Transformation Story: Permanent Parking Place Part 2

Permanent Parking Place

Part 2

It had been a fortnight since Danielle had seen Neda. She was worried she was becoming a little foolish, looking out of her window; walking in her neighboring streets trying to locate a car that she thought was Neda’s. Danielle had tried but failed to avoid “happening to pass by” various private colleges, even SUNY campuses, at least those relatively nearby, just in case she saw Neda emerging. One evening she had even taken a cab over to where she had worked out Neda’s apartment was. However, she could see no lights on and naturally there was no response to ringing the bell to that place. Danielle felt herself foolish for not getting a cell phone number for Neda or even finding out her surname; what college she attended; what course she was on. There was so much that could have helped her. The fact that she was heavily distracted whenever they met, seemed a rather feeble excuse.

Almost instinctively, Danielle looked now and almost could not believe when she saw Neda emerging from a car. While it might be the same size as the ones, she had seen the woman drive before, it seemed to be a different color. This time Danielle was ready. She was in her favorite leather jeans running into those new laced-up knee-high boots. Above was the dark blue sleeveless moleskin top. She pulled on her shiny quilted leather jacket. By the time she reached the street, Danielle saw that she was back in her Diambal form, the sleekness of the Senegalese lesbian really accentuated by the clothes she chose.

Neda was out of the car but looked to be talking to someone in it.

‘Hey, Neda.’

The woman turned quickly with her face taking on a scowl the moment she recognized Danielle. ‘Hi, Diambal … Danielle.’

‘What are you up to? Busy today?’

Danielle spoke calmly, trying to conceal that at this moment she wanted to be doing nothing more than speeding away with Neda for a night of sex. Perhaps, she hoped, she could persuade Neda up to her own apartment this time.

‘Uh, well, look Diambal – Danielle – I guessed you’d sort of got the message.’

For a moment Danielle thought there was a phone message, an email, something on social media she had missed, but then quickly realized she was being brushed off.

‘The lesson … maybe I was reckless. I was angry at the time and I was … overconfident,’ Neda said; that last statement seemed to be something painful to confess. ‘I had planned it as a one-off, but then …’

‘But then when I see you, I am Diambal again and you made me … well, basically you made me as the woman who wanted to be with you; who lusted after you.’

Danielle guessed it was some consolation that she was not really besotted with Neda; did not completely see her future with her and her alone.

‘I’ve tried,’ Neda’s comment seemed to more from frustration that seeking to apologize. ‘If you stay away from me then … in time, it should fade.’

‘Should?’

‘Well, do you become Diambal when you are not around me?’

Danielle knew she would have to confess she did not but did not voice it for now.

‘So, there’s your answer,’ Neda said. ‘I moved on from it; you need to do so too.’

Danielle knew she should feel anger at what this woman had done to her. However, her mind was still fogged by warm feelings for Neda; a delight in what they had done together; what she had been while with this woman. The two stood in silence but then the passenger door opened behind Neda and she moved aside. Out stepped a strong black woman with closely cropped hair. She was a head shorter than even Neda, let alone Danielle.

‘Hi,’ she said tentatively.

Danielle felt the way that the woman looked at her, she was into women. In return, she could not help admiring the maroon leather blazer and trousers she wore, almost like a suit cut perfectly to match her stature. Then she was thinking of the smooth-skinned muscles beneath.

‘This is Mbali,’ Neda introduced.

Danielle wondered if in fact earlier she had been a white woman, perhaps an Asian one and Neda had continued to work her magic having more confidence than competence in her skills. While this might be short-lived, she hoped this Mbali would have some good sex and perhaps learn more about who she was.

‘Hi, Mbali, I am Diambal,’ Danielle said, with the words coming out differently from what she had intended.

Danielle wondered if, after Neda had dropped Mbali, she and this Zulu woman might meet up; might find they took a liking to each other. She thought too of two strangers on a bus or in a museum triggering the residue of Neda’s magic and transforming on the spot into a pair of sassy lesbians.

‘Come on,’ Neda insisted and began to step away.

She reached back to take Mbali’s hand.

‘Move on Danielle,’ Neda said, almost over your shoulder. ‘Go back to … I don’t know, whatever you were before. That’s not my concern.’

For a moment Danielle felt like chasing after Neda, howling at her; demanding that their relationship continued. It was a jolt to realize that she really wanted that; she wanted to be Diambal having sex with Neda. Then, turning away, Danielle told herself that these thoughts and feelings were just the residue of what Neda had done to her. Her mind ran through lots of things very quickly, wondering if she could approach the authorities; indeed, if there was some organization that regulated the practice of magic. She laughed bitterly at that. It would be more likely that she would be accused of being crazy and it would do her no favors to be confined. Still, Neda seemed to have powers that were more than she could control and had been using them recklessly, largely out of some sense of arrogance; perhaps spite.

Walking slowly back to her apartment block, Danielle let go of the anger. There was no point holding on to it. She knew that Neda had tired of her and imagined that if she had been able to do so, she would have removed this spell from Danielle. Perhaps her suggestion had been the only feasible one and Danielle had to simply stay clear. It might be hard to forget about Neda and not look out for her, but Danielle guessed if she clung hard to how riled she had been by the woman, that would help the process of getting beyond her.

Danielle now realized she had more immediate problems. While she was in the clothes, she had put on to come out here, she found a large shiny leather tote bag recklessly abandoned on the sidewalk and it seemed familiar. The phone in it opened to her facial features – here as Diambal – but none of the names listed were familiar. Even though she was able to get back to her place, the keys hanging from her belt did not fit the apartment and Danielle guessed it would be difficult to convince the super that she was in fact Danielle Gregorio, or even that she was a friend of hers who deserved being let into the apartment.

Retreating to street level, Danielle guessed she had nothing to do until being Diambal wore off. Presumably somewhere she had one of those small rooms in student accommodation or shared an apartment with other students. For the moment, Danielle recognized she had nothing to do but be patient. Making sure to head in the opposite direction to the one Neda had taken, she was soon in a nice coffee shop, looking through her social media accounts – well her as Diambal - on the stylish tablet she had. Then she was actually reading a couple of books on business theory and practice on the e-reader the bag held.

It was only after heading to the ladies’ washroom after all the coffees she had downed that Danielle saw in the mirror that while she was still in the clothes that she had worn from her apartment she was back to the Caucasian tones and hair that she had woken with that morning. The tote bag was gone, but the familiar keys were zipped in the pocket of her leather jacket.

As she headed back home, Danielle trusted that it would be the last time she would see herself as Diambal. While she knew that form really meshed with the fetishes that she had come to identify herself as having, it was downright unnerving to morph that way. Though remaining bitter towards Neda, Danielle understood that it was best if their paths never crossed again and she kept thoughts of ever being an African lesbian to her private fantasies when getting aroused in front of her computer.

****

There had been times over the past three weeks in which Danielle had thought of Neda; quite a few more when she had thought of Diambal. She had even dreamed up roleplay scenarios involving that persona, while she lay in her bed. However, not seeing Neda again and having her familiar features reflected to her every morning, made it increasingly easy to separate those personalities from her life. She certainly had come to understand that a relationship with Neda would have been a nightmare. At best she would have ended up as some kind of servant to the woman or simply picked up and dropped when and as often as Neda wanted. The answer to Danielle’s question whether she was into women herself, remained uncertain, but she guessed a lot of people were undecided about their sexuality, and who attracted them, could vary quite a lot month to month.

Danielle had persisted with the job search and had been pleased to get through the first-stage interview with Dalton & Pelser. As a little reward, while she waited to hear when she would have to go for the second stage, Danielle had dropped into one of the places she had not been in since that “phase” when she had been hanging out around various campuses. However, she remembered that they did good lunches as well as coffee and today that was what she felt she needed. As she savored her eggs benedict with smoked salmon, Danielle looked away from her phone and around at the customers. Not surprisingly a number appeared to be students. Some parts of Manhattan and Brooklyn seemed to have a private college, or some chunk of one of the bigger universities, every block you went. 

Then Danielle realized what had particularly caught her attention. A young woman at the counter had on an oversized silver puffer jacket. Below were tight, coated black jeans adorned with zippers and pointed bright purple ankle boots. Slung over her shoulder was a bag that reminded Danielle of the one she had carried when last she was Diambal. The young woman had jet-black hair which was cut perfectly. As she turned, Danielle saw that she was East Asian, though whether Chinese, Korean or Japanese, she could not tell. What was apparently was that she was stunning. Her heart-shaped face was accentuated by the haircut which bracketed it. Her features appeared to combine a mix of cuteness with defiance. Her nose was slender and came to a small button. Her mouth was small but Danielle could not stop herself envisaging kissing it. Her slightly pointed chin was where the defiance came from, but it was the dark brown eyes, so mobile and with such life and curiosity in them that captured Danielle and meant she could not look away.

As the woman picked up her drink and food and smiled at the server, her dimples made Danielle felt she would melt. Then a couple of lanky sports types lumbered in and blocked Danielle’s view. Still, her mind coursed with thoughts of the woman she had seen; how she might get to talk to her; what she might say and indeed where she, let alone the woman herself, might want this encounter to go. Before she had really begun to process these frantic thoughts, the young woman was in front of her. Danielle swallowed deeply, worried at what she had potentially unleashed with her thoughts.

‘Hello,’ the woman said in clear English but with an accent. ‘Can I sit here; with you?’ she gestured to the table with her bowl of food.

Danielle coughed and felt that she should be blushing. ‘Sure, yes, please,’ she stuttered, her voice sounding peculiar.

The woman gave that smile again but direct to Danielle this time and she worried she was going to faint if she kept it up. In the next few moments, the woman had shed her bag and Danielle could see protruding from the top of it a file with the FIT logo. That college was not far from here, and then with a jolt, she remembered it was where she thought Diambal attended. The woman sat down, taking off her bulky jacket to reveal more of a plain white sleeveless buttoned shirt below.

‘I am Aoi,’ the woman said. ‘I have seen you. Not so recent, some weeks. Are you at FIT?’

She nodded to the book which Danielle now found sitting by her plate, a well-used copy of a classic by Valerie Steele on fashion and power.

Slightly confused by this “evidence” that someone must have left behind, Danielle spluttered and came out with ‘Yes … no, I am sort of on … you know.’

The answer was a mess, but Aoi welcomed it with her smile.

‘I am from Osaka, in Japan and you are … from Africa?’

Danielle was about to shake her head and then wondered why Aoi had assumed that. Self-consciously she looked down to see that the hand which held her fork was that rich dark brown of Diambal. As she shifted awkwardly, the squeal of her clothes demanded attention. In style, the jacket and jeans she wore might have been denim, but instead they were rendered in tight black vinyl. It only took the turning of her head to show Danielle that her Senegal braids had returned.

Then she spoke without really thinking. ‘Yes, I am from Dakar in Senegal.’

The words came out with that Francophone tinge that Danielle knew she liked hearing.

‘Sorry, my name is …’ Danielle tried to focus on saying her real name and then when ‘Diambal’ came, she realized it was right because it was the real name for this body which she was in.

‘Very good,’ Aoi said. ‘And you like women? … I mean to kiss?’

Again, Danielle wanted to indicate that she was at best ambivalent; uncertain about it. However, she knew whatever part of her was running this show wanted to kiss Aoi and indeed these days, lawyer Danielle might have wanted to give it a shot anyway.

‘Yes … yes, I do,’ came very easily.

‘And you have girlfriend?’

Then Aoi blushed herself and looked down, taking a mouthful of smashed avocado.

‘No, I do not,’ it was the truth.

‘I am sorry, that was … I saw, though: how you looked. I like to kiss women but … I thought New York …’

She looked uncertain and Danielle felt immediately protective towards her. She stretched out her hand to clasp Aoi’s. The woman looked up and smiled in a way which was so sweet that it thrust deep into Danielle.

‘Hien – we both like to kiss women and … other things, I am sure.’

Aoi giggled at that but Danielle felt she knew it. They were both adults and perhaps, if they did go down this path, it would be less pressure if she had a partner who was, in practice, as inexperienced in the world of female-to-female sex as she was herself.

‘Are you busy now, Aoi? Why don’t we, I don’t know, go for a walk, have a chat, see what we might both like?’

Aoi nodded energetically. ‘I’d like that Diambal.’

Danielle realized she did too. Whether she would find herself back in her old form; whether that would not be until she woke tomorrow, Danielle found she did not care. For now, she wanted to spend time with this cool, sexy, Japanese student who had had the courage to go for what she clearly wanted.

The two women finished their lunches but sat chatting over more drinks before stirring themselves and setting off at random. They ended up in Greenwich Village and into Washington Square Park. There they sat down on a bench to listen to the assortment of musicians whose tunes the breeze picked up at random. They talked. At first Danielle worried that she would let slip that the woman she looked like was not the woman she was, so encouraged Aoi to speak about her life in Japan; her studies and plans.

Steadily though, almost in response to each point Aoi made, Danielle found she had a memory of the Diambal equivalent. Her knowledge of the fashion business appeared to be growing from minute to minute as if she was an assiduous student on the course she was taking. Whether she was losing the legal knowledge, Danielle was not certain. However, she knew that she enjoyed being with Aoi; was feeling a physical attraction for her that was growing and she could not shake off. Almost without noticing, they had started lying on the grass when Danielle realized Aoi had slipped into the crook of her arm and her hand was casually resting on Danielle’s vinyl-clad thigh.

Evening was approaching and Danielle knew she and Aoi had to decide what would happen next. She realized it would be hard to walk away from this woman, even with promises that they would meet again. Abruptly, Aoi sat up and then dipped down to kiss Danielle’s lips.

‘Diambal, I want to sleep … no, I want to stay up with you; but in private; in a bed.’

Danielle smiled in response and found she could not give any answer except, ‘I want that too. Come on, let’s get some supplies and get somewhere private.’

Danielle wondered if the encounters with Neda had made this all so much easier to envisage. However, she also realized that something far stronger was here, she simply wanted to be with this beautiful, bold, delightful woman in all ways. Did she have sex on a first date? Perhaps the question was: did Diambal? Danielle chased such thoughts from her mind. They were for no-one to decide except her and Aoi and it seemed that Aoi had made her decision. As she rose from the grass, her glistening vinyl clothes creaking in a way she liked, Danielle realized she had already made the same decision too.

As they went to find some take-out food, Danielle worried that she would have no idea where to go; whether she should prompt Aoi to take her to her place. However, as they moved on, especially in the direction of FIT, Danielle found these streets were more familiar than she had realized. As she dug into her memories, soon she was recalling her – Diambal’s – address. Unsurprisingly it was in one of those swish student accommodations which now seemed dotted all over the city. Soon she was opening the door to her room, though she was uncertain what she would find inside.

Perhaps as might be expected, there was a lot which would be found in every room in this building, but the instantly-familiar photos of Gadjigo family members were distinctive. A couple of the pictures on the wall, Danielle was sure she had had in her apartment; those showing naked women, tastefully done, at first seemed striking, but quickly she knew in fact she had bought them. That muddied things in her mind. Was this not where she lived? Naturally they would be here. She went to hang up her jacket in the small wardrobe and found it contained the biker jacket; the leather leggings, the purple top; the suede boots; the stirrup and ring ones; the laced knee-length ones, all the clothes she knew for sure she had worn in recent weeks.

Aoi shed her jacket too and soon the two women were getting out of their boots and on to the bed. They then started on the thin-crust pizzas which proved to be delicious. Perhaps Danielle should have expected that soon they were feeding each other; wiping, then licking sauce away from their faces. Then she was shedding her top and her bra and Aoi was rushing to match her. It was awkward to get out of all of their clothes on the bed but the giggling and tugging was soon a fun game and once a ring of discarded clothes were around the bed, they moved to slide beneath the covers. Danielle stopped to look over her body in the low light from the lamp. It had that wonderful smooth dark skin; the distinctive breasts; the mound ready for any encounter she was going to have with Aoi. Then she was with her, the sensation of the Japanese woman’s skin across her Senegalese skin was so delicious.

They were quickly kissing and their fingers exploring each other’s bodies; the similarities and differences between them, as they had been exploring their interests, their background in the preceding hours. Danielle understood now that it had all been a kind of foreplay and taking it slow meant that they were both now more than ready for the final step. Aoi’s slender smooth thigh slipped between Danielle’s as she reached out for Aoi’s pussy which felt so slick beneath her touch. Danielle realized this was so different from being with Neda. This was a meeting of equals; this was each seeking to do all what she could to please her partner. That thought sent a lovely chill through Danielle as she envisaged Aoi was quickly becoming her partner in so many ways.

Danielle’s fingers slipped inside Aoi and gently began to curve and pulse. She looked to see if she was going too far, too fast, but the satisfied sounds coming from Aoi suggested she was getting it right. In turn, she pressed down on to Aoi’s thigh, loving the pressure across a wider area. Then she arched down to suck on Aoi’s petite nipples contrasting them to her own but loving the taste and weight of them. Aoi caught one of Danielle’s between her fingers and it fired new sensations hard into Danielle. Gasping, she struggled to cope with all that was happening but realized that nothing would take her away from this.

How long they played with each other’s bodies, Danielle did not know; did not care. They took turns to be on all fours and fingers and tongues went to so many corners of them: from neck to lips to nipples to midriff to pussy to clit and even down to feet. Nowhere was off limits as the two women explored around each other’s bodies. One would come and her pants; her gentle moans would trigger the other. They would lie back spooning, but only for some time to pass before Danielle was again reaching over to stroke at all the parts of Aoi that she was coming to love. Then Aoi went into the curve of Danielle’s longer African body and plied her with touches, licks, strokes, clasps with fingers, with tongue, with elbows and thighs and then with her own slick pussy and so-excited clitoris. As another orgasm swept over Danielle, following hard on the one Aoi in her cute way had sounded out, she felt spent. It was no surprise that sleep soon took them both.

****

As Danielle awoke and felt the warm skin beside her; heard Aoi’s gentle breathing, she realized that this morning something was different. The query of whether she had a class today then shook her and she switched on the beside lamp and twisted it to where she had an old-fashioned planner on the wall. She was reassured to see that the day was clear. However, she realized that, though they had spoken of so much, she did not know Aoi’s schedule.

First, though Danielle slipped from the bed and headed into the shower cubicle. Soon she was soaping down her body, loving the sight of her ebony skin as it shone with water and gel. She tended to her braids but knew not to wash them too intensely so as to lose the shape and the shade. She was out quickly and drying down her body, trying not to concentrate on her nipples that felt so sensitive and so easily reminded her of Aoi’s lips closed around them.

Quickly Danielle was into leather jeans and an iron-grey silk camisole. She then had on the patent slip-ons she kept for use around this place and headed to the shared kitchen. It looked to be early as none of her fellow residents were around. She decided against millet porridge and ndambé beans in tomato paste that she might eat back home. Checking her locker, she found she had brioches so split and buttered these, then made coffee. Balancing everything on a small tray someone had left lying around, she carried it all back to her room. Coming through the door, she was greeted by Aoi’s smile.

‘Just getting breakfast,’ she said and her lover nodded.

Clambering naked from bed Aoi came over to the small round table, fortunately equipped with two chairs. She stopped to kiss Danielle and while she dreaded what her breath smelt like she welcomed the gesture. Soon they were tucking in, brushing crumbs off each other and talking about their day ahead. It was only once she had helped Aoi dress; they had checked each other’s cell phone number and had seen Aoi down to street level, that Danielle stopped to question what was happening.

Back in her room, where she felt she was indeed at home, Danielle tried to recall where she actually lived, or at least where she had lived when she appeared as a Caucasian lawyer rather than an African student. Things kept distracting Danielle from those thoughts. As she dressed for the day ahead, having agreed to meet Aoi for lunch, Danielle found she was thinking about her course; the books she had to read; the exhibitions and shows she had planned to see. She struggled to hold off the tide of such ideas; such convictions that these were things to do. Then she realized she could not recall the name of the law company she had a second interview with. Quickly though, that concern faded as she could not recall why she had even been thinking about a law job.

Danielle felt torn between loving all that had happened since meeting Aoi the day before and the sense that this was not genuinely her life, but some extended hallucination; a vision only created by hypnosis. In consequence she went to her desk and on a message note, wrote “I am Danielle Gregorio. I am Danielle Gregorio”. She then strained to remember the address of her apartment and ended up settling for what the nearest convenience store was to there that she could remember. Then she tried to recall her phone number only to realize she still had it but it was connected to the cell phone in front of her, the one encased in swirling pinks and purples which initially looked peculiar but soon found she loved.

Danielle sat, trying to decide what she wanted; what she needed. She did not want to lose Aoi, that was clear. They might not end up as wives, but this was a great thing which had burst into her life and she was loath to give it up. Uncertain about the next step, Danielle found herself getting changed again. Then, as she pulled on a café racer style leather jacket in maroon and found out the ribbed leggings that matched; put on the black Mandarin collar shirt and then decided on her laced ox blood Doc Marten boots, Danielle started envisaging that she could have it all. She could be a were-lesbian, vibrant and professional in both forms, but with different skin tones, hair and styles in each. She felt certain now that whenever she encountered Aoi, she would morph into this Senegalese form.

Soon Danielle was out on the street trying to work out how to get back to her old district. In the end she took a taxi and gave the driver the convenience store address. Getting out, she saw the apartment block she guessed she needed to head to. However, as she walked towards it, Danielle felt it was all a little vague as if she had seen this place just in passing, perhaps in a movie or even a dream. Soon, though, she was stepping inside and looking along the mailboxes for her name. However, she could not see any that came close. Even the one that she increasingly felt sure had been hers now said “Philip Bouras”.

‘Hey, miss, can I help you?’

The supervisor came into the lobby. Danielle imagined he was rather surprised to see a stylish true African woman in there.

‘I am here to see a woman who lives here,’ Danielle said as she was quickly reminded that she looked nothing like the woman that he would know.

‘Who is she?’

For moment Danielle struggled to speak; to say her own name. With a degree of panic, she tried to rein in, she pulled out the piece of paper from her pocket. ‘Man laa Diambal Gadjigo. Je suis Diambal Gadjigo,’ the paper read, giving it in Wolof and French, as if there was a need for both. The address below it was the one back in her student accommodation; the phone number, well that was her phone number.

‘Yes … I have it here,’ Danielle struggled to focus but managed to do it. ‘Danielle; Danielle Gregorio … she’s a lawyer.’

‘I don’t recognize the name at all. We have one lawyer, but he’s Mr. Bouras. Are you sure you’ve got the right building? Let me see that paper.’

Danielle did not know what else to do and handed it over.

‘It must be the handwriting. Who wrote this for you? You said “Danielle Gregorio” but this looks more like, I don’t know Diam … Diambal … Gad … Gadjigo. Diambal Gadjigo, but there’s no-one of that name?’

‘No, I’m … I’m Diambal Gadjigo.’

As she uttered those words, the last of Danielle went. The choice had been made and the final part of the magic locked into place. The woman standing here was no-one else more than Diambal Gadjigo, a lesbian student from Senegal.

‘I am sorry … that must be the wrong piece of paper. I am sorry,’ Diambal said apologizing briskly before turning and scurrying to leave the block.

Glancing back, she saw the super looked bewildered but said; did, nothing more. Soon Diambal was out on the street, walking quickly away, a little uncertain about why she was here. Then her phone rang and she saw it was Aoi.

‘Hi,’ she said.

It was as if now that Aoi had reached out to her, all the uncertainties were dismissed. As Diambal headed off down the street looking for the right bus; thinking whether she could get a cab, the two women; the two lovers discussed lunch plans, and Diambal thought of what delights an afternoon together would bring them.

THE END.