: More Than An Ally

More than an Ally

Marianne checked her watch, wondering if there were going to be any more clients that afternoon.  She had been busy since arriving four hours earlier, dealing with the usual Saturday queries: directing young women and some, far from young, towards what help was available.  Today it had been more the case of greedy landlords and sexism in the workplace.  She guessed that now Kalisha had joined the Saturday team at the Women’s Advice Centre, those women with sexual issues would prefer going to her.  It was clear that some felt nowadays that Marianne looked a little too much like their mother for such conversations to be comfortable.  Ironically it was only her fortieth birthday next week, but Marianne guessed that to many, anyone over twenty-five was deemed ‘old’. 

Marianne glanced across the corridor.  The door into Carmen’s office was open and as usual the woman gave her a broad smile that Marianne always found uplifting.  She guessed the two of them could not be more unalike.  They were of the same age, but little else was in common, only a desire to help out women worse off than themselves.  Marianne was white and worked as a legal secretary.  Though no solicitor, she knew a lot of the standard stuff around tenancies and workplace harassment.  For some time after her divorce from David seven years earlier Marianne had not known what to do with herself and had found this place both gave her new friends and a sense of purpose. 

Carmen was black, from an Afro-Caribbean family that had established itself in the city back in the fifties.  She had worked as a social worker, but had burned out three or four years back and now ran a catering business with two of her sisters.  Like Marianne, she felt her knowledge of the ‘system’ could be put to good use.  Unlike Marianne, Carmen was an unembarrassed lesbian; she seemed able to slip that fact into the first conversation she had with anybody.  Marianne had no problem with that; in her weekday job she had to treat anyone no matter what their gender or sexuality, race or religion, the same.  She liked Carmen, it was true and guessed, in turn, that the woman welcomed the fact that a middle-aged white woman did not seem to judge her.  In addition, Marianne had heard nothing about Carmen having a partner and tended to think of her as a lesbian ‘on paper’ more than ‘in the flesh’. 

In style the two women were miles apart.  At the Centre, Marianne wore what she generally wore to work, perhaps a slightly brighter colour of blouse and a knee-length, rather than calf-length, skirt; she would wear a little more jewellery, but it was still court shoes and her hair pinned up professionally.  Carmen always, in Marianne’s mind, looked ‘sassy’.  Her hair was dyed a walnut shade and had a style as if windswept to one side.  Her ears held a number of silver rings and diamond studs; another sat on the side of her nose.  She was Marianne’s height but whereas at times she felt herself insubstantial, only bulked out by the clothes she wore, Carmen had a substance about her.  She filled her clothes like the sleeveless black top that showed off tendrily-floral tattoos and tight jeans she had on now; she generally wore biker boots or lace-up flat boots where Marianne had sleek shoes and a heel.  Marianne guessed that if a woman came in looking for advice, at least on a Saturday afternoon, then she could pick from either end of a spectrum, and with Kalisha being mixed race, that widened the variety even more. 

“Hello, Marianne.” 

She looked up sharply realising she had been lost in her thoughts.  It was Hilda, the oldest of the Saturday team who had apparently been one of the founding members back in the heyday of feminism but kept herself to working on the reception.  In part, Marianne imagined, it was there she could indulge in her greatest pleasure which was simply chatting to people.  Marianne was certain that, sometimes, that was precisely what some of the women who came here, were looking for. 

“I’m sorry, but you know the rules – no-one’s allowed to sleep here.” 

It was one of Hilda’s old jokes, but Marianne smiled just the same.  Beyond she saw that Carmen already had her leather jacket on but was lingering in the corridor.  Kalisha and Sam, the other weekend advisor soon joined her.  It was not the first or third Saturday in the month, the day when they would head off down to the local pub to intimidate the dozy men in there or the wine bar to taste some serious wine, but the way the women were assembling suggested that they were intent on a drink.  Of course, Marianne smiled to herself as her computer finally closed down, it was going to be in celebration of her birthday and she had to admit that Carmen was very good at remembering.

**** 

As Marianne had anticipated, she could do nothing to dissuade her colleagues for taking her for a drink; in fact Joy and Carolyn from the Wednesday evening team were already in place waiting for them.  Marianne guessed that she could pick up a meal at the ‘Pearl Garden’ on the way home as she knew that, with a couple of white wines inside her, she would not feel like cooking. 

“What are you having?”  Hilda asked. 

“Erm …” Marianne hesitated and then wondered if she was more tired than she had realised. 

“She likes a spiced rum.”  Carmen jumped in. 

Marianne was a little embarrassed – when had she told Carmen that fact?  It was a guilty secret of hers. 

“Yes … but, well, I want to pace myself; a white wine will be great, Hilda, not one of those huge glasses either.” 

Hilda smiled and nodded then went to comply.  Marianne had no idea what state she would be in if every one of the women insisted on buying her a drink.  She guessed she could always lose one or two among the glasses gathering on the table; she had done that before.  It was early for evening drinks and as a result Hilda was back soon.  Then Carmen took charge of proceedings. 

“Now, before I start to forget my words, a toast to Marianne, a good … a great friend; a hard-working, caring woman, now about to embark on the best stage of her life.” 

“Marianne.” 

The women around her supped their drinks.  Marianne just smiled warmly.  She knew all the guff about ‘life begins at forty’ but to her it was if she was coming to the finishing line and she would be well down from first place.  She had no husband just a rather sour ‘ex’ despite him having quickly got on with another woman.  She had no children and though she was uncertain she would have wanted them, many marked her down for that ‘failure’.  Her career had not advanced from when she had first gone to work.  She had moved company a couple of times for slightly better pay and a shorter commute, but she had been with her current firm for almost ten years now. 

“Presents, presents.”  Hilda instructed. 

Now Marianne was even more embarrassed but felt this was ungracious.  Aside from what she was getting here, there had just been a CD from her sister and some money from her parents.  Soon she had a strange assortment – a book of poetry, the latest bestselling chick-lit novel, some body scrub; two tickets to the upcoming photography exhibition at the city gallery, a box of mint chocolates and then a silver ring.

“I know you like silver.  You should wear your collection a bit more.”  Carmen said as she presented the final gift. 

Was this something else she had told the black woman, no doubt at one of these drinking sessions?  Until four or was it five or six years ago, she had delighted in having silver rings on all her fingers, bar, of course, her ring finger.  She had left it bare after David’s departure.  She liked Celtic and mystic designs and had even partnered them with necklaces and earrings.  However, mumbles about ‘hippy-dippy’ and ‘New Age not being an element of the law’, especially once Mr. Rees had joined the company, encouraged Marianne to put them away.  She guessed they were all dusty now; in the bottom of a drawer. 

“Here, let me put it on.” 

Carmen leant forward and slipped the ring on to Marianne’s left ring finger.  It was lovely: intertwining bands of silver.  She held it up to show the others and then felt conscious of where it sat.  Marianne tried to pull it off; to transfer it to another finger, but she guessed, flushed by the alcohol, her finger was a little hot and flabby.  It did not matter for now, she would sort it out when she got home.  Given that she never wore rings to the Advice Centre, only the occasional necklace and a pair of ear studs, Marianne guessed Carmen could not complain if she never saw it again. 

The evening passed quickly and Marianne felt glad that, while she could never imagine assembling this group of women as friends, this was in fact what they had become.  Catching sight of the large clock behind the bar, Marianne knew she would have to get on if she was not going to have to take the night bus which would be full of loud, smelly, drunken men and women.  She quietly excused herself against the backdrop of Joy eliciting opinions on some boy band she had never heard of and headed to the toilet; there was nothing worse than getting caught short on a bus.  A small group of men blocked the door that led to the wooden floored corridor going to both sets of conveniences. 

“Excuse me … gentlemen.”  She added trying to make it light. 

“Are you lezzies heading off then?  Some serious drinkers need a seat.”  One of the men scowled. 

Automatically, Marianne glanced back and saw that the pub was busier than she had realised from their corner.  For a moment she felt pushed to make an apology but stopped herself.  Once she would have rolled over in front of implied threats and insults, but now she knew where that could lead. 

“We’re … I’m not.”  Marianne stuttered, about to say that she was not a lesbian anyway, but realised that would undermine Carmen’s standing and probably that of Kalisha who she had a feeling was bisexual, if only sometimes.  “Lesbians have as much right to a seat in here as anyone else, remember that.” 

“Yeah.” 

Marianne heard Carmen’s voice from behind her. 

“So learn some manners.  Now, please can I get through?”

“You don’t look like a lezza.”  One of the men noted of Marianne, “Not like her.” 

“And she’s black.”  Another one added.

Carmen put her hands to her face in mock shock.  “Really, wow, thanks for telling me.  I’ve been going through today thinking I was a white breeder.  Thanks for putting me right.  Now, you must be the trio I was told were as pale as mayo with cocks smaller than their little finger.  Ah, yes, clearly right.”  She grinned broadly. 

Carmen took Marianne’s hand and pushed through the door.  In the corridor beyond she laughed and Marianne found herself chuckling along. 

“I have a feeling that you want to be more than an ally.”  Carmen said.  “You’ve never wondered … you know … what it would be like to go with a woman?” 

“Are you asking me … on a date?” 

Marianne was a little put out by the woman’s expression and wondered what had made her so eager.  She took her hand back and excused anything Carmen said as stemming from the drinks they had all had.  She imagined that come the next morning Carmen would have forgotten all about it or would be as embarrassed as hell. 

“Why not?  You have nothing to lose; you might like it.” 

“Perhaps, maybe ten years ago, but you know … at my age, well, experimentation is kind of in the past.” 

Marianne found it an easy line to sell herself.  She had not had a sexual encounter since David had left and it had been running dry even before then.  Contemplating such a relationship at forty, felt to Marianne, too much like imagining her parents having sex, something guaranteed to make her shudder. 

“Surely you don’t want someone like me; you want someone who’s hot, exciting, you know that kind of thing?” 

“But she wouldn’t have your heart.”  Carmen said gently, her eyes now fixed on Marianne’s. 

Marianne gazed away up the corridor, feeling terribly hot.  “You flatter me too much; I’m nothing special.  I couldn’t match up to what you need, Carmen, let’s be realistic.  You need an equal.” 

Marianne felt a little proud at herself for turning her rejection away from simply going, ‘oh my God, but don’t you know I’m not a lesbian?’, to something which showed Carmen there were numerous better options out there and, indeed, that she should not sell herself short.  Marianne walked away and headed into the toilet.  She heard a couple of other women come in after her but could not tell if either was Carmen.  Soon she was splashing water on her face and returning to the barroom.  Carmen was back there with the others as if nothing untoward had happened. 

Marianne picked up her jacket and Hilda handed over the fancy carrier bag containing all her presents.  All the women insisted on kissing her cheek.  She was self-conscious as Carmen delivered the last, but felt a tingle given how smooth her lips were and from whatever scent she was wearing.  As she made her way to the exit, Marianne was glad the heat of the pub concealed how embarrassed she was. 

For a moment Marianne felt she was being hard on Carmen, but as she stepped into the cool evening air, she realised it was best to be upfront and not allow any misapprehensions to develop.  She was not confident about sleeping with a man again, let alone considering a reorientation in her sexuality.  Quickly she hurried to the Chinese takeaway, determined to get back to her flat as soon as she could.

**** 

Carmen’s gaze followed Marianne as she hurried past the pub windows and out of sight. 

“Damn!  I wish that woman was my lover.”  Carmen said with a wry smile as she quoted a line from an old song she had heard. 

“What would she think about that?”  Kalisha asked. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, let’s say that someone granted you a wish or three wishes and then you wished Marianne was your lover and it came true, well, does she get a say in that change?” 

Carmen laughed.  “I guess I’d never thought of it like that.  I guess I’d want her to be happy.” 

“So you’d better wish instead that the woman wanted to be your lover.” 

Carmen knew she was never going to get any wishes, but Kalisha had a point, it was never that complicated in fairy stories.  She guessed that was because the men imagined a woman would simply love to be their princess without checking with her first. 

“So what is it that’s so good about a white woman?” 

“Of course, a nice fit, black woman would be good, but never say I am prejudiced.”  Carmen protested. 

“So it’s something about Marianne’s personality that you like in particular; that you go for, no matter her colour.” 

“Now you put it that way, I would say ‘yes’.” 

“Well, have you asked her out?” 

“Yes, and she’s not into women; she used to be married … to a man.” 

“How many lesbians have been with men before they discover their truth?” 

“You’re right; but I don’t think she even looks at me in the way I look at her.” 

“So that’s why you are falling back on wishes?” 

“Yes, maybe them or maybe some force of nature – if my … desires are strong enough then I just trust they will change things.” 

“Bend reality?  Now that is pretty powerful.”  Kalisha chuckled. 

“It’d only have to happen once.  I don’t sleep around; I’m at an age when I’m looking for a wife.” 

“But knowing you – one who’s hot.” 

Carmen smiled.  “You know it.” 

“But one who’s going to be … well, a companion; your rock, that kind of thing, the way you think Marianne would be.” 

“I know she would be; I’ve known her quite a long time, you know; we’ve dealt with a lot of crap in that time.” 

“Well, you can stick to your wishing and reality bending, but if I was you, I’d get online or to some club and start seeking out your woman otherwise, I worry your desires,” Kalisha drew out that word, “are going to be causing some eruptions round here.” 

The two women dissolved into laughter.

**** 

This Saturday Marianne made sure to pack up early and have her coat on long before Hilda came to turn her out.  Yet, Kalisha still came over to smiling. 

“Coming for a drink?”  The young woman asked. 

Behind her, in her office, Carmen appeared to be waiting to hear Marianne’s response and that hardened her to follow the strategy she had planned to adopt.  To Marianne it had come to seem best to cool relations between herself and Carmen without being rude.  Perhaps, in time, Carmen would find someone suitable.  Marianne felt sure from what she knew of the woman, that Carmen would be utterly loyal to her partner. 

“No, I’m sorry; I’ve not been sleeping well.”  That was not exactly a lie.  “Maybe next time.” 

“Oh, okay.”  Kalisha sounded disappointed herself. 

Marianne realised that she may have overlooked what this group might mean to the young woman; that she might not perceive them as fogies in the way Marianne anticipated.  Then she wondered if it had been Kalisha who had prompted Carmen to ask her out.  Maybe not having heard of Marianne’s travails with David, Kalisha thought she might be in the lesbian ‘market’.  Marianne had to suppress a smile at thinking such a thing existed. 

Soon Marianne had locked her door and was gone from her office.  She hovered at the reception to see Hilda before she left then Centre entirely.  Then a flash of red caught her eye.  She looked through the fire door back to where the offices were.  There was a woman in a fashionable tight-fitting biker style jacket in dark red leather over a mottled dark plum teeshirt.  Beneath she wore skin-tight smooth leather trousers, perhaps even leggings given they had no pockets, of the same shade.  Her outfit, from where Marianne could see, was finished off with red, laced, DM boots. 

The woman was black, a caramel shade; her hair had a buzzcut and then had been dyed a dark wheat tone.  She was the same height as Marianne, though her hips were fuller, her breasts too.  The stranger walked with an air of confidence that Marianne could only admire.  As the woman disappeared into Carmen’s office, Marianne wondered if her prayers had been answered and having been spurned by Marianne, Carmen had made a greater effort to find someone suitable.  If asked to guess, then Marianne knew she would have plumped for the woman in red leather also being a lesbian. 

Heartened a little by what she had seen, Marianne headed on home and had a pleasant evening thinking that, perhaps, she had perceived a greater problem than had actually been the case.  She put it down to it being so long since anyone of either gender had asked her out.  Perhaps, she reflected, she needed to be prepared for such things.  While Marianne felt that she was passed the age for dating, let alone casual encounters, she knew from what she read that others her age, and older, clung to their youth and saw such activities as marking that out.

**** 

Marianne walked into the bookshop.  In recent years she had always bought books online, but the previous evening, pleased with how things with Carmen had been resolved, she thought it was time to do something different.  The shop had a café and going there she imagined herself reading the latest bestseller over a coffee and then some handsome man wanting to sit across from her.  She also recalled that it would soon be Carmen’s birthday and a hand-picked, written-in book seemed to be an ideal present.  Yet, as she sat drinking her coffee and munching on those delicious Italian wafer biscuits, she wondered what she should get.  Authors were not something they had discussed.  She did guess that Carmen would not be into chick lit.  However, she did not want anything too sombre.  Caribbean writers and lesbian authors, Marianne was sure, would seem a little patronising. 

From where she sat in the café area, Marianne gazed back into shelving, running her eyes along the categories shown at the top of each block; hoping for inspiration.  Then the movement of a head focused her attention.  She realised quickly that it was the woman she had seen the day before at the Advice Centre.  Today she was in a ribbed black top and striking purple high-waisted leggings with a spiralling pattern running across them.  Her leather jacket, a kind of aviator style today, and her ankle boots, were of a butterscotch shade, setting off the colour of her buzzcut.  This was clearly a woman who felt no need to apologise that she was anywhere and doing what she wanted. 

Marianne considered that, maybe, if she was a friend, or even a lover of Carmen, she too was looking for a suitable book as a gift.  Marianne decided that it was a good idea to get to know this woman; if nothing else it would stop her speculating about who she was and what she meant to her colleague; her friend, Carmen.  Marianne got up and headed in her direction.  The woman had now tipped her cropped head sideways and was reading along the spines of books.  As Marianne came closer she realised that she was in the lesbian fiction section; perhaps, she reflected, that should have been no surprise. 

Marianne caught sight of the numerous silver rings on the black woman’s fingers.  She was disconcerted to see that the one on the left ring finger matched the ring still stuck on hers since Carmen had put it there.  Embarrassed, confidence fled from Marianne and rather than greet the woman, she detoured down the gay men’s fiction aisle which was fortunately empty.  She tugged at the ring as she had done at various times over the past week to no avail.  Then, she realised, she could use it to an advantage.  Presumably seeing it, the black woman would believe she was married and would not think she was coming on to her. 

With a little more confidence now, Marianne arced around the end of the aisle and back into where the lesbian fiction was held.  Unfortunately, she saw immediately, the woman had moved on.  Now as she moved passed the shelves Marianne felt foolish; as if she was stalking a woman she had only ever seen a couple of times at a distance.  She slowed and idly eyeing the shelves wondered what to do; something, she hoped, that would not seem like she was a muddle-headed girl rather than a mature woman. 

“Hi, Marianne.” 

Marianne looked up sharply at the sound of the voice.  It was Carmen, today dressed in a sleeveless black top with a sheen under a black denim jacket.  She had on jodhpur style jeans in indigo with pearl grey panels, disconcertingly leading the eye to between her thighs.  She was buckled into had thick-soled black shoes. 

“Erm, Carmen - hello.” 

Marianne responded weakly; feeling that being ‘caught’ among the lesbian fiction was going to set back her ‘cooling’ campaign.  She hoped that she was not blushing and prayed that the woman who had drawn her in the first place would turn up to inadvertently rescue her. 

“Yes … I know it’s your birthday soon … and I thought, well, a book.”  Marianne laughed nervously.  “In a bookshop.” 

For a moment she was about to say that ‘well, I thought these were your kind of books’, but knew how patronising it would sound.  “Is there anyone you particularly like?”  Marianne asked instead. 

“Audre Lorde, Helen Elaine, Alexis De Veaux, Penny Mickelbury …” Carmen looked to the ceiling and reeled off the authors.

“Sounds like a great selection.” 

Marianne struggled to remember the names and was sure she had heard of one or two of them when a student.  She had been quite the feminist back then, but, well, things had drifted when the demands and the compromises of work had intruded. 

“Surprise me, Emmi …” 

“Emmi?” 

Carmen smiled and put a hand out to cup Marianne’s arm. “Kalisha called you that; didn’t you hear?  It’s from our names on the wall at the Centre – M.E. Taylor.  She wondered if you called yourself M.E. – Emmi; some women do.”

“Oh right, I see.”  Marianne smiled trying to see the joke. 

“Do you fancy a coffee?” 

The question started up alarm bells for Marianne.  This sounded too much like the question a man expecting sex would ask at the end of an evening.  For a moment Marianne took it to mean that the woman she had seen in this aisle meant nothing much to Carmen beyond being a friend.  Then at the other extreme she imagined that maybe Carmen intended to formally introduce the two.  However, Marianne could not suppress her natural reaction which was to flee.  She worried that all that she had done today had undermined any polite distance she had built up between her and Carmen. 

“I’d not want to intrude.”  Marianne said.  “Anyway, I can’t let you see what I’ve got you, it’ll ruin the surprise.”

“Oh, okay.”  Carmen seemed a little put out but offered no alternative. 

“See you next Saturday.”  Marianne smiled as she turned away and walked briskly 

She hoped that she had not sounded rude.  There was some consolation from the fact that whether the woman in butterscotch leather was a friend or more, Marianne felt that, she would not be seen to be abandoning Carmen; at least not leaving her on her own.

**** 

Arriving at the Advice Centre early, Marianne hoped that she would finally get to meet this new black woman.  She felt foolish now for not simply walking up to her in the bookshop or going for a coffee with Carmen to find out about her.  Partly, Marianne had realised, she felt guilty that she had become intrigued by the woman.  She wondered if it stemmed from her hope that the newcomer would draw Carmen’s interest away from herself.  She imagined, though, that there was also basic human curiosity about such a striking woman.  Perhaps there was even jealousy that, though the same age as Marianne, the woman was clearly confident and sexy; she had the ‘sassiness’ Marianne had admired in Carmen.  Marianne guessed she had no idea what she would do with that attribute even if she could acquire it, but she was certain it did no harm to the woman’s sex life. 

Coming into the Centre reception, Marianne had a quick greeting for Hilda and then saw the tell-tale head of the woman she was seeking.  In fact she appeared to be emerging from Marianne’s own office.  Then she headed across into Carmen’s.  She was dressed in an olive buttoned shirt, but sleeveless to show the arty tattoos running up her arm.  Her trousers were of a darker shade and leather but this time more jean-like and less tight.  The way she moved with the piece of paper grasped in both hands however, seemed to replicate Marianne’s gait or at least how she would have walked if she had been in dark green DMs rather than her smart navy blue court shoes. 

Though Marianne conceded that there might be some traits in common between the two of them - the fact she was working here was one other – this woman was after all, black, with buzzcut and in leathers.  Even dressed like her, Marianne doubted that she would look the same.  However, as she thought that, the curiosity, perhaps even a thrill, considering what it would be like to wear such clothes, flashed into Marianne’s mind. 

“Marianne, are you alright?”  Hilda asked. 

Marianne realised that she had stopped with fingers grasping the door handle but had not moved on.  “Just thought I’d forgotten something.”  Marianne said vaguely and pulled the door open. 

By the time she reached her office, Marianne found its door closed but not locked.  She glanced across the corridor to where Carmen was already advising a young woman with a child in a pushchair.  There appeared to be no trace of the other black woman.  For a moment, Marianne wondered that she had imagined it all.  However, there was little time to fret as soon the first clients, a couple of elderly women, were coming through to her.

**** 

Marianne was in two minds whether to go for what appeared to have become the usual drink with the team, the fortnightly rule apparently forgotten, or whether, once more, to cry off.  Again this week she was in reception promptly at the end of her stint.  Hilda was there packing up herself and Marianne thought it might be a useful opportunity to pin down who the black woman was.  Marianne had not seen her since the first moments this morning.  If Hilda knew who she was, then Marianne knew, it would go some way to reassuring her about some things; would make up her mind about whether to visit the pub tonight. 

“Hilda, can I ask about … about that woman using my office – sorry, I know lots of people use it – the office I am usually in, this morning.  Do you know her?” 

“Of course.  You’ve not met her?  Emmi – she’s Carmen’s wife.  I think they go well together.”  She said matter-of-factly.

“So she’s in on Saturday mornings?” 

“Yes, that’s right.  I thought she said she’d be in all day, but then …” Hilda looked confused.  “I guess I got that wrong.” 

“Has she been working here long?”

“Oh yes, four years, from the same time as when you started here.”  Hilda trailed off.  “She and Carmen … well, they met here.  I guess they got married … a year or two ago.” 

“Thanks, I’ll make sure I talk with her.” 

Marianne was uncertain about this information.  She guessed it was possible that this ‘Emmi’ had been working at the Centre; she knew very few of those who worked here during the week.  Probably Hilda had forgotten that this woman had previously only come in on a Tuesday or whatever.  At least Marianne knew her name but finding out that she had been Carmen’s wife for some time, was embarrassing.  Had Carmen just been seeking ‘a bit on the side’ when she had suggested that she and Marianne should have a relationship?  Was that why Emmi now came in on Saturdays, to keep an eye on her ‘wandering’ wife?  Those thoughts, however, appeared alien to Marianne; they did not sound typical of Carmen.  Yet, why had Carmen never mentioned this woman?  She was open about so much else.  On the other hand, she had never appeared to Marianne as a disloyal person; someone who would cheat. 

Trying to reconcile these different aspects, Marianne decided that she must have misunderstood what had been said to her at the pub.  Quickly she was reinterpreting it as Carmen simply trying to be helpful; suggesting that she try out lesbianism, but not meaning with her.  Marianne tried to recapture what had been said, but given they had both been drinking at the time, she guessed one or other of them might have got it wrong.  Marianne now felt embarrassed at how much fuss she had made about something which she had clearly misinterpreted.  For a moment Marianne felt she should go for a drink with the others as some kind of compensation but then, feeling foolish all round, abandoned that thought. 

“Are you coming for a drink?” 

Marianne almost yelped as she heard Carmen’s voice behind her.  She muttered an apology. 

“Erm … yes, no, I don’t know.”

“Come on; come along, you know it’s always better when you’re there; everything’s better when you’re there.”  The last bit was trailed off. 

“What about Emmi?”  Marianne asked defensively. 

Carmen looked uncertain about that statement. 

“Emmi – your wife?” 

“In my dreams.”  Carmen gave a nervous smile.  “If that’s what … what you wanted.” 

“I feel … well, would feel uncomfortable with a woman who … well, who would be unfaithful to her … her partner.” 

“I understand; me and you agree on that, it’s for sure.” 

Marianne now felt bewildered.  On one hand Carmen appeared to be saying she was loyal to her wife but also was hinting that she still though her and Marianne could make a go of things.  Quickly Marianne realised that Hilda may have made a mistake; thinking back she had seemed confused about it all.  Maybe this Emmi was actually someone else’s wife. 

“Come along, you two.”  Kalisha now steamed in.  “Deciding on a drink does not need a meeting.” 

Marianne let herself be carried along by the young woman and Sam as her supporter.  In the pub, however, she sat away from Carmen.  It was clear that the woman was interested in her and maybe thought that, in time, Marianne would come round, at least to experimenting, if not something more serious.  Marianne told herself it was unfair to expect a woman to go against her nature; no-one could control who they fell in love with; let alone in lust with.  She was uncertain about what role this Emmi played, but she had known Carmen long enough to know she would not be lying.  Pretending not to have a wife, especially one as apparently hot to the lesbian community as the one she had seen, would be one huge lie.  Marianne guessed that she had to trust to what felt right to her, but then again, she acknowledged that her skills in the dating game were terribly rusty.  Furthermore she had had no idea about how it worked for lesbians, even back in her prime. 

“I don’t want to make it a late one.”  Marianne apologised. 

“No worries.”  Sam responded and stood to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek; Kalisha followed suit.

Carmen took her hand as she manoeuvred around the table.  Her skin was smooth and warm and Marianne knew she liked its touch. 

“Thanks for coming out tonight.  I look forward to seeing more of ‘Emmi’ in the future.”  Carmen smiled as if it was a poor joke. 

“Yes, that would be really good.  I look forward to seeing her too.  Make sure that she comes along.” 

“If that’s what you want, I will, but she’s got to put in some of the effort too.” 

“Yes, I understand that.  She’s got a good role model in you, you know, Carmen; you’re very loyal, I know you won’t let her down.” 

“Yes, that’s for certain; I hope she knows that.” 

“You can’t keep telling her enough.”

“Okay, message received.” 

Carmen was now standing, her hand resting once again on Marianne’s then she reached forward to kiss Marianne’s cheek.  Marianne did like the feel of Carmen’s lips, they sent a quick thrill through her.  The scent of the black woman mixed with the aroma of leather jacket was heady, so it was a little unsteady; a little unnerved, that Marianne stepped away.  As she left the pub, however, she felt glad that she had got stuff out in the open. 

As she walked from the pub, Marianne glanced back through the window and saw that, now, in fact, Emmi had joined the group of women; she was in the olive leathers from earlier in the day.  She must have come in through one of the other doors as Marianne had cautiously picked her way through the male, and indeed female customers, who seemed to be oblivious to her trying to get through.  She watched as Carmen and Emmi closed for a kiss, hoping that her statements were strengthening their relationship after what seemed like a bit of a wobble.  Then, however, Marianne felt uncomfortable once more recognising that she was now being just a voyeur.  With that concern, Marianne hurried on to find her bus.  

**** 

On the ride home, Marianne had replayed the latest conversation with Carmen in her head.  Once again, she wondered if it was her misunderstanding about what was going on or Carmen’s.  Marianne tried to come to the conclusion that it was probably a bit of both.  The only solution seemed to be to have a good heart-to-heart chat with the woman.  It would probably help if they did that somewhere quiet without the distractions of others, not least their friends from the Centre.  Feeling out of sorts as a result of her confusion over Carmen, Marianne drew a bath and filled it with bubbles.  Once in she lounged for a while then moved slowly onto washing her hair. 

As was usual, to wash off the shampoo, Marianne dipped her head beneath the bathwater.  She came up and moved to wipe her hair from her face, but for the moment it seemed none had fallen forward this time.  As she opened her eyes, her body, shiny with the bubble bath, stretched out in front of her.  For a moment Marianne noted the sheen, but then realised that her skin was a different colour: a rich brown shade.  She kept looking to make sure, noticing other differences, her taut but rounded hips, her mound smooth of pubic hair, her labia a chocolate shade.  It seemed incredible.  She looked to her breasts, two smooth-skinned caramel orbs, tipped with prominent dark berry shade nipples, haloed by large areolas. 

Marianne jerked back against the end of the bath, closing her eyes tight and shaking her head.  She worried that she was hallucinating again, this time far more intimately.  She was not just seeing a phantom woman in the distance, but seeing her – well, no, seeing herself as she imagined the woman would look, when naked in the bath.  Tentatively Marianne opened her eyes; aware of how fast her heart was beating.  This time she was glad to see her pale white skin and the rather angular frame of her body; her small nipples with barely visible areolas around them. 

All kinds of thoughts ran through Marianne’s mind as she pulled herself from the bath and wrapped herself in towels.  She noticed now that her wet shoulder-length hair had strands stuck to her cheeks.  Worries came into Marianne about her health.  Yet, Doctor Hewlett had reassured her at her recent check-up that she was healthy in all aspects.  She wondered then if it was psychological rather than physical.  However, she would not accept the idea popping up that being celibate since David left, might be having an impact.  After all, there were people like nuns who never had sex and they seemed alright. 

Maybe balancing her job and the Advice Centre, Marianne conceded, was taking its toll.  She could not give up her work and the volunteering, she felt too, was important.  She guessed that in her time off she just had to make sure she slept well and kept up exercise.  Marianne had often thought of joining a gym, but had been very self-conscious of her body alongside the tanned and buff women she guessed would be there.  Furthermore, given the ‘incident’ with Carmen in the pub, she worried that, perhaps, at the age she had reached she might be hit on by more lesbians thinking her at least curious about going with them.  Sure that, for the moment, tiredness was at the root of her problems, Marianne did not delay in heading to bed. 

****

Marianne became aware of breath on her face.  It was not something she had felt since David had gone and this breath smelt a lot sweeter than his.  Marianne was not certain if she was dreaming.  It would not be the first time that she had dreamt that she had woken up and yet in fact had dreamt on.  If that was the case, she felt that her mind was doing a good job of fooling her; making it seem as this was real.  Experimentally Marianne reached out her fingers towards the centre of the bed and they brushed against skin.  She guessed that was consistent with breathing and in her mind smiled to think it would be scarier to have breathing and no person behind it. 

Now Marianne wondered who her dreams had decided would be lying beside her.  She realised then that she was naked herself, something that had been rare even in the early days with David.  She put it down to her British sense of needing a decent nightdress in case she had to get up to deal with some crisis in the night.  Her other hand confirmed that she had nothing on.  For a moment she imagined that this was another of these situations in which her body was saying she needed more sex; some sex.  She now ran her fingers along the unknown partner’s side.  The skin was warm and smooth and that made her tingle.  However, as her hand came down off what she imagined was the top of this man’s arm, her fingers came onto the yielding flesh of a breast and then quickly down to a nipple. 

“Mmm.”  Came from the other; Marianne could only imagine now that it was a woman; a naked woman lying in her bed. 

Madly Marianne considered how Carmen might have got into her flat and come to lie with her in an attempt to suggest that they would be good together.  Surprisingly, she felt no threat from that thought; she guessed because if that was the case the woman had made herself utterly vulnerable by being here naked.  Marianne felt that this was not a nightmare and in fact it might simply be her mind checking up on how genuine she was to her liberal values.  Marianne disliked hypocrites and, in turn, that led her to forgive Carmen; admire her even, for always saying what she genuinely felt. 

Then warm fingers were gently stroking Marianne’s labia, going up and down in a delightful way.  There were times when she had masturbated but they had become increasingly rare as the years had passed.  This, though, felt different again.  She wondered if it was because she did not know where the fingers would go next.  Then the crook of a thumb nuzzled against the opening to her clitoris and she gasped.  Marianne tried to keep her cool; part of her insisting that she stay in this dream just to get the mounting pleasure that it seemed determined to give her.  Then, however, Marianne realised that her mound was smooth and then guessed that she was seeing herself as she had in the bath.  For a moment Marianne’s body encouraged her to simply continue; let go to the delightfully probing fingers of the woman beside her.  Then, however, Marianne insisted that this dream was impossible; she was embarrassed that she was seeing two women; two lesbians making love to each other.  They were entitled to do whatever they liked, but now she felt as if she was simply an unwilling voyeur.  Tossing back the duvet, Marianne sprang from the bed. 

Stopping as she reached the window; what had looked like blinds for a moment, resolved themselves into the old fashioned curtains she had kept.  Rather nervously Marianne looked back to the bed, though still not certain if she was awake or dreaming.  Steadily, however, she felt certain she had now broken from her sleep.  What she had felt to be a duvet some moments before could be seen in the weak light penetrating from outside, as her sheets and blanket.  Certainly there was no-one in the bed and definitely not a naked woman.  For a moment Marianne felt a strange twinge of loss.  Her body, it seemed, regretted that she could not have continued being toyed with, naked and with a woman who had felt good to touch, doing it. 

Marianne went to the kitchen and fixed a hot drink to help calm her.  She told herself that she was being foolish.  It had been nothing worse than a nightmare; better in fact.  She rationalised it by thinking that if she had been concerned in the day time about this mysterious black woman, then her dreaming brain was going to latch on to it.  Perhaps it saw the best defence against Carmen’s sexual interest in her; the solution doing least harm and perhaps even a benefit to her friend, was to find her a sexy woman to partner with.  She then realised that she just hoped that this Emmi would be the one.

**** 

Marianne awoke to find her bed in disarray.  Her nipples and her sex felt sensitive.  As she brushed away her hair from her face, she caught a scent from her fingers and was put out as she realised it was the scent of sexual juices.  Yet, there was something about them that was different to what she knew from the past.  Perhaps her body was telling her, as she had considered the day before, that too little sex, even if self-administered, was featuring in her life.  She could easily imagine how the imaginations, the fantasies that had filled her tired mind, had been stimulated by that.  Marianne was irritated.  She had thought she had ‘got over’ all the fuss of sex.  Yet, she supposed with all of the uncertainty with Carmen, something in her mind was suggesting that while sex with a man might be done with, sex with a woman might offer what she needed. 

As she headed to the bathroom and ran a shower, Marianne felt a little indignant.  She was certain that she was straight.  Carmen was a lovely woman, but, except, perhaps when she reached the outer limits of her fantasies, she could not envisage having sex with her.  Then again, could she imagine doing it with any white women she knew?  Surely that was the decider – if she fantasised over actresses, then she might believe that she was even a little bit lesbian.  Saying that, though, Marianne knew that only a small fraction of the men she met would she ever consider being with.  Maybe her lesbian side had not emerged because she had simply not met the ‘right woman’.  As Marianne tried to conjure up what such a woman would look like, she found it difficult to envisage anyone except Carmen in all her forms.  She abandoned the effort, imagining that, given Carmen was the only lesbian in her vicinity at present, it was natural that she was the ‘go-to’ for Marianne envisaging any female sexual partner for herself. 

Marianne dressed plainly but in a way which she hoped might be more ‘with it’ than usual, perhaps signalling a woman comfortable with what sexuality might offer.  She put on the loose midnight blue teeshirt and a pair of boyfriend style jeans she did not wear at all often.  She headed to the kitchen, increasingly determined that she would call up Carmen and suggest that they have a chat.  Back at the bookshop might be an idea; it seemed to be a place they both liked.  Once in the kitchen, Marianne felt that something was wrong; it was as if everything had been repositioned and the fridge seemed larger.  It proved, however, to be lacking milk though Marianne was sure she had brought home some on Friday. 

Then there was the sound of a key turning in the front door of the flat.  That unnerved Marianne.  She found herself hurrying to it, only to see Carmen walking into the living room with a large bottle of milk.  Had she given Carmen a key?  Had she really slept with Carmen the night before?  It seemed impossible; that had been a nightmare; a dream. 

“Erm, er.”  Carmen stumbled.  “Marianne, what are you … you doing here?” 

Marianne laughed nervously.  “What do you mean?  I live here.  This is my flat.  Did you take a wrong turn?”

“Is this a joke?  This is my … Hang on.  That’s not mine.” 

Marianne looked at the large television in the corner; next to it was a beautiful, though unfamiliar replica of a sculpture of Benin woman’s face.  She did recognise the abstract painting on the wall behind which she realised Carmen was pointing to. 

“What is happening?”  Marianne demanded. 

“I don’t know.  It can’t be me going mad if you’re seeing it too.  Hang on, that sofa has changed.” 

A large curved black leather one was in the centre of the room.  Marianne was sure that there had been carpet here before and now there were just stripped, polished floorboards and dark rugs.  Was the living room larger than hers had been?  The view outside the window looked different. 

“You don’t live in the city centre do you?”  Marianne asked. 

“No.” 

“I had a ground floor flat with a garden.  Isn’t this the Curtis development?”  Marianne continued. 

“I couldn’t afford somewhere there but …” 

“This is going to sound mad – but it’s as if we’ve always been … a couple.  Some of your stuff, I imagine the sculpture’s yours; the painting is mine and new stuff.” 

“That’s impossible.  Okay I admit – I hold my hands up - I have thought sometimes it would be nice, good, to be with you but … well, I was coming to believe you thought very differently.” 

“Yes.”  Marianne responded slowly. 

Could one woman’s desires really be so strong that they would shape someone else to fit to her dreams?  Marianne pondered that but it sounded crazy. 

“I did wish you were my lover.  I said it to Kalisha.” 

“I am touched …” Marianne was about to say that Carmen was not her type, but knew she had not really given it that much thought.  “But wishes don’t come true in reality.”  She pointed out as if it was necessary to recognise. 

“Something is going on, you can’t deny that.” 

“No, I can’t.”  Marianne conceded.  “The thing is – where does this end?” 

Carmen laughed nervously and shrugged.  Marianne recalled how she liked that gesture from the woman. 

“Is this about Emmi?”  Marianne felt that it had something to do with that woman; at times she had seemed similarly impossible. 

“Yes, you confused me with that.”  Carmen confessed.  “I thought you were flirting with me; making out Emmi as your alter-ego, the one who was pretty bi-curious.  I knew Kalisha called you that and guessed you had used it for some specific reason.” 

Marianne shook her head.  “No – I’ve actually seen ‘Emmi’: at the Centre, in the bookshop, in the pub.” 

“Okay.  Who; what is she?” 

“Well, she’s my height; my build, roughly, more curvy though, and she’s black.  She likes wearing leather and … well, more stuff, nose stud, tattoos that kind of thing.  I think she’s a lesbian.  Hilda said she was your wife.” 

“So Hilda’s in on this too?” 

“I think somehow … I don’t know how – you wishing I was … your lover, your wife, somehow has torn a hole in … in stuff and now the world, the universe is trying to set it right.  So is ‘Emmi’ a substitute for me?  If that was the case, then why am I still getting swept up in all this?” 

Carmen looked embarrassed.  “Well, there is a lot … a great deal of you that I … admire, well, to be honest – love.  However, I accept I was probably fantasising about them being in a different ‘package’.  I guess I had to have you the most out-and-out black lesbian around.” 

“Okay, okay, I accept that your … what?  Your lusts, your dreams, all that.  I have no problem with them, but why me; why couldn’t I just stick with how I saw myself; wanted to be?” 

Carmen shrugged, but then looked up more confidently.  “I think that is what happened.  This is about you as well.  Think about what would give you the greatest thrill: just to try; to see what it feels like.  Did you not envy me, even just a little?  For you sex seems to be something in the past, but I am your age and for me it is right there – front and centre.  You see me loving my sexuality; you expect me to be getting some sex, maybe a lot.  I can imagine that somewhere deep in you, there is a part of you that … just wondered; just felt a bit of a buzz.  You’re liberal enough that you would not shut that down with prejudice.” 

“I accept that, Carmen.  Everyone has forbidden, no, perhaps just – hidden - desires, but how does that come out as what?  A hallucination; a shared one?  A kind of phantom?” 

Carmen shrugged again.  “I think because you had buried such things so deep inside you – it’s like diamonds: time and pressure make them harder.” 

“So I just let it wash over me?  I let it win?”  Marianne asked feeling a little powerless.  “I go round thinking I’m this woman this …” 

“Emmi.” 

To Marianne it now seemed a silly name, made up of her initials: ‘M’ and ‘E’.  “No, I can’t accept that.  I am supposed to be me; I am supposed to be like this.” 

“Are you saying that you are more ‘legitimate’ as a white heterosexual, asexual woman?” 

“No, of course not.”  Marianne conceded. 

“Then she will win.” 

“Why?”

“You’ve already said it: she’s come from what I lust after and, at least in part, she’s come out of what you have dreamt of being - trying - at least.” 

“I guess I have to stop it.  Maybe it hasn’t gone beyond where you can see.  You stay here.” 

“Okay.”  Carmen put down the milk and sat on one of the deep black leather armchairs. 

Marianne headed to the bedroom.  However, it was almost as if a wave of something was flowing through the flat.  She hurried to what had been her bedroom to find that there was a large double bed with a brilliant white duvet and a black iron frame.  There were photos of two black women; Carmen and the one she recognised as Emmi, clearly looking pretty much like Marianne but as if she had been shot through a black woman’s ‘filter’. 

Sliding open the mirrored wardrobe, Marianne was pleased to see some clothes she recognised.  However, as with the furnishings, the closer she looked, Marianne realised that she had been mistaken.  There were the clothes she had seen Emmi wearing – the leather jackets and trousers; teeshirts and tight-fitting tops.  Even the shoes and boots she recognised as her own, were quickly replaced by the boots that she knew Emmi had and others of that style. 

Now Marianne felt she was being backed into a corner; everything around her changing to fit Carmen’s fantasy.  Yet something kept nagging at her to go forward, to embrace what was happening.  There were hints of excitement about becoming a sexy lesbian; one with a partner clearly eager to please.  Marianne found herself reaching out for the red leather trousers, running her fingers over their smoothness, hardly able to imagine what it would be like to be dressed in these; in the other tight and stylish clothes that she knew would show her body, well Emmi’s, to the best.  It felt that it slammed home into Marianne’s mind that ‘sexy is, as sexy does’.  

Part of Marianne just wanted to dress this way to see how she would feel; what she might want to do; what she would enjoy doing.  She tried to drive out the thought, then the memory that appeared of a woman’s tongue; Carmen’s tongue, lapping at her shaven sex.  Many other memories followed including a recent one of being in the bookshop in high-waisted leggings, the leather jacket and boots now in this wardrobe; looking at lesbian fiction.  Then there was her wedding, not the one to David but the one to Marianne, pictured in the cluster of photos on the wall; the pair of them in tuxedos and patent black brogues. 

Marianne tried to fight against the invasion of memories that felt to be from a different woman and yet, increasingly, appeared to be her own.  She tried to regard them from her, Marianne’s perspective, but quickly understood she was now seeing many things from a different viewpoint.  She recalled herself in the pub kissing Carmen; her in the bookshop getting something for her birthday, them having a coffee together; then their sex session in this very bed just the night before.  Marianne battled to put herself into the memories, but increasingly she struggled to pick her way through those of Emmi that were rapidly taking predominance. 

Glancing into the wardrobe once more Marianne now saw body stockings and vinyl playsuits.  For a moment she did not believe that lesbians would wear such things but then found the memory of wearing the lacy body stocking beneath her work clothes.  She found she knew that she – Emmi – made a feedback loop for Carmen’s sexuality, each of them leading the other to do more daring things.  Memories of incidents: sex in the open, sex in public quickly came into Marianne’s mind and excited her more and more. 

Marianne found her mind spinning, yet she tried to keep thinking that she was going to find herself waking up in her own bed.  She tried to think how she could stop this; reverse it.  All the options appeared to be taking Marianne the other way; seducing her with the offer of a sexy life as a married lesbian.  Then she realised it was more than that, something – perhaps whatever Carmen had unleashed, however impossible it seemed – was wanting her not simply to become Marianne as Carmen’s partner, but Marianne as Emmi.  As she tried to recall her family; her childhood, Marianne found now, perhaps because she had been fretting about recent memories, that her back history was of a black woman growing up in North London.  She had been doing much the same as Marianne had done, but maturing into Emmi instead.  Then she remembered how she had appeared in the bath – the shiny caramel women with those wonderful hips and breasts; her mound shaved ready for her hot lover’s tongue.  Yet, Marianne found she still could not believe it was more than a hallucination.

The doorbell rang and for a moment Marianne froze.  “You go … please.”  Marianne called weakly. 

She was not certain even whose flat this was, though Marianne had to confess she was liking the décor and felt comfortable; safe here.  She heard Carmen talking with the delivery man.  With all these sub-contracted companies these days, Sunday deliveries had become common. 

“Emmi.”  Carmen called. 

Marianne could only imagine that the parcel delivered was for her and she wondered whether it would help at all for her to collect it.  Then Marianne realised she was being terribly self-centred.  If she was going through all of this confusion about who and what she was, then Carmen could be feeling some of the same stuff.  The maddest thing was that the flat had changed and surely Carmen would be put out by that too.  Furthermore, Marianne recognised how good her friend had been in dealing with the situation.  While Marianne had been panicking in here, presumably Carmen had been sitting in the living room the way Marianne had asked, not hassling her with questions.  Carmen was a good woman, Marianne knew that; perhaps she had not appreciated how good she really was.  Marianne now felt guilty that she had been hard on someone who had only tried to help. 

“Emmi, are you alright?” 

In response, Marianne went to the bedroom door and opened it.  Beyond, Carmen was holding a package but looked nervous. 

“Carmy …” Marianne found herself saying.  “Sorry, I’m being a bit hard.  Come …” It seemed daft to be inviting Carmen into the bedroom which on the surface of it was hers as well. 

Carmen smiled.  “I like it when you’re hard; it makes me all soft.”  She tittered and then looked surprised by her own words. 

Marianne had a further flash of memories of having sex with Carmen and could not deny they felt good. 

Carmen sat down on the bed and Marianne sat beside her.  The black woman handed over the package.  Marianne appreciated the woman who she guessed, before all of this, she had considered only partially as a friend but felt that, perhaps, now they would be more.  Marianne conceded that if she could not shake off whatever was bringing on these new memories, then she was going to find it hard not to look at Carmen in a sexual way from this day on. 

Marianne wondered what the package contained.  She glanced at the address on the front, it read ‘Emmi Jordan-Taylor’ as if her surname had been combined with Carmen’s; as if the two of them had indeed been married.  Abruptly as she read the words, Marianne felt as if she had been plunged into water and she shuddered, almost dropping the parcel.  Carmen reached out to hold her. 

As Marianne saw the tight red leather stretching along her thighs, she realised that, as she had worried, somehow she had lost and was now in the form that Carmen had fantasied for her.  She lifted up her hand and saw its skin was now a caramel colour.  She had on numerous silver rings plus the familiar one, in fact in white gold one, what she imagined was meant to be her wedding ring.  As she ran her fingers over her head the shoulder-length hair had been replaced by a buzzcut. 

“Oh God, what has happened to me?”  Marianne asked desperately, though in fact she worried that she already knew. 

“What’s the matter, hon?” 

Marianne did not respond to the woman she guessed she would find was her wife.  If this parcel had been the final piece for the changes that had happened, then she imagined the same would have occurred for Carmen.  It seemed that she had had a shorter way to come, only the realisation of her dreams.  Marianne, in contrast, had been steadily changed racially and in terms of her sexuality.

Marianne realised that those thoughts made her aroused.  Here she was in skin-tight red leathers – she confirmed with the stroke of her nose and then her ears – with jewellery that would appeal to Carmen; a lesbian’s sexual fantasy.  Glancing over to the mirrored wardrobe Marianne saw a face very like her own – the nose might be a little broader; the lips perhaps were fuller but it was as if she had discovered a black half-sister rather than a complete stranger.  She noticed from the leathers that held her that she had ‘booty’; her body was now ample, not overweight, just pushing her sexy clothes out in all the right places. 

With recognition of what had been done; had somehow impossibly happened to her, Marianne quickly found anger being suppressed by a sense of being out, loud and proud; a strong force in her; followed by a recognition that she had decades of delicious sex ahead.  Marianne was still aware that she was Marianne Taylor; that she had been a white woman.  However, those thoughts struggled in a sea of another identity, her as Marianne Emily – that had not changed but she was known as ‘Emmi’ - Jordan Taylor and she was a married, black lesbian. 

Marianne tried to focus on something tangible.  She looked at Carmen, but now it was apparent any concerns she had had were gone.  No doubt the new memories fitted much more smoothly into her mind.  She could accept that she had met a woman she called ‘Emmi’ or ‘hon’, four years ago at the Women’s Advice Centre and they had hit it off; the relationship had developed until they married two years later. 

“It’s a present; for your birthday.”  Marianne found herself saying.

In some ways Marianne felt as if she was driving this ‘Emmi’ body; in others that she was simply riding along with where it was taking her.  The sound of her voice sounded a little odd to her, but she went with it.  If she continued not to feel completely at home in this body, then she guessed it meant that sometime, perhaps, she could ‘exit’ and get back to the pale white, straight one, she had begun this day with. 

“I was going to wrap it, but I am guessing you might like to use it now.” 

It was with a degree of shock that Marianne found she knew what it contained – a two ended-vibrator, an extra ‘naughty’ gift for her wife.  For a moment Marianne could not believe that she would have done that.  Then she recalled how, back as a student, she had bought her friend Vicky a vibrator for her birthday.  That ‘wicked’ version of Marianne had long been suppressed by the need to appear ‘proper’ for work.  No doubt, having an intimate relationship with her wife, had revived it.  Maybe in this version of herself, it had never gone away, especially as she knew Carmen was simply so hot in bed.  Marianne tried to suppress those thoughts; those memories.  Yet she knew that it was precisely why she kept her honey pot smooth – for her wife’s tongue. 

Carmen smiled and tore away the packaging.  She pulled out the vibrator and grinned broadly. 

“Yes, God, Emmi, you know how to please a woman.” 

From the memories she was trying to suppress, Marianne knew that, at least in this Emmi body, that was the case.  She sought to hold back all the knowledge she had apparently acquired about lesbian sex in the years since she was a student.  She was unresisting as Carmen came in for a long kiss and she loved the feel of her wife’s tongue as it teased her own.  Then she felt her nipples straining against the tight sleeveless leather top she wore and her sex loosening, becoming moist.  Marianne guessed it was no surprise that, no matter what she thought about it, Emmi was going to be turned on by the woman she loved. 

Marianne tried to stop herself enjoying what was happening, but it was clear that Carmen knew what fired her – or, at least fired Emmi – to passion.  Soon she was being helped from her top and trousers by Carmen and it felt churlish to refuse to return the favour.  Naked, their firm black breasts were pressed against each other and Marianne was reminded of how she had seen herself in the bath.  Now, every memory of every bath showed the same caramel-skinned body ageing gracefully.  Soon the pair of them were beneath the duvet, where, just some hours earlier, Marianne-as-Emmi had woken her wife; her Carmen, with a stroking of her sex to orgasm.  The smell of her juices on her fingers had been a delightful memory since. 

Carmen then gave a gasp and Marianne realised she had slipped one end of the dildo inside her.  She now sat up, the duvet falling away from her, the shiny rubber extending from between her labia. 

“Come aboard, hon, and we’ll get the engine started.”  Carmen joked.

Marianne knew she could never have imagined her Sunday turning out this way, but something stronger than all her ponderings was becoming insistent now.  Her body was not going to let her walk away from sex with the woman she now could not help but love.  Slowly she moved her labia on to the other end of the vibrator and then took it deep inside.  The fact the cool rubber went in so easily showed how much she, or at least the body she inhabited, welcomed this. 

The two black women were now sat up with their legs crossed; the long shiny ebony rubber connecting them.  As they slid themselves further down it, their hard black nipples rubbed against each other’s giving a tantalising sensation that Marianne was torn between wanting to continue and wanting to cease.  The impossibility of the whole scene just excited her further.  She kept insisting it was a dream; a hallucination but the feelings were so intense that it she had to acknowledge it could be nothing except real.  Then with the controller, Carmen started the vibration and both women gasped and laughed.  Sex was not serious, Marianne found herself thinking, it was supposed to be fun.  Gently, her wife sped up the motion, shifting up and down the rubber as Marianne found herself doing the same. 

Casually Marianne’s fingers went to her excited clitoris and then across to that of Carmen.  The smoothness of both was a surprise at first, but then felt good.  Marianne realised she was now toying with another woman’s sex, but instead of her concerns, it seemed right, natural and certainly gave her a buzz.  This, Marianne realised, could become addictive.  She increasingly wondered whether, if she ever had the chance to get back to who she was supposed to be, she would now pass up on the chance.  As she realised she was becoming hooked on being Emmi and living this life, Marianne felt a jolt fire through her.  Then she grasped the warm skin of Carmen and realised that she was hovering on the edge of an orgasm.  Her own gesture gave her wife the signal and both let go, colliding with each other as they shrieked and groaned their pleasure, their bodies hot and shuddering with the sparks flying through them.  Marianne fell back still connected to her lover by the rubber, but feeling herself taken fully through the portal into the other side, where this was her life and she loved it.

**** 

Emmi woke up under the duvet and saw the face of Carmy in front of her.  She stretched forward for a kiss.  She felt sticky but filled with the energy that a couple of orgasms had pushed into her.  She licked her lips.  They tasted of her wife’s juice.  For some reason she had insisted that she licked and sucked Carmen as much as she could.  Now she did not remember what had driven her on so hard; almost as if she had to prove that she was a lesbian; deft at lesbian oral sex.  Now her stomach complained that, while her sex had been attended to, it had been neglected. 

Carmen’s eyes came open and Emmi shifted closer and kissed her again.  She loved this woman and her body so much. 

“Come on, let’s get brunch.”  Emmi suggested. 

She always liked being seen out and about in the city with her wife.  Rights had come along way for lesbians, but she felt a strength in being a black lesbian; out, loud and proud.  She hoped that it might offer encouragement to others who were less confident, to chase their dreams and find and love the woman who was right for them, just as she had done.  Emmi slid naked from beneath the duvet and padded past the red leathers she would wear later.  She started the shower then came back to fetch her wife. 

Soon their two dark-skinned bodies were in the warm water, having fun lathering each other and gently sponging themselves down.  Emmi wondered how she got anything done these days and guessed she should count herself blessed she had volunteered at the Centre and met such a delightful, strong woman there and, perhaps above all, that the feeling had been mutual.  It would be terribly frustrating, she knew, to see Carmen each Saturday and know their relationship was going no further than just being friends.  Coming together had been a wish granted. 

**** 

Emmi was in her tight red leathers; loving the feel, aroma and sound of them; she had buckled herself into her patent red boots too and delighted in how obvious, how explicit, she was.  Across the table from her, tucking into eggs benedict, Carmen was similarly dressed but in black.  Emmi could not help thinking of all that they had done that morning nor dismiss the idea of spending the afternoon back in bed toying with her wife’s body. 

“Marianne.” 

Emmi turned to the sound of the name.  It was her actual name, but no-one used it much.  Once she had recognised her sexuality as a teenager, she had insisted on ‘Emmi’ from her initials.  Then she saw it was Helena Markham from the legal firm where she worked. 

“Helena, hello.” 

Lurking behind the middle-aged woman was a man that Emmi took to be her husband. 

“Erm, can we join you?  It’s a bit of a squeeze.” 

Emmi shot a glance at Carmen who smiled.  Emmi then moved round so she was sat next to her; the Markhams took the seats opposite. 

“Marianne – this is Roger.” 

“Call me Emmi,” she insisted, “this is Carmy – Carmen, my wife.” 

Helena smiled and nodded.  “I knew you were married, it’s good to meet you Carmen.  God, you look good together.” 

Emmi felt pride in that and knew that not only did they look good together, they were very, very, thrillingly good together and it was a situation she had no desire to alter.

THE END.