A Diary for Two Ch. 06

I thought to myself that I should find something to tie my hair up behind me, at least so as to stop it from wetting my clothes... That is when I realized that I had no clothes to wear inside the bathroom: all those I had walked in with were soaked in sweat and smelled awful. I scanned them hopefully however, hoping they might perhaps be hiding a new pile of clean fresh clothes, before accepting the facts. I then tried tying my towel around myself, high enough to cover most of my breasts but still only just low enough to cover my privates, as I cursed myself for not having a bigger towel. It seemed to hold, but didn't inspire much confidence in me, so I quickly picked up my things and left the bathroom, hoping to get to my room before anything became undone.

I went down the stairs, and found Henry looking up at me in surprise, obviously waiting for me and about to say something. I flashed a quick embarrassed smile at him, before quickly entering my room and barricading myself in. Finally safe, I found a plain pair of cotton white undies, which I covered with what I assumed to be a white shirt, although it may have been a blouse (I'm not sure what the difference is), and an ample but plain knee-length skirt. Nothing fancy, but then again I didn't know enough to get past basic outfits.

Once dressed, I picked up my dirty clothes and walked out of my room, throwing them into the communal laundry basket in the hallway out of habit. I then walked over to Henry in the next room, looking at him quizzically. He stared at me for an instant, looking uncharacteristically hesitant to speak.

"Weren't... Weren't you going to change back during your shower?" he finally asked.

"I..." I stopped. He was right. Had I been him, I would have expected me to smoothly change back during my shower, especially after all I'd previously said about still being a guy. The honest truth was that I'd forgotten to turn back. Scrap that, I'd actually forgotten I could or how to do so... I felt confused, but I wanted to cover it up.

"I thought I might as well stay like this, if that means you're going to keep cooking me meals." I finally told him, teasing him gently.

He just chuckled. "Fine then, I'll make lunch if that is what you want so badly," he said. "It's still a bit early though," he added, "Why don't we watch a bit of Hannibal beforehand?"

I nodded, and we quickly set ourselves up, pulling the low table near one of the sofas in the sitting room so as to rest our feet upon it. I then sat down and watched Henry plugging his computer into the wide-screen television so as to watch Hannibal on it. He finally got up, his back muscles rippling, and sat onto the sofa next to me. He was so heavy that the entire thing sunk a few inches and I found myself sitting on a slope leading in towards him.

Trying to ignore it, I curled my legs up beneath me, both for stability and because, for some reason, I found it a little more cozy. We sat there next to each other, Henry stretched out onto the low table and seemingly folding the sofa under his weight, me perched a little above him, with my legs folded up beneath me, as we watched the beginning of another episode of Hannibal.

The series seemed as good as ever, and I felt chilled as I watched the terrors of the horrible and yet beautiful crime scenes, as they were associated with even more horrible and yet beautiful minds. I held onto my legs, feeling my skirt spreading out beneath me, and soon felt a warm, soft weight upon my left shoulder. Twisting around, I saw that it was Henry's hand, as his arm rested behind my back.

"Hey," I said, looking at him in half amusement, half discomfort, "Why are you putting your arm around me?"

"Because I want to." Henry answered, smirking.

"And why would I let you?"

"Because you're a girl, and chicks love it when I put my arm around them like this"

"You wish!" I snorted, "Anyway, you know I'm not really a girl."

"Then why are you deciding to be one? You've been insistent on remaining like this; don't blame me for acting the way I do. This is what I'm like, and you know that if you're going to be that," He nodded down at my chest, "might as well start acting like one too..."

I sighed uneasily, but accepted that he had a point, and leant back against his arm, trying to make my shoulder muscles relax.

"Well that won't do," added Henry, "You're stiff as a rock! You need to relax."

He suddenly took my shoulders with both his hands and turned my back to him. I was about to protest when I felt his large hands starting to kneed my shoulders, and I felt my shoulder muscles melt. The feeling was very intense, but not quite painful, as I felt my muscles being spread out and massaged into a state of ecstasy. I sighed to myself, letting myself go to the work applied to my shoulders. I had never known Henry was so good at this.

"That's it," Henry's voice said from behind me, "You need to be comfortable in your own skin if you're going to pass off as Elise, you know..."

"Oh yes? Got any other good tips?" I asked sarcastically, trying to ignore the fact that my shoulders were putty in his hands.

"Actually I do." He answered, almost teasing, as he suddenly grabbed my under my armpits and lifted me onto his lap.

I tried to buck off, but he quickly started massaging me again, reaching lower down my back this time, and I melted in his hands again. I had a feeling he was having a lot of fun demeaning me, as I felt my protests die in my throat. Suddenly, he reached in front of me and undid a button on my blouse, followed by another. Feeling mortified and panicky, I quickly brought my hands up to stop him, but he was already working my shoulders and back again.

"You need to learn, for one, that girls always open up at least a couple of buttons, if not more, to show a little décolleté. Only weirdoes feel the need to be so modest as to button it up to the top." Henry lectured.

I sensed my ears turn red, as I sat there confused... How could he possibly say that to me? And furthermore, where had he learnt of the word 'décolleté'? He certainly was full of surprises. I'd add that Hannibal had finished by now, but neither of us seemed to notice the rolling credits.

"Are you done yet?" I asked between gritted teeth, "Or are you going to continue like this for long?"

"Oh I'm nearly done," Said Henry in a lighthearted manner, "I'd just add that you should invest in something to dry your hair better, you're soaking the back of your blouse and my hands..."

"Anything else?" I asked, quickly loosing patience.

"Just one..." There was a short pause. "Why so serious?" He suddenly asked teasingly, as his hands suddenly descended to my waist and started tickling me.

I lost it at that point, as I was incredibly ticklish at that spot and found myself crippling, giggling madly as I tried to break free of his grip. I didn't manage, and the next few minutes were spent in a haze as my sadist of a housemate tortured me for what felt like hours. By the time his tickling relented, I was lying on the floor on my back, gasping for air and with streams of tears rolling from my eyes.

"You all right?" Asked Henry, a cheery grin plastered on his face.

"You... You..." I panted, feeling the remnants of those last bouts of uncontrollable laughter leave me. He offered me his hand and hoisted me to my feet, where I stood feeling wobbly for a few moments.

"I'm going to make lunch." Stated Henry as he nipped off to the kitchen. I sat slowly back down to the sofa, holding my sore sides with trembling hands. I didn't wait there long, though, as Henry soon walked in with two plates carrying plain white sandwiches. I wasn't complaining: our breakfast had been such that I'd probably never feel hungry again, even after a morning jog...

The sandwiches were delicious though, made of butter and salami, and I closed my eyes in appreciation as I ate them slowly. I didn't get why women seemed so scared of food, I found that I appreciated it even more now than as a guy, despite my smaller stomach. Once the sandwiches were gone, I leant back in the sofa, feeling restful despite Henry once again wrangling his arm around my shoulders. I let him this time; slowly feeling myself drift off to sleep.

I woke up at the end of the afternoon, feeling bad that I'd just wasted so much time in the day. I wondered where Henry might be, but had a feeling he would probably be working in his room. Not wanting to disturb him, I went straight to mine and tried to work as well. It felt dull, and I couldn't get myself to work on this Saturday evening. I started daydreaming (or perhaps just dreaming, as night was quickly falling), incapable of concentrating properly on my laboratory report on the variant of the Franck-Hertz experiment I'd done.

I was about to go make myself dinner when I heard the front door opening. I froze, knowing that it was either Mike or Beth, and becoming a lot more aware of my current shape. I quickly ran myself some hot water from my washbasin and slapped in onto my face. That was a mistake, as I suddenly felt my chest being squeezed inside my tiny shirt, at the point of tearing the buttons off. I quickly undid it, pulling it off with difficulty, and thanking the Gods that I had decided to wear a skirt with an elastic waistband. It was only once I'd pulled the skirt off that I felt just how ridiculous I looked, wearing tiny white panties with a small bra constricting my chest and plopping its' cups against my pectoral muscles.

The weirdness got to me, and I tore the underwear off and replaced it with boxers, a t-shirt and my dressing gown, reveling in the maleness and normality I now presented. More than anything, I couldn't stand the idea of being caught in inappropriate circumstances, and realized how good it felt to reduce the risks of that to zero...

I walked over to the kitchen, and nodded and grunted at Mike as I opened the fridge. He nodded and grunted back in our usual custom, as I took out a slice of old pizza, put it on a plate and walked to my room. I didn't really understand why I didn't seem to mind being a girl so much, and even enjoyed it. Now that I wasn't one anymore, I found the idea painful, and was joyful in being back to normal again, in being the good old me, the good old Erik.