H Is for Helen

The next morning I woke up first. As quietly as I could I crept into the bathroom, stripped and showered and put on my lingerie again. I re-did my face, with razor, make-up, lipstick and so on. Then while my lover still slept I found one of his shirts in his wardrobe and slipped into it. I went down to the kitchen slowly, trying not to make too much noise on the stairs with my high heels. Marion was there.

She came over towards me and kissed me on the cheek when I went in.

"I'm so glad you're still here, Helen. Er - did you two have fun last night?"

"We did."

David came down about a few minutes later, while I was having toast and coffee with his daughter. He kissed us both on the cheek.

"Good morning Ladies."

I remembered the night, well, some of it. The delight of David's penetration of my arse, the ecstasy of his ejaculation, the sheer joy of it. He'd not had sex for so long, obviously he was making up for lost time. And when I'd woken up I'd gained such satisfaction from seeing his own sated smile as he slept beside me.

I had so enjoyed being a woman. And really, was it true that 'all good things have to come to an end'? Mum and Dad were due back later. They would expect to see 'Harry'. But I didn't want to be Harry. I didn't want my MPMs to subside, I enjoyed having boobs. Enjoyed showing them off, enjoyed their being stroked and teased and fondled and caressed. And I enjoyed being shagged. The whole experience – and the sex with David - had been just brilliant.

So what the hell was I - Helen - going to do?