Contemporary UK Story: The New Version Part 1

While not a sequel to either story, this one exists in the same ‘universe’ of avatars and altering reality which features in 'Hahsni' and 'The Replacement Lover' and, to some extent, 'More than an Ally' and 'That Personal Experience'. This story, especially Lia’s outfit, was heavily influenced by a couple I saw in Nottingham.

The New Version

Part 1

Bethany was sure that was Antonio. The question was, who the woman was walking with him this evening. Antonio, or ‘Andy’ as he insisted Bethany call him, had been seeing her mother for the past three months and she had imagined that the relationship was developing into something long term. While she had been bringing up Bethany, her mother, Gillian, had been focused on her daughter. However, starting her degree course, Bethany had moved out and into a shared house. It was only across the city from where she had been raised, but her intention was, now that she was into her twenties and far from being a child, her mother would feel freed from worrying about her and instead could look to her own life. Antonio coming into it had seemed to be a good step. He was around Gillian’s age and height, with a salt-and-pepper moustache. He dressed trendily for a man of his years, just avoiding looking as if he was trying to be twenty years younger.

What concerned Bethany this morning was that he seemed to be with another woman. This one was his height too, but unlike Gillian she had tightly trimmed hair dyed a dark purple shade with blonde highlights at the tips. She was also dressed in an outfit that Bethany could not imagine her mother wearing. It was entirely of black leather – a smart, kind of cropped café racer-style jacket, tight pocketless trousers and fashionable moto boots with stud detailing. Bethany wondered if this woman was a colleague of Antonio’s and then perhaps a relative. She had heard that Italian women were into their leather. Bethany guessed it was not her business who Antonio met with. However, she did feel that she had some duty to see if he was cheating on her mother. The pair stopped and Bethany kept walking drawing closer to them.

Antonio reached up and touched the woman’s hair. As she turned and smiled at him, Bethany would have sworn it was her mother’s profile. However, as she slowed her pace but continued to look again, the differences were increasingly apparent. The red lipstick was brighter than any shade her mother had worn and she certainly had never shaded her eyelids or her cheeks that way. This woman wore glasses as her mother did, but they had trendy black rectangular frames. Bethany then guessed that if Antonio was going to cheat with another woman, it was likely that he would go for one looking similar to Gillian. Then Bethany was uncertain if that was how it worked. Antonio kissed the woman on the lips. She seemed to hesitate but then was responding, kissing him back, pulling his hand round so it clasped her bum held in its smooth tight leather.

Almost without thinking, Bethany lifted her phone and quickly snapped pictures of the kissing couple then more as they broke. The woman even seemed to glance in her direction for a moment. Bethany kept clicking away feeling that if she was going to prove to her mother that Antonio was being unfaithful, she needed to have good, clear evidence. Then Antonio raised his hand as if waving to someone. Bethany’s eye was caught by the gesture and then she realised that somehow in those moments the woman in leather had stepped away. Bethany looked around, but despite the woman’s distinctive hair and clothes, she could not spot her any more. Bethany accepted the woman must have gone behind something or into a car; there had to be a rational explanation.

While Bethany was thinking over what had happened, Antonio had moved away and she just caught sight of him further up the street walking briskly, perhaps she would have said in a jaunty manner. Bethany felt conflicting emotions. Part of her continued to argue it was all something innocent, but in contrast the kiss had seemed much more passionate than she would have expected if Antonio had been with a relative or a colleague. Having come to the conclusion that she had witnessed infidelity, even if he had only been seeing her mother some months, Bethany still had the challenge of what to do with the information. She knew it would be hard for Gillian to face that she had been treated this way; she had been so enthusiastic about how good Antonio was for her. She might, Bethany imagined, deny it all; say that her daughter had somehow got it wrong. While Bethany was keen the two of them established their own lives now, she certainly did not want that to come at the price of a serious rift between them. Then Bethany considered springing the news on her mother might worsen the situation and lead to Gillian to rush off into an even less suitable relationship, certainly than how the one with Antonio had appeared to be at the start.

Recognising that this needed careful handling, Bethany felt it important to do nothing rash; to sleep on it. She headed home to her small flat she rented. It was part of a large house that had been split up and so was popular with students like her. However, unlike being in halls, she could close out the world and potter around her own small kitchen and bathroom with no-one to bother her. She got herself a tea and sat down to flick through social media before deciding what to eat tonight when there was a knock at her door. Going to it, she was not surprised to find it was Zoë. She took some of the same modules as Bethany and had always seemed keen to collaborate on stuff. She often turned up with some food or cakes she had prepared; typically with wine or beer. More than once she had ended up crashing on Bethany’s sofa or had to be ordered a taxi back to her own place.

At times Bethany felt put out by Zoë’s earnestness. However, she guessed the woman meant no harm. Added to that, Bethany would have to say she was pretty cool, dressed in a kind of snazzy urban casual style and she certainly seemed to know all the best bands and places to go. After Lauren had proven to be so selfish and that huge row with Mia, Bethany realised that if nothing else, ‘Zozo’ as she had ended up contracting the woman’s name to, was reliable. She did, however, have a tendency to turn up right at Bethany’s place, especially in the evening, when most other women would have just pinged her via one social media site or another.

‘Bee, glad you’re in. I got some cranberry-orange muffins I made and there’s the “space” version, if you want to be daring.’

While in some ways Zoë came over as a nerd and certainly put in the work she needed to do, and more, for the course, she was also that little bit edgy. While Bethany had not seen her smoke, she did know she went in for hash cakes. Not being one happy ever to lose control, Bethany always refused politely. However, Zoë had not yet given up on trying to convert her.

‘Zo … Zozo, you are too good to me,’ she said half-joking.

Then, however, she realised that Zoë might be the one to help her out with the issue around her mother. Bethany was sure she was in some groups connected to women’s issues and maybe she could give what was felt to be the right perspective on men cheating.

‘No, I am really glad to see you; I need some help,’ Bethany continued now more seriously as if she had to convince Zoë of that.

‘Of course, Bee, you know, I’m always here for you; whatever you need.’

Bethany smiled warmly. ‘I love you for that, Zozo.’

For a moment Zoë’s face seemed intense.

‘Sure … that makes me … well, glad, you know.’

‘Good. Come through.’

In the living room, Zoë took off the biker leather jacket she seemed to almost always wear. Beneath was a tight-fitting midnight blue camisole-like top in a satiny finish, it had slightly capped sleeves.

‘You got the tattoo,’ Bethany noticed.

‘Yes … I thought … well … do you like it?’

It was a kind of geometric floral pattern on the inside of her left forearm. Bethany was not really into tattoos still associating them at best with celebrities or more often with criminals or bikers. However, she had to admit Zoë’s had a beauty to it. Almost without thinking she reached out and ran her finger gently around the pattern. Realising what she was doing, she snatched it back.

‘Sorry,’ she said.

‘No … no worries; you can keep doing that if you like.’

There were times when Bethany did not understand properly what Zoë meant by things. She accepted though that was probably why she had the style which Bethany felt she lacked. Tonight she was in dark blue leather leggings with ribbed patches at the knee and the back of her calves. Her boots were black moto style. Bethany found she sometimes felt Zoë was best equipped for riding around the city post-apocalypse and then days when she turned up in huge sweaters and baggy jeans; laced up boots and looked ready to work a North Sea trawler.

In the next few minutes, Bethany did what she felt was right to do as a host. She poured out the dark ale that Zoë had got at a micro-brewery and set out the muffins on a plate, separating the hash ones from the standard. Then, as usual, the two women squeezed on to the small sofa that had come with the flat.

‘Nice muffins, thanks,’ Bethany said politely.

‘No worries, Bee, you know I like to make you stuff you’d like.’

‘I appreciate it; always, you know that.’

For a moment Zoë looked at Bethany a little intensely but then smiled, brushing a strand of her friend’s hair away from her face.

‘But you’ve got something else you need a hand with, yes?’

Bethany nodded and then reached for her phone. Soon she had the images up and was flicking through them.

‘So that’s your Mum? Wow, she’s cool. Would she you lend you some of her stuff? I know you’d look so good in those leathers, Bee; you ought to give them a go.’

Bethany guessed she should have expected Zoë to like the woman’s outfit. For herself all she had in leather was a couple of belts and a pair of smart shoes. She was much more a teeshirt, fleece, joggers and trainers woman. She certainly did not feel she could get away with even what Zoë wore, let alone the woman in the shots.

‘No, that is what I am saying. That is Mum’s … well, boyfriend; “man” – whatever you want to call him, but that’s not her.’

‘Oh, okay, but she looks alike. I thought it was her: the face shape; the glasses.’

It took some moments for Bethany to even remember when Zoë had seen Gillian. Then she recalled that day right at the beginning of the year and, of course, the photos she had on her laptop of her mother. Had there not been one evening when they had talked about families and what their plans were in that direction? She struggled to remember what Zoë had said.

‘I guess she looks a bit like Mum … but, well, she would never dress like that.’

‘Maybe she had a makeover; maybe she was wearing things Antonio bought her. You know, well, she is free and single and they say it’s the sexiest time in a woman’s life.’

Bethany had heard such comments before. However, the change from the woman she knew so well, seemed too extreme.

‘No, she’d never dress like that and the hair.’

‘Is it so outrageous?’ Zoë said tapping her own hair.

Hers was probably as short as that of the women in the picture, though shaded a very dark blue.

‘But you’re half her age; even less.’

‘So are you. Surely you could have a hairstyle like that then?’

Bethany chuckled a little wearily. This was a line that had been becoming a little tiresome from Zoë recently: her suggesting that Bethany make some radical change in style.

‘Come on, be serious. I would look an idiot like that and my Mum would too.’

‘Okay, so you think she’s dressing; having hairstyles that are too young for her? That is the problem?’

‘No, it’s … it’s what I said at the start: this isn’t my Mum. This is another woman that Antonio – “Andy”,’ she mocked, ‘is seeing; is snogging.’ She gestured to the picture of them both kissing. ‘I just want to know how to tell Mum. I don’t want her hurt but I also don’t want her being cheated on.’

Zoë nodded, now looking sage, as if she had understood all of this from the start. ‘Well, it certainly looks like these two are getting it on.’

‘Yes, and when Antonio is supposed to be … well, loyal to Mum. Is that too much to ask these days?’

Zoë shook her head, though effectively in agreement and sending the long straight earring on her left ear shaking back and forth. Bethany saw now that she had a stud in the right side of her nose that she had not noticed before. Perhaps it was new. For a moment Bethany thought about saying something about how Zoë was dressed and looking these days. Now with the tattoo and the nose stud, perhaps she was looking a bit too ‘alternative’ for Bethany to be seen with her. She guessed though, if nothing else, it would be foolish to say anything when she was asking the woman for some kind of help. Maybe, though, next time when she called, Bethany would pretend to be out.

‘No, no woman should have to put up being treated like that by a man … by a woman; by anyone they are close to; have opened themselves up to.’

Bethany smiled in response, pleased that she and Zoë were in accord on the issue.

‘So, what do I do? Do I tell Mum straight out or email or text her or something? What is the best way?’

‘It is down to you Bee: you know your Mum best. However, I think there is another option. Why not go to Antonio and tell him that you have seen him and that he ought to be honest with your Mum. Is he likely to get … well, angry?’

Bethany shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. He certainly does seem to be a violent man. He has all that “I am a lover, not a fighter” line and as he’s Mum’s age, so I don’t imagine him flailing around with his fists.’

‘Well, that’s good then. So, meet up with him and tell him you know about him and this other woman and he needs to come clean to Lia.’

For a moment the name ‘Lia’ drew Bethany up short, but then she remembered that it was precisely the contraction Antonio used of her mother’s name. Bethany realised she must have mentioned this at some time to Zoë. Having got past that, she reflected on the advice.

‘Look, if you’re worried that he might get annoyed or something, I’ll come with you for support. You know I’m always here for you, Bee.’

‘Thank you, you’re a …’ Bethany was about to say ‘good friend’ but given what she had decided about distancing herself a little from Zoë she pulled back from that. ‘You’re a real help, Zozo – Zoë.’ Bethany felt that dropping the contraction was probably a good idea too. ‘But I think I’ve got to do this on my own.’

‘Okay …’ Zoë responded tentatively. ‘I was going to say “are you sure?” but I know there’s nothing worse than that and anyway it’s patronising.’

‘No, it’s alright.’

While it was not the approach that she would have come up with herself, Bethany was now seeing the sense in Zoë’s suggestion. Then, however, she realised that she had got what she needed from the woman and it was probably best to begin to put some distance between them. Maybe she had been careless in not seeing how Zoë was becoming; the growing ‘alternative’ aspects to her style. She wondered if it had been one reason why Cristina had become distant.

‘So, are you going to try one of the space ones?’ Zoë asked eagerly.

‘No, thanks.’ She looked to her phone ostentatiously. ‘Look Zoë I still have that reflective journal to finish for tomorrow. I need to get on with that,’ Bethany lied.

‘Oh, right. I thought you’d done it.’

‘No … no, I realised I had mucked it up. I started again.’

‘Do you want me to have a look at it; help out?’

‘No, better not. If I keep at it tonight, I should get it redone by the deadline.’

‘Okay, if that’s what you want.’

Zoë clearly understood she was being dismissed. She retrieved her biker jacket.

‘I’ll leave the rest of the muffins and the beer.’

‘Thanks but … well, it’s not really my taste,’ Bethany continued to lie.

‘Ah, okay.’

‘Thanks though … for bringing them over … for baking them.’

‘It was … it was my pleasure, Bee.’

Zoë looked a little embarrassed as she said that. She made no further move to the door and then, to Bethany, as if she was expecting her to say something.

‘You know … you know, well, we get on well and I … well, if you like I could … you know … stay over; help you with the reflective journal stuff.’

‘That’s kind. But … you know what’ll happen, we will end up talking half the night instead and I’ll feel … well, tired tomorrow.’

‘Sure.’

‘Are you worried about getting across town … it’s not that late but I can call a cab if you’d prefer.’

Zoë gave a weak smile. ‘Thanks, no, I should be alright. I probably need to do some walking; some thinking about things.’

Bethany now wondered what had made Zoë sound so subdued. Maybe she was upset about the muffins or maybe, Bethany realised now, she had needed to talk to Bethany about something. She felt a bit foolish then; rather selfish too, that she had simply gone on about her ‘problem’. For a moment she worried that she was getting to be too much like Lauren.

‘Look, Zoë, if you need to talk … I am probably not the best person, but you can always call me; message me, something, okay?’

Zoë nodded slowly.

‘And you, me. Let me know how it goes about your Mum.’

‘Sure,’ Bethany responded but felt it was a kind of price she had to pay for asking for help. ‘And we can … well, do something, maybe this weekend, yes?’

‘Well, you’re coming to see Arcenciel?’

For a moment, Bethany did not know who she was referring to, but then it clicked. ‘Hakim and Rob’s band?’

‘Yeah, you remember; we all said we would go and support them.’

Bethany did remember making some commitment to the two men who were on her course. ‘So where are they playing?’

‘They’re on stage at Pride; in the park.’

‘Right,’ Bethany said then.

She felt torn then between the commitment she had made and turning up at the Pride event. Though she would argue strongly that she was not bigoted and had no problem with gay men, they were quite sweet, she did worry that, somehow, she would find herself being hauled off by a very butch lesbian.

‘I always worry if I go … then people will think I am … you know, gay; a lesbian.’

‘I guess it is an easy mistake to make.’

‘What? I thought this stuff looks … well, you know, like I’m clearly straight.’

‘Well, there’s no … I was going to say “badge” but I guess lesbians are women like any other women. Don’t worry about it; I’ll be there to fight off the big, bad butches if they try to lay a finger on you.’ Zoë offered with a smile. ‘But you’ll come. I’m sure it’ll be fun and …’

‘And what?’

‘You might surprise yourself.’

Bethany wondered if it would be as bad as she was imagining it. Was there that much harm in wearing a rainbow hat and seeing some women kissing each other? Half the celebrities she read about these days seemed to have same-sex relationships, at least some of the time. Going might build up her credibility a bit and she did feel sorry for Hakim and Rob and the other guys who played with them.

‘Right, it’s a date then. I’ll come by at twelve. We can have some lunch before heading out; this place is nearer.’

‘Yes, sure,’ Bethany agreed, though not certain really what to.

Her response seemed to brighten up Zoë who leant in and then did that gentle ‘bump’ kiss on Bethany’s lips. Normally they simply hugged, but there were times Zoë felt compelled to do this, saying it was something from her childhood. Bethany guessed she could not complain especially as after this meet-up on Saturday, she was going to be fully scaling down her contact with the woman. Zoë held her hand as she walked to the door and Bethany went along with it. She smiled and gave a cute wave as Bethany closed the door. She waited until she heard the retreating footsteps before locking it, feeling it as much symbolic as practical.

For some reason, Bethany wanted to run over everything Zoë had said, but told herself it was pointless to get too wrapped up in what that woman was thinking. She guessed she had to be grateful, though, for her suggestion about tackling the problem of Antonio and going straight to him. With that decision feeling fixed in her mind, Bethany went off to make some dinner, feeling a little foolish for passing up on the muffins, which, if she had to tell the truth, had been delicious.

Contemporary UK Story: The New Version Part 2

The New Version

Part 2

Bethany stepped out from the cinema, her mind running with what she had seen. She always thought of herself as appreciating ‘serious’ movies; more than happy to watch subtitled ones. This one had had an intricate plot and some great visuals and she was almost bubbling with wanting to talk with someone about them. The only one of her friends who had similar tastes was Zoë. She even spoke French and understood some German, Bethany was sure. However, while she was content enough to go with a gang to watch some blockbuster, going just with one other was too much like a date. As it was, she was still apprehensive about being mistaken for a lesbian at the Pride event tomorrow and did not want to add any fuel to rumours by being in a cinema with just another woman.

Pressing on through the pedestrian area, dotted with various bars and food outlets, Bethany imagined she would have to settle for discussing the movie online. Now she wondered whether she should pick up a takeaway to save cooking when she got in. She had long ago sworn off eating in a restaurant, even a fast-food place, alone. The men who thought she was signalling she was desperate to make hot love with any one of them who pitched up, had long ago become tiresome. Thinking about that, though, Bethany felt a bit heartened that she clearly looked like she was into men rather than women. In turn, it reassured her that if she turned up tomorrow dressed like this, no woman would make a mistake.

Something then stopped Bethany where she stood. It took some moments for her to realise what it was. Ahead of her a few metres was Antonio. He was sat at one of the outside tables of an Italian café-bar that she was sure her mother had mentioned. Spring was well advanced and while she would not have done it, Bethany could see some felt it warm enough to sit outside. Bethany stood where she was for the moment, looking at Antonio and then around him. However, unless whoever he was with was stuck in the toilet, it appeared as if he was alone; there was only a single glass of wine at his table, she now noticed. Part of her wanted to saunter past and perhaps, only if he noticed her, would she stop and quickly say ‘hello’. That, Bethany recognised, was the coward’s option and it would do nothing to help her mother.

Feeling a bit hypocritical that she had turned down Zoë’s offer of help and yet now felt in need of it, Bethany gritted her teeth and walked up to Antonio’s table. Almost immediately he became aware of the shadow cast by the walkway’s lighting being cast across him. He turned to look up and grinned widely.

‘Bellissima,’ he said warmly, standing.

Bethany shuddered at his nickname for her.

‘Antonio …’

‘Call me Andy. Come sit, are you in a hurry? Off to meet up with someone?’

Bethany accepted his invitation and took a chair opposite him. ‘No, I was on my way home but … I thought we should talk.’

‘Can I get you a drink? Some wine; a cocktail?’

‘A coffee will be fine.’

Antonio made that face at her that she already knew too well as signalling disapproval of her choice. However, she guessed she had to accept he never made any greater protest and he ordered what she had asked for.

‘My Lia – your mother – will be here soon. Did she say she was coming here?’

Bethany shook her head. ‘No, I was just at the cinema,’ she nodded in that direction. ‘I just caught sight of you here.’

Antonio nodded. ‘And your friend? Your lover?’

Bethany coughed at that. ‘No, I went alone; it is allowed.’

Antonio nodded sombrely as if disappointed not with her, but at how the world treated her. ‘I am sorry to hear that, Bella, a girl – sorry, a lady – like you, should never have to be alone.’

Bethany felt that she should argue that she was not ‘alone’ and she was sure, especially if she tolerated some of the dorky men on her course, she could have a date. Now, though, she worried that she was getting taken off track and focused on what she had to say. She wanted to get it out before her mother, if she was indeed coming here, turned up.

‘I was walking by and saw you; thought I should say “hello”.’

‘Yes, thank you. It is good to talk; you and I. One day we might be relatives.’

It took a moment for Bethany to realise what he meant. Then, however, she felt it was quite defiant of Antonio to talk of the potential of marriage to her mother while he was already cheating on her.

‘I saw you the other day; early evening. I didn’t come over because … well, frankly, because you were with a woman.’

Antonio chuckled at that and Bethany wondered what excuse he would produce.

‘So you saw her?’

‘Erm, yes I did.’

‘And you thought she looked good?’

Bethany was uncertain how to respond to that. Though she had not known Antonio that long, up until this week she had thought him to be an honest man and proud without being arrogant.

‘What am I supposed to say?’

‘Well, I do hope you like her style. I really think Lia is going to like it too. It’s the … how would I put it … the updating she needs, don’t you agree?’

Now Bethany tried to work out what was going on. Rather than this being something he was going to conceal from Gillian, it appeared as if he was going to involve her. Bethany thought she knew her mother well, but had she somehow got into ‘swinging’; ‘having a three-way’? While Bethany accepted that her mother was an adult and free to make her own choices, she was concerned Antonio had somehow tricked her.

‘I guess now you have seen what I can do, I have no need to worry about how to broach the subject. I have an ability; a very old skill. Some might call it magic. I can create what I guess you would call these days, avatars. However, they are only temporary. The way we shape what we create is really a model, a blueprint – a CAD I guess it is now. Then the person absorbs it and becomes just like that.’

This sounded very bizarre and Bethany worried now that Antonio, if not mad, was badly deluded. She conceded it might be some kind of adult game he was playing with Gillian and she was reminded of what Zoë had said about her having a makeover. Perhaps it was no surprise if Antonio wanted to splash out on hairstyling and clothing for his girlfriend. Bethany would concede that some would have found what she had seen that woman in was stylish, even sexy.

‘I have done it rarely in my life; I am not like my brother. So, it is good to hear you could see the avatar and it was not just appearing to my senses. That is good: shall I put it all in place when Lia arrives?’

Bethany really felt she had lost control of this conversation. All that Antonio seemed to be saying sounded crazy. However, there was an earnestness about him that kept making her think he was genuine and she had simply misunderstood. As far as she could grasp it, the woman she had seen was some kind of model for a makeover Antonio was buying Gillian and he now felt confident to reveal his plan this evening.

‘Hi, guys,’ Gillian said cheerfully as she approached the table.

Bethany looked at her mother somehow expecting her to be appearing very changed. However, she was as usual. Gillian had on a coral sweater with a new set of pearls, under her turquoise mac jacket and that oatmeal knee-length skirt. These were her ‘going out’ clothes that she wore for an evening. It looked as if her pale chestnut hair had been trimmed. It still reached just to brush her shoulders, though, certainly not as cropped as the woman; the ‘avatar’ that Bethany had seen.

Antonio stood and gave his girlfriend a quick kiss. Bethany then felt how she had failed. Antonio had danced around her with all the stuff about avatars and plans for Gillian. They had not even got to whether he was being unfaithful and it seemed unlikely he would admit such to her mother. Perhaps, Bethany reflected, he did not even really understand what he had done.

‘I didn’t know you were coming, dear,’ Gillian said smiling at her daughter though keeping with her usual manner made no effort to kiss or hug her.

‘No, it wasn’t planned. I was just passing. I had been in the cinema,’ she again nodded back that way.

‘With Zoë? Sorry, “Zozo”, I know that’s what you call her.’

‘No, I went on my own.’

‘Not a falling out, I hope? You know I think she is good for you.’

Bethany could not remember her mother ever mentioning Zoë, let alone expressing an opinion on her and she imagined she had mixed her up with someone entirely different, perhaps one of Bethany’s school friends.

‘Erm, well, you know students; we’re busy; a lot of essays,’ Bethany offered.

She looked to her mother with a smile. Something about her seemed different. Bethany imagined though that it was perhaps because she was tired or maybe seeing it in the orange glow of the café’s lights. However, her mother’s lipstick appeared to be darker now and her coat had taken on a shine.

‘It is taking,’ Antonio said. ‘It’s working Lia.’

‘Lia,’ Gillian repeated. ‘We can really make that real?’

Antonio nodded. ‘Yes, your Bellissima confirmed it for me. She saw the avatar when I was out practicing. I obviously have got further than I thought. Maybe not up to Lorenzo’s level, but still.’

Gillian smiled and closed her eyes. ‘I am ready.’

Now Antonio grasped her hands in his and closed his own eyes, breathing deeply. Bethany was not clear what was happening. Magic, of course, was impossible. However, something made her find it hard to challenge all that Antonio had said; in part because her mother seemed to believe it wholeheartedly.

For some moments, she wondered if anything was actually going to change. She had dismissed the ‘changes’ in her mother’s make-up as some mistake on her part. However, as Gillian moved a little the leather of her sleeve creaked. Bethany closed her eyes and opened them worrying that something like tiredness or stress, perhaps low blood sugar, was making her hallucinate. Her mother’s hair was now much shorter than when she had sat down and it was darkening. Bethany would not accept that it would soon have that dark purple shade, but part of her knew for certain it would.

The coral sweater now seemed to have already disappeared and in its place was a tight-fitting top, that almost as she watched began to have a monochrome leopard-skin pattern, with glints from it. Her mac jacket was now replaced by a cropped black leather one and Bethany imagined that her mother’s skirt somehow would now be the tight leather trousers she had seen that other woman wearing. That other woman, Bethany struggled to accept, had somehow been a future version of what Antonio would make her.

‘Yes, so attraente; this is good,’ Gillian said breathlessly.

Bethany knew her mother had started learning Italian, but her accent seemed to have been perfected. Gillian – or was she now fully Lia? – grasped her ample breasts in both hands. Their nails were long and were painted with gems studding them.

‘Questo è buono,’ she added approvingly.

Bethany had no idea if the transformation was complete, but her mother did still look like the woman who had sat down, but the make-up; the hair, the jewellery, the tight leather clothes, made her appear like some long-lost Italian cousin. Bethany kept picking up small things like the stud in her mother’s nose and the number of gold rings, including what was clearly a wedding ring though far larger than any Bethany’s father might have bought.

Lia now leant in to kiss her boyfriend; her husband, the man who had made her this. Flagrantly she rubbed her ample breasts against him and reached to grope his crotch. Bethany wondered if somehow Antonio had entranced her, changed her mind or had simply released suppressed urges from deep in Lia. Perhaps that was what had attracted Gillian to Antonio in the first place even before she had known what he could truly do to her; for her.

‘So … you are married.’

‘Of course,’ Lia responded.

Her accent was British with only some Italian tinges, for which Bethany was grateful. She did not want to have to learn another language simply to speak to her mother.

‘You remember, Bella, five years ago. You were such a pretty bridesmaid.’

‘I should explain,’ Antonio said. ‘The avatars – yes, they change the present but they do that by altering decisions in the past. I cannot make anyone into anything they could not have chosen for themselves.’

‘But you altered history. Mum didn’t know you five years ago.’

‘But a decision to shop somewhere a bit different; perhaps go to a bar one night, those are hardly radical changes.’

Bethany guessed she could see it. If her mother had not had to scrimp to pay rent and utilities; had a man around who wanted to buy her clothes and other lovely things, then she could have ended up like this. While a man being able to alter history, even in small ways, seemed fantastical, given what she had witnessed and what she had heard now, she guessed she was in no position to deny it.

‘Is it done?’

‘Is what done, Bella?’ Lia asked.

For a moment that nickname sounded strange coming from her mother but quickly Bethany accepted she had been using it for years. It was just the same with her mother. She had long thought of her as Lia; ‘Gillian’ was now only for official documents.

‘She won’t know that anything has been any different,’ Antonio explained softly. ‘Sooner or later you will forget too and think that what she is has always been that way. It depends on the individual.’

Bethany found herself seeking to grasp for all that she could remember of her mother as Gillian rather than Lia, certainly not as trendily dressed as the woman in front of her. There was something in Lia’s manner that was different too, a kind of sassiness, certainly a sexiness that had been absent but was now at the forefront of her personality. Lia Stregone was far more confident than Gillian Wilkins had been.

‘Let’s have more wine,’ Lia said. ‘Bella, do you want a glass or a bottled beer?’

Bethany looked at her mother finding it rather difficult to accept that this woman was that. However, she found an increasing amount of memories of her mother being this way; even of the wedding she had mentioned. Were these false memories? Was Antonio pulling off some kind of hypnotism? That seemed a reasonably rational explanation. Was it a bad thing? Yes, perhaps, Bethany said to herself, he should have accepted her mother the way she was; her manner; her choice in clothes. However, she had been seemingly accepting of the changes; was even enjoying them. That, was, of course, unless Antonio had already hypnotised her to be accepting of them. Bethany knew too little of how that all worked but was sure she had heard that no-one could be hypnotised to do something that was completely against what they wanted or accepted.

‘No, mamma,’ Bethany was a little surprised when she said it. ‘No … thanks, the coffee is fine.’

While her mother sought to catch the attention of the waiter, Antonio leant in a little closer to Bethany.

‘You know … sometimes there are ripples … ripples out from the person who takes the avatar, especially to those related to them. Do you feel anything strange at all, Bella?’

For a moment Bethany felt like responding, ‘you mean aside from seeing my mother’s boyfriend – my step-father – transform my mother from a mousey middle-aged woman into a sex goddess while we sat here?’ Instead she shook her head.

‘Was that the blue hair shade you had this morning?’

‘Blue?’

For a moment Bethany thought it was a joke. She picked up her phone and switched it to mirror mode. She saw then that her nails were trimmed and painted a dark blue shade. That was different. The reflection she saw on her phone showed these ‘ripples’ had gone further. Rather than the shoulder-length hair, a slightly darker shade than her mother’s and typically in a ponytail, now she had a short cut, even shaved up the sides and, as Antonio had noted, it was blue. Bethany had never coloured her hair and certainly would not even consider a stand-out shade like this. Then she caught sight of the silver ring arching through the right side of her nostril and knew that whatever Antonio had done to her mother was having effect.

‘What is going on?’ Bethany asked.

She did not look up as she realised that her clothes had changed too. In place of the plain white teeshirt she now wore a dramatic printed one with a rose motif in red and black. This was under the black leather biker jacket she had on. He left wrist held an old-fashioned watch on a thick leather strap and her right, numerous leather and metal bracelets. Reaching down she was now not surprised to find her joggers had been replaced by leather jeans and her trainers with patent laced-up boots rather like ones Zozo had. A broad belt with tightly aligned rows of studs sat on her hips. Perhaps she would have worn this for a fancy-dress party, but even then, Bethany imagined, she would have felt it had gone too far.

Now Bethany looked at Antonio. ‘What is happening to me; I look completely different. What are these ripples? How do you stop this?’

‘Bella – what is the matter?’

Antonio looked at her with an expression which showed uncertainty. If memories were appearing in her mind that were new; was the same happening for Antonio? For her mother? Did they think the way she appeared now was the way she typically appeared? Memories of her mother prompting her to buy certain things, especially in leather, and mother-daughter shopping trips that moments ago she could not imagine happening, were now in Bethany’s mind.

‘I … I am not sure. Things seem to be changing … changing for me and quite a lot; a real lot,’ Bethany said firmly.

‘Oh,’ Antonio said with what sounded real concern. ‘Maybe … maybe I under-estimated the impact on you; I knew too little about you and the ways your life might have gone.’

Bethany hardly felt reassured by her step-father’s words. However, her mother’s attitude seemed markedly different.

‘You look fine, Bella,’ Lia said with clear pride. ‘My beautiful daughter; you look the best lesbian around, you know that.’

‘Lesbian?’ Bethany asked.

Now this was becoming unsettling. She had never envisaged herself as a lesbian; in fact had been careful to avoid giving out that impression, especially when doing sports. However, quickly came memories of frank conversations with her mother, a highly sexual woman she knew, who as Bethany had become an adult, had been eager that her daughter have the best sex life she could. Through various tasks Lia had set her, this had led Bethany to realise she actually was attracted to women. She had effectively come out to her mother before she was even certain in herself. Bethany struggled to reconcile these steps with what she still could recall of Gillian, but quickly that seemed irrelevant: it had been Lia, confident in her own sexuality and keen that her daughter was too, who had helped with all that.

Then there was Zozo. From all that she had discussed with her mother, Bethany had known that Zoë Elias was the kind of woman she had been looking for. Suddenly all the memories of meeting Zoë and hitting it off with her from the start flooded into Bethany’s mind. They had similar tastes, even wore similar clothes and it had not been long before they were not only girlfriends but sharing a flat; sharing a bed. Bethany then felt as if the world was spinning around her. However, pulsing into that sensation was the pleasure of being with Zozo and having the most wonderful sex with her. Somewhere a meagre thought that she was a virgin with no intimate experience with men, let alone women, tried to be heard. It was smothered though, with all the delightful memories of rampant sex with her Zozo.

What precisely had Antonio unleashed? It appeared that his concerns were correct and him adjusting Gillian to be more appealing to his tastes – her more courageous desires? – had ‘rippled’ out and impacted on her daughter too. Bethany found it hard to accept that she had been a lesbian simply too afraid; too conditioned perhaps, to admit that, let alone in the 21st Century context. She battled now to try to push those thoughts back; not to see Zoë as anything more as a kind, but perhaps too persistent friend.

Then Bethany realised that any suspicions she might have had about Zoë had been confirmed by what had happened this evening. Bethany worried if she had been sending out mixed signals to the woman. In some ways she felt sorry for Zoë, perhaps carrying a torch for her and not getting much more than her company and a bump kiss as a reward. Then, however, Bethany felt all that was ridiculous. She and Zozo had been partners in all senses of the word for months now and she gave as good as she got.

Bethany shifted pleasurably as she recalled her lover’s tongue lapping at her pussy lips and her mouth closing on her clit. For a moment there was something startling to recognise she had done the same in return. Yet, again, that surprise was quickly reversed as Bethany felt she had good experience in sexing her partner; her Zozo and that it was the natural thing to do. Why would she baulk in the slightest at giving and receiving such pleasure?

‘Are you okay, Bella, Bellissima?’ Lia asked.

The nicknames were used so much that Bethany wondered if in time her real name would be forgotten. Then again, to Zozo, she would always be ‘Bee’ and that was a name she had come to treasure. The wine had arrived and without asking Lia poured a glass for her daughter as well as her husband.

‘Here she is,’ Lia said suddenly.

Bethany turned to look the way her mother was doing and seeing Zoë approach, knew that the crunch point had arrived. Seeing her girlfriend in the tight black vinyl trousers and that black-and-white abstract print top, Bee lost grip of all that had concerned her. She stood and walked to her girlfriend, embracing her, their leather jackets creaking as they came together. Then they were indulging in tongue-filled kisses as if daring anyone to challenge their relationship.

A little breathless, Bee pulled away and guided Zozo into a chair. As she did, she saw that Lia and Antonio were indulging their own passion. Bee knew from her mother’s frank conversations that for Lia and her step-father, foreplay typically started long before they got anywhere near the bedroom.

‘Hi, Zoë,’ Lia said as she broke from kissing her husband; Antonio echoed her.

‘Hi, there,’ she responded cheerfully.

‘Sorry I’m late, the session ran over, again.’

Bee knew that one of Zozo’s modules she did not take, often had evening seminars.

‘You’re here; we’re together, so that’s all that matters.’

Zoë just smiled her agreement.

‘So what are you guys up to tonight?’ Lia asked.

Bee struggled to remember what had been decided. She was sure there was something about a movie and … Surely there had been something important she was going to do; to say? Bee tried to recall it, but failed. She trusted it would come back sooner or later.

‘I’ve not eaten,’ Zoë said. ‘We said we’d try that noodle bar.’

‘Yes … yes, that’s right,’ Bee responded with far more confidence than she felt.

‘Sounds good. Have fun,’ Lia said.

Bee had no doubt what her mother was implying. However, the thought of having a hot session tonight with Zozo did make her tingle. In the next few minutes, they had all said their farewells and Bee and her girlfriend were walking hand-in-hand to the new noodle bar not that far off.

****

Strangely the flat they were heading to seemed unfamiliar to Bee. She knew her address she was sure and even with the wine her mother had given her, she was not that drunk. Fortunately, Zozo led the way and soon they were up the stairs and going into their place. Their place – that concept itself felt a little odd to Bee. However, once inside and especially seeing various ornaments around the place; the books in the bookcase in the living room, let alone the various shots she and Zozo had printed out of them together, Bee felt reassured that this was the right place; this was her home. Surely that had been the whole point of renting this place, so they could be together alone, without worrying about what anyone else thought.

Bee hung up her leather jacket and got out of her boots. She placed them by Zozo’s and yet again, while some of the pairs seemed familiar, others, ones she quickly realised were her own, appeared oddly new to her. Wondering if she was over-working or was lacking some vitamin, making her feel this way, Bee caught up with Zozo in the kitchen. She was brewing up the tea they liked and opening the tin of cranberry-orange muffins she had made earlier that week and which Bee knew she loved. Somehow, Bee knew that these signalled that they were going to have sex. Were they falling into a rut? Becoming too predictable? If they were, she was not complaining. Something made Bee emphatic about how good sex was with Zozo and them being on a buzz from the ‘space cakes’ and the herbal tea just added to the sensation, prolonged it.

With the preparations all underway, Zozo now turned and gently moved into Bee’s embrace. They kissed and Bee found a real frisson as their breasts pressed against each other’s. This all felt so new; so distinctively exciting. She guessed that if she was still so turned on; felt it so fresh with her girlfriend, then she had nothing to complain about. With the kettle clicking off, Zozo turned to pour the tea. She carried it to the bedroom with Bee following with the muffin tin. There was a large bed in there covered in satiny sheets and a duvet in black with purple swirls across it. Over the bed was a black-and-white framed photo which was possibly the most intimate of selfies – Bee and Zozo’s naked bodies interlocked. She could tell who was who, primarily from the tattooes. A little self-consciously Bee reached to rub the strip of her upper arm where these inked tendrils looped around. She struggled to remember when she had had that done.

Zozo put the tea pot and cups down on the bedside table. Bee did the same with the muffins on her side. Then they stood at the foot of the bed and giggled. Zozo raised her arms and Bee understood what she had to do. She reached over and pulled up the lovely top over Zoë’s head. Then she reached round to unclip her bra and let it fall to the bed. The actions felt very strange even while Bee felt she had done them often before. Zozo stood looking at her and Bee then realised what she was expected to do and in moments she too was having her top and bra removed. Then it was the trousers. She released Zozo from her vinyl and she in turn unbuckled and unzipped her from the leather. Then the panties were being taken down and they stood naked bar the socks which each woman stripped off and snowballed at the other.

Bee giggled along with her girlfriend and then they closed, skin-to-skin; nipple somewhere around another nipple. Bee almost shuddered with this sensation, especially as Zozo gently separated her thighs with her own and pressed the smooth skin of her leg against Bee’s honeypot lips. She was smooth down there and with surprise Bee looked to see she was shaved or waxed or something. Quickly though, she knew that was to make it easier for her girlfriend, her lover, to tongue her to an orgasm. Once more Bee’s head spun trying to reconcile what she knew she had done with what she felt was completely unfamiliar.

‘Come on,’ Zozo said.

She led Bee by the hand to the bathroom and got the shower on. Bee was self-conscious as she followed Zozo under the warm water, both their bodies soon shiny with it and then slick with the shower gel. However, the sensation of being sponged in all those places and returning the favour, flooded Bee’s mind so much with arousal that she could not think about anything else but playing with this sexy woman that close to her. The drying off was almost as much fun as they rubbed each other with big purple towels and Bee saw one of the advantages of having short hair. Then it was back to the bed, both of them naked under the duvet, dishing out cups of tea and hash muffins then sitting up, with the duvet away from their upper bodies. Again there was that almost automatic reaction in Bee’s mind that this was highly unusual, perhaps even wrong. However, the sensation was getting old now and she concentrated instead on what she enjoyed about it.

Soon riding on a cloud of hash and chamomile, Bee was barely conscious of when their love making started. It was sex, but somehow there was that extra element that took it higher. Memories rather than experience seemed to guide her not simply with what she needed to do, but what Zozo liked; what Bee liked her lover to do to her. Soon there were nipples in mouths and the playful stroking of honeypot lips before fingers slipped in. Bee almost felt compelled to go down on her lover; to close her mouth gently around Zozo’s clit, loving the very flavour of this woman; the sensation of her face pressed against her smooth sex. Soon, though, Zozo was guiding her away. She had not come yet, but her throbbing clit suggested she was close and wanted to extend that sensation. Zozo now shifted to lick her girlfriend and Bee quivered almost unable to cope with it, as if was the very first time she had had a tongue lapping at her sex. Soon she was gasping and panting, feeling she was about to crash into a climax.

Then Zozo pulled away and tossing the duvet to the floor, adjusted her position. It took some moments for Bee to understand what was going on. She felt very awkward as, like Zozo, she spread her legs and shifted closer so that they were soon lips-to-lips, gently moving to stroke against the other’s sex. Bee really struggled to cope with the sensation of this. Partly she wanted it to go on forever and partly she could not handle any more. She realised it was not just the physical element but the mental as well. She battled to accept that she was truly here having such sex with a woman. Was this simply a lucid sethy or some kind of beautiful nightmare?

Now Zozo began to sit up though keeping her mound pressed as best as she could against Bee’s. Rather dazed, it was only when her lover tossed over a pillow to support her back that Bee understood what she was meant to do. It was rather clumsy but soon they each had one leg over one of the other’s; they were cat’s cradle of naked women. Zozo kissed Bee and touched her so hard nipples before reaching down the narrow gap. She seemed able to find Bee’s clit with pinpoint accuracy. As the soft fingers touched it Bee jolted and yelped aloud.

‘That good?’ Zozo asked with a chuckle.

Breathing heavily, Bee was unable to respond coherently, but she moved her hand to match what Zozo was doing. It took her longer but then she was catching the excited clit between two fingers. So locked together it did not take much more than a few gentle strokes before they both climaxed, falling against each other, gasping and slick with sweat. Bee had no idea really what was happening, but knew she wanted more of it. Recovering a little the couple restored their bed and well into Saturday worked hard at pleasuring each other again and once again.

Bee awoke naked and with her girlfriend, Zozo, that Saturday, unaware of just how different she was; how different her life had been just the day before. While for a couple of weeks things about how she lived; what she loved and did, seemed new and surprising, soon she was unaware that in the past few years she had not had one very sassy mother and that she had been one very sassy, happy lesbian with the ideal woman for her.

THE END

Contemporary UK Story: Going Up/Going Down

Going Up/Going Down

Suvi glanced at her phone to see how long the meeting had overrun. She guessed she was an hour into overtime if this job; this company, paid overtime. The only benefit she could see would be that, by the time she had collected her stuff from upstairs and walked to the stop, the next bus to arrive would be that bit quieter than one during the initial burst of the rush hour. The lateness, however, seemed to be doing nothing to benefit the speed of the lifts, but eventually one came.

Stepping inside, Suvi pressed for her floor. It was nearly at the top of the building, though not quite, because the “penthouse” offices with views across London, were reserved for the top executives. The genuine board room was up there too, not that the board members came in often and their meetings tended to be held in swanky hotels instead. Suvi guessed it was probably much the same everywhere.

‘Wait! Wait!’

Suvi looked up to see a biker, presumably a courier, sprinting from the stairwell into the lobby where the lifts arrived. Suvi pressed to keep the doors open. 

‘It’s going up,’ Suvi explained.

While she had her work bag with her, she wanted to fetch her coat which was hung up in her corner of the big open-plan office.

‘Sure, that’s what I need,’ the courier replied.

As the courier stepped in, Suvi realised she was a woman. She breathlessly thanked Suvi. She set down a large cardboard box fortunately with a plastic handle to make it easier to manoeuvre and a smaller upright one. The courier then simply stood and watched as finally the lift doors closed.

Immediately Suvi picked up the scent of the woman’s all-in-one leather bike suit. It was a rich, not unpleasant aroma and she noticed that there was something lighter, sweeter, cut in with it. Suvi realised she expected bikers, if they wore anything in terms of deodorant, to select masculine scents rather than this. The woman had long jet-black hair in a plait that stretched down across her leather-clad back. Again Suvi realised she expected them all, whether male or female, to have buzz cuts. Much of the lift interior was mirror so Suvi was able to look with interest at the reflection of the courier’s face. The eyes caught her immediately. They were a deep-set, rich brown and very elliptical. Her cute nose and almost delicate chin were pointed.

The features for some reason seemed distantly familiar and then made Suvi think of the Philippines: a mix of Hispanic and East Asian elements, which she would have to confess, made for a pretty, maybe even beautiful, face. The courier’s small mouth smiled and Suvi realised the woman had been looking at her in return.

‘Do I know you?’ Suvi asked.

The woman now turned to face her directly and gave a little laugh.

‘Yes, don’t you remember, Suvi?’

The fact that the woman used her proper name rather than changing it from its Finnish source to an English rendition like “Susie”, seemed to confirm they had met before. Suvi, however, battled to remember where.

‘The Christmas party …’ the woman prompted.

Suvi struggled to recall that horrendous event. It was still causing ructions in the company.

‘I would say I was trying to forget it, but you know, that is actually very easy.’

The courier looked quizzically at her.

‘You didn’t hear?’ Suvi was not certain how connected this woman was to the company; what she might know or not know about it. ‘Harry Swinton - deputy head of HR - put something in that punch. One of those three-letter drugs they use for spiking. Said he was trying to “spice up” the “dull lot”, well, us I guess. Didn’t seem to do his career much harm, though.’

‘I didn’t drink the punch, I was on my bike,’ the woman explained.

‘Look, here, I’ll show you the email.’

Suvi started looking for it on her phone. As she did though, the lift’s lights flickered and then with a deep whine the lift stopped moving. She held her breath as the lights flicked briefly to red then back to white, though perhaps a little more yellowy in colour than before.

‘Oh God, that is all I need,’ Suvi said.

‘Why? You claustrophobic?’

‘No … but I was running late as it was.’

‘I am sure it won’t take long to fix.’

‘But aren’t you on some sort of schedule? Won’t this mess this up?’ Suvi nodded to the two boxes.

The courier smiled. ‘No, this was a social call.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘Yeah, I was just going up to pick up my girlfriend; head off out.’

‘Oh, I see.’

The woman did not look like one she would have imagined as a lesbian, though she had the sense that any who rode motorbikes would possibly - probably - be one. Saying that, she had seen enough “biker chicks” from movies and TV fawning over or rowing with hairy men. Now Suvi found herself wondering which of her colleagues might be dating this woman. She soon gave up though: it was a big company and the courier had not even pressed one of the buttons so Suvi had no clue which floor she had been heading to.

The moments passed in silence. It seemed that the lift was not going to start up soon. Suvi was glad her phone still had a reasonable amount of charge. She found the email she had been looking for. She was not clear about this courier’s relationship with the company but guessed while she might have been invited to the party, probably as someone’s guest, that might mean she was unlikely to have seen the email that had come from the “fallout” of Mr. Swinton’s actions. Suvi handed the phone across to the courier.

‘Thanks,’ the woman said.

She took off one glove and set it down on the top of the larger box. She studied the screen of the phone before handing it back, repeating her thanks.

‘So all you guys were spiked and it led to …’

‘Well a lot of things. Gulika Mandal said half of that would have happened anyway; people were just using this stuff as an excuse. For most people, though, it was memory loss. I think I got a taxi home, so was alright. Rosanna Byrne ended up in Trafalgar Square and Thorsten Nielsen got taken off the far end of the District Line; fast asleep.

‘That explains why you cannot remember me.’

‘I guess so. Well, I’m Suvi …’

‘Suvi Ferguson, named after your Finnish great-grandmother.’

Suvi nodded and extended a hand.

‘Yes and you are …’

‘I’m Marisol.’

‘Your family is from the Philippines, right?’

‘You remember that?’ Marisol expression perked up.

‘No … it was a guess.’

‘Oh, okay.’

Marisol let go of Suvi’s hand which she realised she had been holding far longer than was needed for a shake.

‘Yeah. Well, was it a good party?’ Suvi asked after long moments of silence.

Marisol have a weak smile. ‘For me, yes. I thought for you too.’

‘Well … I guess I should be pleased with that.’

‘It was me who got you into the taxi.’

‘Really, erm, well, I guess I should say thank you.’

‘I made sure you were safe; got you into bed. Sorry … now this is sounding creepy and I don’t mean to be creepy, the opposite, but maybe … maybe what I’ve done seems creepy. You know when something seems so right it sort of carries you through and then you step back from it and suddenly you have doubts, big doubts?’

Suvi smiled and nodded. The memory of serenading Hennrick with her guitar only for his girlfriend’s head to emerge and tell her to get lost seemed to fit what the woman was saying, pretty well.

‘Sure … been there; done that.’

The two women laughed together.

‘I am sorry that you never got a “thanks” from me for helping me get home and now four; five weeks have passed.’

‘Yes … I don’t know. There was a lot we said and … then well …’

‘I just forgot all about it.’

‘I see that now, but before just now, I didn’t know that.’

‘So, what things did I say?’

‘Look, I don’t think this thing is going to be moving for a while. I know it’s hardly comfortable, but let’s sit down.’

Marisol went down on to the floor almost immediately. Suvi was more hesitant, not wanting to get her work suit dirty. The courier seemed to understand.

‘I’ve got something you can sit on.’

She reached for the larger box and opened it. The aroma of leather came even stronger now and Suvi saw why as Marisol pulled out another combi biker’s suit.

‘It’s brand new. You can sit on that.’

Marisol spread it out on the floor stretching towards her.

‘You don’t want to spoil it.’

‘These things are tough. A bit of dirt off this carpet will be nothing to when it’s on.’

Rather self-consciously, Suvi got down on to the leather and stretched out lining up with its legs.

‘Thank you.’

That sweet, sharp, scent smelt stronger now and Suvi found it made her feel a little heady. She guessed though she could not complain as Marisol seemed to be giving up some gift; maybe something she had tried to deliver, in order to make her feel comfortable. Then she wondered if her headiness was simply because it was the end of the day; the end of the week and she had not eaten anything except a single biscuit since lunchtime.

‘Don’t you get hot in these?’ Suvi asked.

The smooth leather felt lovely beneath her fingers but she was aware of the weight of it; the various tough patches in it that she imagined were for protection.

‘You don’t wear much beneath them.’

Slowly Marisol lowered the zip on the front of hers until it was clear she only had a bra on there. It was a functional one, but was black and sleek in a way that Suvi found she appreciated; could then imagine herself wearing. She tried to look away from Marisol but instead found herself admiring the curve of her breasts.

‘So you don’t remember anything from the Christmas party?’ Marisol now asked.

Suvi shook her head, then glad of something to break her concentration on the woman’s breasts. ‘I think I remember getting ready in a bit of a rush and then people in that place … that bar was it? Or was that last year? Did we go to the same place?’

For a moment Suvi wondered why Marisol had focused on this topic, but she guessed it was actually quite useful to find out what she could not recall witnessing.

‘Do you remember talking with anyone?’

‘I think I talked with Sara and Stuart; Rosie, maybe. I think I even talked with Harry Swinton. Did he tell me to do something? I have a dim sense he did. Oh, he didn’t get me to put the stuff in the punch, did he? No, it must have been in there already or I would remember it better. I imagine it was something about circulating. He does sometimes treat the younger women as if we’re some kind of air hostess.’

‘I saw you talking to him, then you came over to me.’

‘Ah, okay. Right, sorry, Marisol, but that bit is blank.’

‘I think I believe that now.’

‘I didn’t want you thinking I was being rude or anything.’

‘No, no. But … do you still have my number in your phone?’

‘Erm … I don’t think so, but … I have got a lot on here.’

Rather feebly, Suvi started to go through the saved numbers. Many of them had odd names or codes that she could not even remember what they meant. Then the phone chimed and ‘Marisol’ with a smiling face of the woman sat on the floor opposite her appeared. Suvi chuckled.

‘Looks like I still have it.’

She pressed on it and there was a moment of feedback before the two women each killed the call.

‘Okay … this is the tough bit … and I am thinking now I have made certain assumptions and … done certain things that … I don’t know,’ Marisol began hesitantly.

‘Sounds a bit ominous. Did we … did we sleep together?’ Suvi could not imagine doing that but it was the kind of thing she heard went on after Christmas parties.

‘No, no … no, I would never take advantage of anyone that way. You were out of it when we got to your place. You do …,’ Marisol swallowed, ‘you do have a great bod, but I got you in some bed clothes.’

‘Okay, I am grateful for that.’

‘It is the least you should expect; I am not a man after all.’

‘No, I can see … I understand that.’

‘But you don’t remember saying how much you felt I was beautiful; how you would like me to be your “first” with a woman?’

At that, Suvi went bright red with embarrassment. ‘I … erh, well, you are beautiful, I can say that. But … but, I have never set out to be with a woman … you know, sex ,’ Suvi stuttered.

Saying that, though, Suvi felt then that she could imagine kissing this woman and was feeling curious what her body looked like. Was it simply a result of being stuck in here with Marisol? Would she have begun to have similar feelings if it has been Stuart or even Mr. Swinton?

‘Okay. Now … I’m not making this up, but you did say you wished you had the courage to “do it” with a woman like me; you just needed someone who would take your hand and gently lead you.’

‘Oh my God, did I?’

‘Yes. I was slightly cautious as I thought it might be some kind of trick and then you were getting a bit wobbly, but thinking back now, I see you weren’t alone in that. The men were mainly sticking to beer but even some of them had the punch and Jonas fell asleep pretty quickly. However, by then I was fixed on looking after you. This Swinton guy even said I should take you home … oh, shit!’

‘What?’

‘I see it now. He knew he was doping everyone and making them suggestible. I’m betting he was having a lesbian fantasy about you with me. He told you what to say to me; I feel sure of it.’

‘What a bastard! I can see that being one of his tricks.’

Suvi did recall from the year before about Swinton trying to “pair up” various members of staff, whether they were of the same gender or not, to kiss under the mistletoe. She had kissed Sara just to keep him quiet.

The two women fell silent. Suvi ran through a range of emotions, though steadily she found she was most annoyed about how Marisol had been misled.

‘I am sorry if you thought I was coming on to you; that it was genuine.’

Marisol have a flash of a smile from her very cute mouth. ‘I am a grown-up. I know now you are not a clit-tease …’

‘Clit-tease?’ Suvi chuckled.

‘It’s …’

‘I get it,’ Suvi responded with a laugh.

The word “clit” however, seemed to echo deep within her as a kind of reminder that she was not simply missing her dinner, but any chance she might have had of getting some action tonight, even of the one-night stand variety, would be ebbing away.

‘But you have never kissed a woman – that was real?’

‘Yes, I went to a bog-standard school not a posh boarding one.’

‘But, you know, these days a lot of women … explore.’

‘Yeah, I know the celebs do … a lot of them anyway. I did kiss Sara last year but really I did it just to shut down Swinton’s comments.’

‘And how was it?’

‘Nice … I guess and … looking at your soooo cute mouth, I am thinking that maybe now would be a good time to try it out again.’

‘That is my fault,’ Marisol said, avoiding Suvi’s gaze. ‘I … well, I had thought what you said to me at the party was real. Then that you had just got cold feet so I did something; am doing something. The only trouble is I think I am simply doing more of what that bastard Swinton planned.’

‘What is it? It’s this … this stuff I can smell, isn’t it?’

Marisol looked up rather embarrassed. ‘I am so sorry, Suvi. As I said, I should have stopped and thought before going ahead.’

‘What is it?’

‘I got it off the internet. It’s a mix of stuff, to ease you a bit; excite you a bit. I thought it would loosen things between us a bit. I was so excited at the party; thought we could start something good, even if just for you to see. You are beautiful and I could so easily see me and you being together.’

‘So this stuff, it’s on …’

‘It’s on my leathers; on yours too.’

Suvi now looked down at the suit she was sitting on. She brought her fingers to her nose and drew the scent on them in deeply.

‘Mine? I thought you were taking them as a delivery; to your … girlfriend.’

‘Yes, they are meant to be for my girlfriend; the boots too.’

Marisol opened the upright box and pulled out a pair of practical biker boots like her own and tipped out a pair of gloves afterwards.

‘So when you said you were  going up to pick up your girlfriend you meant you were going to pick up me?’

Marisol nodded slowly. ‘This lift has not broken down; I had this arranged. I know guys in the control room. They are stopping it until I call them. This time of the day no-one is going to worry if one of the lifts is off.’

‘Right,’ Suvi said slowly.

Part of her felt she should be angry or even scared. However, Suvi felt she could see the woman’s motives. Maybe if the situation had been reversed, she would have done the same. She remembered how she had rearranged projects so she would be assigned with Will, not just once, but a number of times.

‘Look, I realise that really I have just done effectively what this Swinton guy was trying.’

‘No.’ Suvi held up her hand. ‘He was just doing that for some … second-hand fantasising. This,’ she gestured to the floor, ‘is about you and me and what we want.’

‘But it is no different to last time. You are not in your right mind; this is all being done “under the influence”.’

‘Or maybe … this is about opening the doors of perception.’ Suvi laughed at that for sounding so pretentious; Marisol joined in. ‘It is only Swinton’s thing if this is fake. If it’s real then we get the last laugh.’

Marisol looked rather unconvinced.

‘Anyway what is done is done,’ Suvi said pragmatically. ‘Your magic mixture, whatever it is, is making me …’ she gave out a gasp and then shuddered, ‘so wanting to be kissing you; doing everything that … ah, fuck. God this is coming hard. The more … the more I say it the more it is coming into my mind. I want to suck you, lick, stroke you, I want you to do … I’ve got to get it out. I want you to … do those things to me – lick my pussy; suck my … clit.’

Suvi struggled to complete what she was saying and then it was precisely as she had said. The more she thought about what lesbians did sexually; the more she imagined what they could do, the more those things became embedded in her mind that she wanted; needed, to do them and, above all, with the astoundingly beautiful, sassy, sexy woman sat across from her. Though not knowing whether this would last, for the moment, Suvi felt certain that she was a lesbian and that the woman she wanted to be her girlfriend was in this lift with her. She went up on all fours and crawled over to Marisol.

‘This is not right,’ Marisol protested.

‘But it is. Shut up and kiss me.’

Ultimately Marisol yielded and quickly the two women were lying in each other’s arms, snatching quick kisses and then indulging in long, tongue chasing ones. Eventually, Suvi broke, her hips feeling stiff from lying on the floor. She gazed into Marisol’s eyes feeling lost deep within them. She stroked her cheek and her about-to-be lover reached out to do the same, gently running her fingers over Suvi’s pale, radiant, freckled skin.

Now feeling energised; excited; impatient to be in bed with this woman, Suvi jumped up and started to strip off her jacket, then to unbutton her blouse. Marisol stood up behind her and took the clothes and put them into the larger box. Soon, Suvi’s shoes and trousers were off. She was not certain if her socks and other underwear would suit, but she would go with them for now; envisaging going shopping with Marisol for biker-suitable versions. She turned now deliberately pressing her excited breasts against the hard leather that covered Marisol’s chest then they kissed some more.

Stepping back, Suvi lined up her first leather combi and began to slide herself into it. Marisol helped and soon Suvi found herself encased in black leather, the creak and the aroma of it exciting her. Marisol zipped her in and then helped her get on the boots. Suvi was mirrored on all sides and saw a very different woman to the one who had entered the lift. Marisol gently pulled her snow-blonde hair into a long plait to match her own, tying it off with nothing more exotic than a rubber band.

‘See, your girlfriend has emerged from her chrysalis, a wonderful shiny black butterfly,’ Suvi declared.

Marisol laughed at that. Suvi was not certain whether she was genuinely falling for this woman but for the moment the pleasure she got from feeling she was, was more than enough not to question.

‘Come on, get your friends to get us out of here. I want to be going out; going home with you,’ Suvi insisted.

Marisol complied and the lift began to move.

‘Going down,’ she said.

‘Not quite yet,’ Suvi gave a mischievous grin.

She realised that beneath her new leathers she felt highly aroused. However, her stomach was complaining and she knew she would not be up for her first round of lesbian sex unless she satisfied it first. The next hour saw Suvi given her first motorbike helmet and take a pillion ride that did nothing but stoke up her arousal. They grabbed a takeaway and headed to her small flat. Suvi’s mind was buzzing as she almost skipped up the steps to her place. She and Marisol had kissed while waiting for their food, but these days, Suvi guessed, no-one seemed to pay much attention to two women doing that, even if they were both beautiful, sexy women in tight leathers.

In the flat, Suvi simpered as Marisol got her boots off and unzipped her from the leathers. It was not simply that she was rendered right down to her underwear so quickly, but the sense that she would be putting these clothes on again. The leather might be heavy but there was something about the shiny black carapace that Suvi knew she had come to love. Yes, this was Marisol’s job and she could not see herself becoming a courier, but she was totally sold on motorbikes now and the clothing that went with them. In turn, Suvi removed the boots and combi from the woman she already felt for certain was her girlfriend and would soon be her lover and one day perhaps her wife. Suvi now had no inkling that even just a few hours before those thoughts would have seemed very strange to her, because now they were an integral part of her identity.

Soon the new couple were in bed, feeding each other morsels of takeaway food and sipping on beers. After that, they lay in each other’s arms, grinning at what this day had brought. Then slowly, to reaffirm what she had come to realise she felt for Marisol, Suvi began to kiss her body; took her nipples into her mouth and gently began to rub her thigh between Marisol’s. It proved no difficulty to envisage what lesbians did in bed and going with what felt so right now to Suvi, she did the same to her lover. Marisol’s soft words, small sounds and nudges steered Suvi to growing competence in pleasuring another woman. Suvi realised that as she progressed now with her tongue lapping hungrily at Marisol’s pussy, that her work was making this woman relax and, she trusted too, showing that this was all genuine. As Marisol rose to climax, her hands clasping Suvi’s head, she let out a deep, satisfied moan. Suvi felt a sense of release in her lover that had been a long time coming.

Having recovered, Marisol moved to return the favour taking Suvi to the first of many, many orgasms brought to her by a woman. After the sex, the couple fell into a deep sleep; a weekend of getting to know each other, lying ahead. Suvi woke the next morning lusting after, loving, the woman beside her and that was how it would be from now on.

THE END

Contemporary Europe Story: Master of Puppets

Whilst this story is named after an album by Metallica, all the characters in it are fictional and not based on anyone who actually exists or existed. This story features mind control, body piercing and transformation. Though the latter two are not things I usually go in for in my stories, this is one of my favourite compositions.

Master of Puppets
by Tang.

Coming out of college, Sian had no idea what she wanted to do, however, she had had a lucky break: Tom, a man she had known vaguely from when she had been on the college newspaper team, offered her a job on the new magazine he had started. Sian took the job immediately, telling herself it would pass the time and bring in a reasonable wage to help clear her student debts until she had decided the direction she was going to go in. It was only on the first day when she had arrived at Tom’s office in her best charcoal grey reporter’s suit that she realised what the magazine covered. Amongst the few other staff she stuck out, they were clad in tour teeshirts and tight jeans and Ally, the only other woman on the team, looked the archetypal rock chick. It turned out Tom had thought it had been Sian who had penned a series of reviews of rock bands that had played at the college and local bars, under the pseudonym of ‘Raven Minx’, when all along she had in fact been covering the reports of some of the college’s more obscure sports with just her initials on the tagline. However, Sian was not keen to pass up the job and represented her suit as a first-day joke. The next day she was back in jeans and a plain teeshirt, the closest her wardrobe had to what her colleagues wore. That first week Sian put herself on a crash course of learning the differences between nu metal, old school metal, thrash, glam, black and death, and her small flat echoed to the raucous sounds of a stack of compilation CDs. As it was, the rest of the team were generally too busy getting the magazine off the ground to notice her or her lack of specific knowledge. Tom was a tolerant boss and recognised that any new employee needed time to adjust.

The second week at her new job had ended. Sian had spent the time working on gig listings, a comparatively easy job she could do over the phone to local venues and others in neighbouring big cities. In the evenings she had thrown herself into her education. Being out every night of the week, seeing a dozen rock bands, had left her with the tangle-haired, caffeine-fuelled appearance that fitted in with those of her workmates.

“Sian, or do you prefer Raven or maybe Minx?” Tom asked lightly that Friday morning as he came up to the desk.

“Whatever, you’re boss.”

“Sure.” Tom smiled, clearly realising he quite liked that fact, however short-term it might be.

“Well, I think you’ve spent enough time at your desk, you’ve got the gig diary work down to a fine art, so I think it’s time you got out interviewing. I’ve got a good one lined up for you, it’ll let you stretch your writing muscles too. I’ve been talking with Erik Salvensen, you know him? He drinks in ‘The Magpies’ occasionally. Anyway, you know his ‘Grafted Corpse’ have supported some of the big names, well he says Jed Coulson’s moved into the area. The Corpse supported his last tour about eight years ago and Erik keeps in touch. I’ve got Coulson’s address and number. I thought you could go up there and do a feature, you know something like ‘rock god at rest’; ‘on the seventh day’, something like that. It’ll be a real break for the ‘zine. Erik gave him a call while we were in the pub last night, and Jed’s up for it, so they’ll be no problems at the door. The thing is, are you up for it?”

Sian nodded, exuding the false enthusiasm she had become expert at since coming to work for Tom. She had no idea who ‘Grafted Corpse’ were, let alone Erik Salvensen or even Jed Coulson, but she was sure that an afternoon’s internet surfing would fill in the gaps soon enough and come sunrise she could appear his greatest fan. “No worries, Tom, I’ll get on the case. You want it by Thursday?”

“Sure. Call him now, Erik said it’d be best if you went by early tomorrow afternoon. Jed’s got a party there in the evening, so we know he’ll be at home and at least sober until the guests turn up.” Tom put a scrap of paper with a phone number and an address on it, on Sian’s desk.

“Right, I’m on it.”

“Great, it’ll be good to have a long piece from you. This mag’s about promoting the talent of everyone who works for it, not just my ego,” Tom laughed warmly, “and we need to get yours out there on show.”

Sian felt truly touched by Tom’s words and was eager to do her best. Maybe some day soon she would make the best rock chick reporter around. She felt surprisingly excited by the thought, maybe all the CDs and gigs were swaying her opinions and the chamber music CDs she had previously favoured would ultimately be consigned to the dustbin.

“I’m on it.” Sian repeated, gave a mock salute and smiled broadly.

Tom nodded, smiling and drifted back to his office.

In seconds Sian was typing Jed Coulson’s name into the search engine and punching his number into the telephone. After five rings a woman with a posh voice and a lisp answered and confirmed Sian was expected the following afternoon. Putting the phone down, Sian knew she had about twenty-four hours to become a Jed Coulson expert.


Sian got out of her small car self-consciously. Partly it was the large mansion that rose from the gravelled driveway in front of her. Partly it was the fact that this was a real test, her first interview with a real celebrity. A large part of it, though, was how she was dressed, she was sure Jed would recognise her clothes as straight from the shop that morning. The ‘BloodRain’ teeshirt still smelt of its wrapper, the studded belt below it shone as shop new, like the new leather thonged necklace and the silver rings which covered her fingers. The biker leather jacket and the matching leather jeans with their pristine laces down the side were all too unworn and had not shaped to Sian’s body. Even the leather boots she wore squeaked. At least her matted hair and her pale, sleep-deprived features were authentic. Sian walked up the steps to the front door, liking the feel of the tight leather that had warmed as it pressed to her.

Sian rang the bell and the door was almost immediately opened by a woman a couple of years older than herself. Her milk-white skin contrasted with the polished black leather she wore: a shiny corset that cinched her waist and thrust up her firm breasts above a miniskirt that did little beyond cup her bum, and patent ankle boots with spike steel heels. Lush black hair, done in a plait, stretched all the way to her waist.

“Sian Moore.”

“Come in.” The woman said and stepped aside.

Sian walked through the door into the entrance hall. It echoed to her and the woman’s footsteps. Sian looked up the broad staircase in front of her, painted in spiralling shades of red rather than the usual white. The stone floor was inlaid with a mosaic of BloodRain’s symbol picked out in tiles of their distinctive russet shade.

“Impressive.” Sian said.

The woman did not reply, she just walked on to a side door and Sian followed. They went through a lounge fitted with huge leather sofas in different shades, that russet again plus midnight blue and varieties of black. Expensive video and audio equipment and extreme modern art paintings lined the walls. Sian felt that even if you did not like his choices Jed Coulson had a taste and satisfied it without becoming tawdry like so many retired rock stars.
The woman went up to what looked like a stretch of wall, then reached out and pressing it in a particular location caused a panel to slide open. It revealed steps leading down.

“Down into the dungeon.” Sian joked.

“No, the entrance to that is off the day room.” The woman responded without humour.
Sian followed the woman down into a basement room. It was lit by recessed lamps and had a surprisingly warm glow about it. The walls were painted terracotta and the floor was again tiled with the swirling pattern.

“Thank you, Dalia.”

As Sian’s eyes adjusted to the subterranean light she heard the voice she guessed was that of Jed Coulson. She quickly glanced around the room. Along the walls were a few more paintings, most abstract, plus a photograph of an Oriental man. A life-sized statue of a dancing girl that Sian guessed came from Indonesia stood to one side, a large wooden sideboard in the corner and intricately carved wooden screens ran along another wall and in the corner nearest them stood a full-length mirror. There was a semi-circle of formal wooden chairs in the centre of the room grouped around what looked like a metal sink unit and a barber’s chair. Lounging on this was Jed. He was familiar to Sian from numerous shots she had found on websites. He looked about a decade younger than his years, his hair still long and dark, and undyed by the look of it. His frame was still lean and his face had the characteristic lines that he had always had, but no additional ones. Sian wondered if he spent most of his time frozen in suspended animation deep in these underground parts of the mansion. He could easily have walked on stage as he was, dressed with a studded belt slung across the hips of his tight leather trousers that ran into clompy boots. Only the long maroon-coloured heavy brocade jacket, stretching almost to his knees and the plain white shirt he wore it over seemed to diverge from a rock uniform.

“Mr. Coulson...” Sian said tentatively.

“Call me Jed, Sian.”

“...yes, Sian Moore.” She said, her stride broken by Jed’s interjection.

“Also known as Raven Minx, though I always thought Rachel Milner wrote those articles and I know she is now in New York.”

“Yes, she did, there was some mix up.” Sian replied, a little unnerved by Jed’s knowledge.

“And you seem to have done quite well out of it.”

“It got me a job.” Sian replied, a little defiant.

“Yes, that can be tough these days: to get started.” Jed said, his attitude softening to real sympathy. “So you get the chance to interview me, you are the lucky one.” Jed tone was now cheery.

“Yes, thank you for seeing me. I know you must be busy.”

“Not really, I’m retired you know. I have a few hobbies to keep me occupied, but it’s nothing on playing ten cities in twelve days.”

“Right. Well, that’s the angle we’d like to take, as my boss said, looking into the ‘rock god at rest’.”

Jed laughed. “That’s good. Well, let’s get started. Have a seat.” He gestured to one of the formal chairs.

Sian sat where directed and started up her recorder balanced on her knee. “It’s been eight years since you last toured, how do you fill your days?”

“Well, I still travel a lot, you can’t be on the rock scene for twelve, fifteen years without making friends all over the place. I hang out here, I host parties. I read a lot.”

“What kinds of things?”

“All sorts, a lot of philosophy, psychology, magic.”

“Sounds pretty heavy.”

Jed shrugged. “Well, a lot of these things I have been thinking about for years. Most bands like ours take various stances on things, how we feel about war, racism, that sort of thing, sometimes it comes out in the music, sometimes it’s just bubbling under.”

“BloodRain never really had a satanic image did it?”

“No.”

“But it used dark iconography.”

“Iconography? Good word, it’s nice to have a literate interviewer.” Jed smiled. “Yes, you see it around us even here, to me, it was more than just style, it was a representation of things I hold dear.”

“Would you consider yourself a pagan?”

“Certainly, that’s the box I would tick on the census. I don’t think anyone can go to the rural spots of this country or any other and not realise there is a force coursing through it, that it is a power, a very strong power.”

“Something you worship?”

“Let’s say respect, and explore.”

“So, to you, natural powers are important.”

“Yes, not only in the land, but in people too, and that is something I explore here.”

“Do you subscribe to any particular philosophy? Who is your guru?”

Jed laughed, but nodded, as Sian had expected, in the direction of the photograph of the Oriental man. “Luo Zhijian.” Jed said. “I probably have the largest collection of his original writings that there is. I used to spend a few months with him every year. He died three years ago.”

“Right.” Sian said, trying to work out how to spell the guru’s name.

“And Sabal Chandrasekar, I’m in regular contact with him and was out seeing him in Madras just last month.”

“Could you summarise what they teach?”

Jed laughed again, lightly. “They teach the reading of people and their personalities, how to measure people, and how to adjust what you measure.”

“Could you give me an example?”

“Yes, I suppose so. It’s probably easier to show the abilities they have helped me develop in practice rather than trying to explain them. That way I’m sure you’ll see what I mean.”
“Right. Okay, go on. Let’s give it a shot.” Sian said, more than a little curious.

Jed sat forward on his chair, closed his eyes and bowed his head. His breathing slowed and Sian found she was straining to hear it in the silent room and as she did, the rhythmic pattern calmed her. Then Jed snapped his eyes open and looked directly at her.

“You like to please, don’t you Sian? I can see that. I’ve had a lot of reporters through my door over the years, male and female, and they all think about themselves and what they can get out of it. Even the ones from the rock magazines, come in pressing their personalities, dressed with teeshirts from the bands they’re pushing at the moment, or something classic so that they look cool. But, you, I feel you’re different. You dressed for me, you got yourself nice new leathers to come and see me, you got yourself a teeshirt of my last band. That’s what I like to see, especially in an attractive woman like yourself.”

Sian blushed a little. She guessed Jed was playing with her, a lot of these rock stars were smooth talkers, they played a role, different roles, all the time. This smooth and hard image was clearly how Jed wanted to portray himself to the world through Tom’s magazine, for someone else it might be something different. However, Sian had to admit that she did feel flattered and her discomfort at dressing the way she had, had instantly faded and she was now pleased at all the choices she had made that morning.

“So, you are good at reading people.”

“Reading their minds.”

“Okay, reading their minds. But what can you do with that?” Sian was interested to hear Jed’s explanation. Superficially what he was saying seemed like some typical pop psychology mumbo-jumbo, but his conviction in it made her feel there had to be strands of truth within it.

Jed continued. “You know the mind has different components, things like will, consciousness, identity. I have always had an interest in all of those, and since I’ve stopped touring I have learnt how to manipulate them all.”

“Manipulate?”

“Yes, alter, change, control. That is what occupies much of my time.”

“You can alter people’s minds? Control them?” Sian was fascinated, if a little sceptical, she had read enough interviews to know that rock stars were quite likely to sound off about the latest esoteric fad.

Jed just nodded.

“Could you give a demonstration?” Sian asked, trying not to sound too eager.

“What sort of demonstration would you like? On one of my staff?” Jed raised his gaze slowly so it fixed on Sian. “How about on you?”

“Erm.” Sian hesitated, she wondered what she was letting herself in for.

“I know, why not yourself and one of my staff, fair’s fair. I’ll give you a demonstration of identity exchange.” Jed gave a mercurial smile, as if an idea was bubbling up. “I’ll switch you with Cella and then you’ll see how you would have appeared if you really had wanted to dress the way I like. Does that sound a good idea?”

“Erm, yes. I suppose so.”

Jed laughed, not unkindly. “You know so.” He strode up to Sian quickly, his hands extended before him and put them either side of Sian’s forehead, his fingers just touching gently.

Sian could feel warmth coming from Jed’s fingers as he stood there, his head bowed and his eyes closed. Then he snatched his right hand away and jerked it to point across the room to where the carved wooden screens stood. In that instant Sian had the strange feeling as if a sheet had been pulled from over her head. There was a moment of darkness and then she felt everything had calmed.

Sian felt strange. Her body felt constricted. She was standing in a room with weak light, shafts of it shining on to her. She looked down and gasped. In that instant she believed everything that Jed had told her. Gone were the teeshirt, the leathers, the new boots, instead her body was caressed by a skin-tight black rubber catsuit that glistened wherever the light hit it. Her body was cinched in at the waist by a shiny corset and her legs ran into thigh-length boots, rising on sharp heels that to Sian seemed impossibly high. As Sian moved her head she felt her plait running over her rubber coated back, and a slight breeze on the shaved sides of her head. Plait? Shaved sides? This was insane. Self-consciously Sian lifted her hand, noting her sharp black nails emerging from the fingerless gloves. She ran her hand over her head. Her hair rose into a crest then ran down her back as the long plait, but the sides were shaved, and somehow she knew the bare skin was tattooed with intricate patterns. As she stood there familiarising herself with the body she now wore she noticed other changes, the piercings that gave a weight to her tongue and to her nose, that tantalised her nipples as the rubber shifted gently over the studs, that rested in her brow and most of all that rode in the hood of her clit, teasing her with body warm metal on her clitoris every time she moved her legs.

“Sian.” Jed called.

Sian looked ahead and saw through the pattern of the carved wooden screen. Jed stepped up to it and pulled a panel in it open.

“Do you like it? Or should I say, do you like being Cella?”

Sian stepped forward, finding it surprisingly easy to walk in the heels. She loved the way the rubber rippled around her as she moved.

“Take a look.” Jed gestured to the full-length mirror.

Sian strode to it and looked. The image was that of a succubus. As she had determined, she was clad from head to toe in second-skin black rubber and the shaved parts of head were tattooed with lovely patterns. Silver rode her brow, her nose, her tongue. A pure metal collar sat around her neck with a ring at the front that Sian knew must be for a leash.

“Wow.” Sian said, the stud in her tongue modifying her speech to a lisp. “Amazing illusion.”

“No illusion. As I said, you’ve got Cella’s body. She was one of my so-called post-career groupies. This is how she dresses. I’ll see how she likes walking around in your body.”

Jed turned and Sian looked the way he was now staring, back to where she had been sitting just moments before. Correction, where she was still sitting. There was Sian Moore, dressed in her new leathers, her tape machine in her hand.

“Cella. What do you think of Sian’s body?”

“Master, it is undeveloped, there is so much more that could be done with it. She has only began to recognise her sexuality. These leathers are not bad. She could improve if she became yours, learned to serve you as this slave does.”

Sian stood speechless. It was unbelievable to hear someone else speaking with her voice, in her body. In her body. This was impossible. Sian shook her head and pinched herself.

“Show me how she should behave to me then.” Jed said.

“Yes, Master.” Cella lowered herself to the floor and crawled over to Jed. She turned Sian’s pert leather clad backside upwards for Jed to view before kneeling upwards. She slid off the jacket and teeshirt and, in moments, the bra beneath. Slowly she eased the leather jacket back on her naked top, and sat kneeling, clearly subservient to Jed.

“Master, does this slave please you? Can i please you?”

Jed smiled. “Yes, but first we have to get you dressed just right, just like Cella here. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Master.”

Jed laughed. “That’s very good. That is just how I would like Sian to be.”

Sian had been watching as if in a dream, it was all so unreal, but as she saw herself abasing herself in front of Jed her borrowed body became excited, her clit becoming rigid against the stud, her juices running wet.

“Sian, what do you think?” Jed turned to her.

Sian shook her head, it was all rather bewildering but she tried to focus. “A great trick Jed. What’s all this master and slave stuff?”

“Ah, I thought that’d interest you. You know I said there are different parts of the mind.”

“Yes, I remember, identity, consciousness, will.”

“Good girl. Well, you’ve seen how I can manipulate identity and consciousness, well I also have the power over will. Cella is totally committed to me, she can do nothing but obey me, she has no will, just my commands.”

“Oh.”

“Aren’t you going to ask for a demonstration of that too?” Jed asked.

Sian began to panic. She looked down at the subservient woman that looked like her and began to worry Jed could truly enslave her.

“Wouldn’t you like me to strip you of your will, turn you into one of my pets? You like to please: I knew you were ideal when you stepped in here, now I am going to see that I was right.”

Sian began running as best she could on the heels, but then something stopped her, there was no need to run. Her steps slowed and she turned to look back at Jed. She realised there was a curiosity inside her, she did want to stay here, she did want to find out what he would do. Sian found herself walking back to Jed, enjoying the way the rubber felt, enjoying how the studs touched her body, how she was striding on these heels.

“Did I tell you that I can also control desires?”

At that moment Sian felt the urge to kiss him flow right through her body and in seconds she had grasped him, pressing the rubber clad body she wore against him. probing deep into his mouth with her studded tongue. Sian broke from him, gasping with a sensation of pleasure.

“Excellent. You are just perfect. However, I think Cella wants her body back.”

Sian was powerless as Jed pressed his hands to her forehead. Then, again she felt as if the wrapping had been cast off. As her vision cleared she realised she was not in her own body. She tried to move but was unable, her body felt numb. It was not uncomfortable, just strange, again as if she was seeing it all in a dream. She realised she was by the wall. Jed and Cella were kissing and Sian realised how envious she was of Cella, how totally erotic she, and what she wore, were. Sian tried to dismiss the thought, guessing it had been planted by Jed, but somehow knowing that was not true.

Sian saw her own body, standing, its eyes closed and she guessed it was now just a shell. She panicked, fearing Jed had just trapped her here as she realised he must have moved her mind into the statue of the dancing girl by the wall. Sian was unable to look away as Jed and Cella led her unresisting body to the chair Jed had recently vacated. Sian could not look anywhere else, could not even blink her eyes and was unnerved looking at herself walking around, but something now was dulling the panic, and instead she was intrigued, fascinated by what would happen. In moments Sian’s body was laid in the barber’s chair. Then Dalia came into view and she and Cella began removing the remainder of Sian’s clothes. Jed stepped up to Sian’s naked, relaxed body. He lent forward delicately running his fingers over her naked breasts. Jed produced a hypodermic and pressed it Sian’s near side breast and emptied its contents. He set down a large bottle of a cloudy liquid on a space on the chair and filled the syringe three times more and injected into her other breast and in turn to the two cheeks of her bum. He rested, capped the hypodermic and stepped back.

Sian watched, believing what she saw to be a dream, believing what she saw to be real. It reminded her so much of preparing a corpse or of readying someone for prosthetic make-up to play an alien. Thinking that, she thought of the reflection she had seen of herself as Cella the Succubus. As Sian’s thoughts rushed she barely noticed the gradual but steady growth and firming of her breasts and bum. Her attention returned as she watched Jed take a seat and tuck the syringe back into a wallet that disappeared from sight. Now Sian looked as Dalia stepped up and turned and lowered the barber’s chair so that Sian’s head was over the sink unit. She pulled out a nozzle on a flexible metal tube and proceeded to shampoo and wash then dry Sian’s hair. Meanwhile Cella moved around Sian’s body and Sian realised she was piercing it and inserting silver rings and studs, in both nipples, her tongue, her brow and around the rims of her ears. They were soon bright points of light on her body. Sian was initially indignant that they were tampering with her body this way, no-one had asked her consent, but quickly that thought faded, replaced with remembrance of what they had felt like in Cella’s body and an eagerness to feel the sensation of the piercings for herself.

Sian’s attention was snatched away as somehow she heard an electric razor buzzing, Dalia was operating it. Quickly it made her pubis naked allowing Cella to pierce her labia and clitoral hood placing studs in both. Then Sian was unsurprised but excited as she knew Dalia was following up shaving the sides of Sian’s head, then plaiting her hair, shorter than her own, but long enough to allow Dalia beginning to make it a match for Cella’s style. In moments more the tattooing began, the intricate pattern a replica of one of BloodRain’s in the same russet shade.


Sian had no sense of how much time was passing. Like a dream she would notice changed features about her body, viewing Dalia and Cella’s work very much as Jed did, sitting, looking entranced from one of the formal chairs. Now she noticed a long plant-like tattoo spiralling up from her navel to her breasts. Then she saw Cella return from the screens first with a rubber catsuit then shiny thigh-length boots like her own. Sian watched as Cella and Dalia eased Sian’s body into its own rubber catsuit, the same russet browny-red colour that had characterised so much of BloodRain’s iconography. She could only watch as the rubber crept slowly up her body. It sealed her thighs, her bum, her bare pussy lips, her waist, her tattooed midriff, her back, then over her firm breasts, their nipples erect, to slide clinging up her arms to come together at the her neck. Dalia slid the zip closed shutting Sian’s body into its second russet skin, revealing every line, every curve of Sian’s flesh, but now coloured a glistening autumnal shade. Dalia began to paint Sian’s nails and then her lips the same distinctive reddy-brown. As Cella buckled the leather corset around Sian’s body, pulling in her waist and further accentuating her enlarged breasts, Sian realised that if she was ever to gain control of her body she would find herself looking like little more than a sexual toy, tailored precisely to Jed’s tastes. Sian told herself that whatever she looked like on the outside, she would retain the same personality, the same spirit. However, even that belief was shaken by Jed’s claims that he could affect minds as much as he could clearly alter bodies.

Sian could see that the matching rubber thigh-length boots that would be hers were being slid on. Sian could not deny the excitement she felt. From the time in Cella’s body, Sian knew how good the rubber clinging so tightly to her felt, and she felt an eagerness to feel what it was like to have her own. Then all the motion stopped, Cella and Dalia stepped back from Sian’s body and knelt on the ground either side of Jed who stroked his hands over their heads as if they were his pet lionesses. He was clearly looking over the shaved, tattooed, pierced, enhanced, rubber-coated body of Sian. He smiled, clearly pleased with the handiwork. As he rose from his chair and walked towards Sian’s statue, Sian felt a rising tension as she knew it might only be a matter of moments before she found herself in that body.

Jed stopped at the statue, his eyes looking into it. “You wanted to please me, and now you can, we have crafted you into the perfect being for me, the perfect gift for me. How ever much I like a mind, I do feel that it is vital it has a decorous setting to be in: one that clearly shows what that person is. I think your body now does that perfectly. It is that of a woman who burns to please me. Now, take up your body and we can ready you to take up that role.”

Sian was plunged into darkness as Jed grasped the statue’s head. This time she felt as if a heavy blanket had come off her, but in seconds she could blink and could see herself looking up at the ornate ceiling of Jed’s room. As she breathed against the constraints of the corset she could feel the nature of her new body: the piercings that stimulated her breasts and her sex, the stud in her tongue she knew Jed would want to tease him, the scent, the tightness, the slipperiness of the skin-tight rubber that was now her clothing, showing and accentuating every smooth line of her.

Awkwardly Sian shifted and got up from the chair, feeling strange as her boots touched the floor and she felt herself resting on the high heels. It was good to be back in her body, and she had to admit it felt exciting. First Cella and then Dalia came forward and kissed her and Sian recognised that as a sign that they were welcoming her as one of their own.

Sian strode slowly over to the mirror and looked herself over. Her hands cupped her full breasts which were sensitive and kept tingling each time they moved slightly in the smooth rubber. Sian turned back to Jed who stood silently as if watching to see if his experiment worked.

“So what happens now? I go to the press saying how the mad ex-rocker tied me down and shaped me to the way he liked. That will be a scoop, I’ll be on chat shows for the next year.” Sian sneered.

“Oh, don’t worry, you won’t be leaving here for quite a while yet...”

It had been as Sian feared, he planned to imprison her here.

“... and even when you do, you’ll just have lovely things to say about me. Don’t you like how we’ve dressed you, you look so cool.”

Sian had to admit she was impressed by the look, she certainly looked more exotic than she ever could have imagined and wondered how impressed her workmates would be.

Jed walked slowly up to Sian. “The event isn’t over yet. I want you to be happy. I want you to be ecstatic at what you’ve become.”

Sian felt entranced, fascinated to see what Jed would do next. Having seen his power she had no doubt what he could do. Something felt excited by that. Could she truly become a woman like Cella, so clearly erotic, so devoted to her master?

Jed stood in front of Sian but not touching her. He held out his arms level with Sian’s eyes. He locked his hands together and closed his own eyes. Sian felt as if the floor was swaying around her. Then, suddenly Jed flipped his hands over and opened the palms. He seemed to be tugging against something and Sian felt as if a wave had crashed over her. She struggled to stay upright. Likewise Jed seemed to be battling against some physical rather than a mental force. He staggered back, but kept his hands held out, locked and pulling. Sian felt as if energy was being drained from her. Part of her said she could resist, she could escape, but the feelings of her body, shaped by him into that of a living sex toy told her it was too late, she was already his and should let herself ease fully into this pleasurable existence. Sian still felt some urge to struggle, to hold on, but there were seductive voices telling her to yield, to let go and let her master shape her into the most erotic creature, the sexiest woman she could be. Jed whipped back his arms and unlocked his hands, now only his right arm was in front of him.

In these last moments Sian felt as if Jed tugged at her will as if trying to free a sheet of plastic that had snagged on something on the ground, and then it broke. Sian gasped as her free will was totally stripped from her. In an instant she felt terribly relieved, extremely relaxed and grateful. She had no idea what to do and knew she should wait to be told. She looked expectantly at Jed and realised she had the burning desire for him to command her, not only to tell her what to do but to enslave her. Yet he looked tired; he was shaking from his exertions. His left hand was cupped, bouncing up and down as if her were juggling something. Then he lifted his hand and jerked, it was as if he had thrown a ball at Sian. She felt another wave of force, that pushed her back on her sharp heels. Then all was quiet, Sian felt a gratitude pass through her whole body, things had been uncertain and now were clearing. Slowly within her Sian felt changes, it was as if something was seeping into every part of her, shaping her opinions, her attitudes, shaping her identity, all that had been Sian was being subsumed by something new, something pleasurable, the personality that her master had created for her. A personality that loved this crafted body, a personality that could do nothing but obey its master. Any previous existence was fading, memories were washed away and all her old thinking was gone. She felt warm and happy as her new, true identity became fixed and she delighted in her existence.

Jed was breathing heavily and rested, stooped, holding himself up with his hands on his thighs. Cella walked up with a drink, he took it and drained it in one.

“Excellent.” Jed said catching his breath. “Minx.” He added simply.

The rubber-clad woman standing opposite him shuddered with pleasure as at the sound of her name her new personality locked into place. Minx shifted her weight in her tight boots, loving the squeal of the rubber that she wore, loving the sensation of the stud riding on her clit, loving the fact that she was ready to serve her master.

“Minx?”

“Yes, Master.” Minx replied stepping closer to him. “How can this slave serve you?” Sian Moore no longer existed, this woman was simply Minx.

Jed laughed in triumph almost as if he had been uncertain that the transformation would work, but now was more than satisfied.

“Cella, the collar.”

“Yes, Master.”

Cella came over with a metal collar like her own in one hand and a shiny leather leash in the other. As she saw them, Minx felt a thrill run through her as she knew she was going to fully enter slavery to her master and she loved the thought. He had made her so sexy, he was the one who owned her totally.

Jed took the collar and walked the few steps to Minx. He handed it to her. She took it and hesitated feeling unworthy to become so fully her master’s, but he nodded. Minx lifted the slim, metal collar, such a shiny metal, to her neck and closed it with a click. She gasped as her master reached forward and sealed it with a tiny padlock. He then attached the leash to the ring on the collar.

Without saying anything more Jed led his new pet from the room by her leash. She strutted behind him delighting that she so pleased him.

“Cella, Dalia, come.”

Minx’s attention was focused on her master so she paid little attention to where they went. She knelt when her master ordered and found she was in a large bedroom. Jed sat back in a deep armchair and released his flies. His cock emerged in an instant. Minx felt so privileged to see it.

“Minx, suck me off.” He said simply.

Minx did not have to be ordered twice, she slid across the floor on her shiny boots and slowly moved her head between his leathered thighs and gratefully took his cock into her mouth, using her tongue stud to the full, the knowledge of how to expertly please him, coming from somewhere deep within her. She slowed, knowing that it was pleasing him too much, but still eager to drink his spunk when it came. Minx rolled his cock in her mouth, taking it deep then letting it back up to her lips, working with her tongue and its stud, keeping him hovering on the edge of pleasure. Her master was reduced to nothing bar a grunting, shaking sexual creature, wanting to come, but wanting the pleasure prolonged.

“Now.” He finally muttered.

Minx’s tongue lapped a few more times at his cock and it began shooting into her, his legs, his hips crashing against her as he came, but she loved having his flesh, his muscles, his hot scent so close to her. She drank down his semen, grateful for the opportunity. Her immediate task complete Minx slid back from her master and knelt patiently awaiting his next command.

“Shit, that was good, so good. Oh yes, that was the best decision I’ve made in a long time to have you come out here.”

“Cella, Dalia. It’s time to make Minx feel welcome. I want you three to play together whilst I get ready for the party.”

“Yes, Master.” The three chorused.

Minx felt a little disappointed as Jed stepped from the room but in moments she felt Cella’s hands stroking over her bum and Dalia turning Minx over to lie beneath the other two women. Minx quivered with pleasure as tongues and fingers seemed to be everywhere teasing her most sensitive and excitable places. Cella eased down the zip of Minx’s catsuit and latched on to her nipples, knowing how the tease their studs to excite Minx further. Meanwhile Dalia dealt with Minx’s pussy which has become sodden and so loose as Minx had served her master. Dalia’s tongue was soon active, her own stud flicking over Minx’s clit, her fingers parting the lips of her pussy and digging deep. Minx was breathless and no words would come only the grunts and shrill sounds of the playbeing she had become. When the first of a string of orgasms swept her, her back arched as she grasped at the shapely bodies of her sisters in bondage, but they kept her pinned as they worked without pause at pleasing her. Minx had no sense of time, little sense of identity, all she knew was that she was a good rubber-clad slave and that the rewards were this pleasure.


“Come in.” Jed said as Dalia ushered in a tall blond man.

Already there were a few guests making the most of Jed’s large table of alcohol and trays of drugs. A couple were already stripping off and heading to the pool. Loud rock music penetrated throughout the ground floor of the house. Jed was sat in a large armchair, a handful of old friends and admirers grouped around him, Cella and Minx were sitting at his feet, their heads occasionally stroked, the odd snack dropped for them, just like the pets they were.

“Erik.” Jed said warmly jumping to his feet.

The two men locked in an embrace of old friends.

“Erik come and meet my new addition. You know Cella.”

Erik nodded and smiled at Cella.

“This is Minx.”

At the introduction, Minx rose on to her heels, her firm breasts thrust out in their russet rubber coating.

“Minx.” Erik said the name, savouring it as he looked over her shapely body, so obvious in its rubber.

“Minx, this is Erik Salvensen. I want you to look after him all this evening and tonight. He has been a good friend to me especially recently, and to you too, and I want you to reward him. Do whatever he asks.”

“Yes, Master.” Minx said in a pleased tone. She ran her eyes over the rocker, from the leather chaps he wore over his jeans to the black shirt and biker jacket on top. He was tall, blond and had a strength about him, Minx was pleased to be able to serve a man like this. She stepped close to him rubbing her rubbered thighs against his leg.

“I don’t know where you find them.” Erik joked.

“I could say the same to you, I’m just glad that you do.”

The two men laughed. Minx simpered as Erik’s strong hand cupped her bum.

“It’s been a long ride up here, so I think I could do with some relief and then another long ride.”

“Yes, Master.” Minx replied and let herself be led away, her sexy body moving so enticingly with every step she took.

THE END.