Layers Ch. 07

Elaine turns to look at the two men across the street. I watch as she closes her eyes and sniffs. A strand of her red hair comes loose in the wind and flutters across her small, freckled nose. I watch her hair move and marvel at the way she looks. There's a complicated play of emotions running through my body while I watch. She's attractive to me - very much so. But, I feel this ache deep in my soul that makes me think of some base emotion - something deeper than love. I can't put it into words exactly but I want to take her and just go. Her and Stephen. I want to just leave and explore and ignore the world around us. It's -- it feels like life. Like they're both a piece of me. Perhaps I just want to run away from the life I had now that I'm a woman but I feel a near panic that I can't identify and it makes me want to run far away. It's a completely alien feeling but it's suddenly very strong. And then, like the wind toying with Elaine's hair, something shifts and the feeling is gone.

Elaine's delicate brows furrow before she takes one last deep breath. "I'm not smelling anything. I mean, it's different now with what I can smell. Everything is way stronger but I just smell the city. Smoke and food and a lot of weird stuff. It stinks. Are you sure about them?" She turns to me and pulls her loose hair back behind her ear. I feel my loose hair playing along the back of my neck but I ignore it. Even if I like the way it feels and what it means for it to be there. Stoically ignoring it.

Elaine watches my loose hair like a cat eyeing a loose string fluttering in the air. "We should get you a scrunchie for your hair. Oh my gosh! Can I put a scrunchie in your hair?! The first scrunchie you've ever worn?! Wait, is it? Would it be the first scrunchie ever?" Her eyes are twinkling and she's both extremely excited at the prospect and holding back a laugh. I figure it's thirty seconds before she's bouncing and clapping. Or digging through her purse to find some hair band. Do I need a purse? Should I get one? What would I use it for?

I grin at Elaine's enthusiasm but turn back to the two young men. To my nose, the world is a complex tapestry of smells and sounds, woven together into a massive, moving piece of art. As with paintings, I see the whole and I get a sense of what's there but some subtle smells have no definition to me. I would have to concentrate to figure out the small detail or hidden meaning and it is so far too difficult at the moment for me to distinguish anything beyond the mostly obvious, "This is a painting of two women lounging with other people around them." Or, "This is the smell of a city with food vendors and sewage and people and cars and so much more." I can't and don't want to figure out exactly what kind of poop is on the ground to my left. I just know it's not cat or dog poop. I sigh mentally. Great. I have the super power to figure out what isn't dog poop. Awesome.

But... there's a certain smell coming from the two men. It's an earthy smell mixed with a dog smell. Kind of a dog smell. Almost like a dog that's been rolling around in something smelly and is possibly also wet but, still a dog. And there's a slow burning anger. Some other virulent red smell is mixed in with everything else as well. Yes. Red is a smell. Or at least it is mentally now. Blood red. Hot blood red. I'm grinding my teeth from the way they smell. I can't even say exactly how I can tell it's coming from them. Well, I take that back. It's mixed in with the smell of cigarette smoke and boys and... I take a quick look around... Yeah, they're the closest people except for the ones in the store and that's a whole other set of scents.

Overhead, a white bird (a quick look up and my eyes focus way better than they used to - it's a pure white pigeon) is heading straight for us before a hawk swoops in and takes it with barely a pause. Its triumphant screech drills into my ear.

"No. It's them. And they smell bad. In the sense of something wrong. Well, hell, and bad, too. I think we should just avoid them, Elaine. I don't think it's safe. Let's just let them be." A strand of my hair nearly puts my eye out as the wind shifts for a moment and I growl quietly. "Maybe I will let you put a thing on my hair. I get to pick the color, though because I'll be damned if I wear pink." The door to the Goodwill tinkles open and I turn towards it and then wish I hadn't - a tsunami of perfume nearly floors me.

Elaine is less affected by the smells coming from inside the store. I'm blinking back tears while she stares mournfully up at me with puppy dog eyes. She reaches for me with both hands and paws at me, like a cat pawing at a door to be let in. "But, but, but. You'd look so pretty in a pink scrunchie! Oh my gosh, please? Please can we?" She follows me into the store, still begging.

I had never realized exactly how much clothing thrift stores have for women until I became one. A woman, not a thrift store. I was happy with my four short rows of men's clothes. They were easy to go through. One row for t-shirts, another for blue jeans and then two rows for work clothes. Oh god. Work. I need to figure out what I'm doing there. Elaine glances at my sudden stress but I wave her away. Something to think about later.

"Elaine," I whisper to her out of the corner of my mouth while looking around the miles of women's clothing. "There are a fuck ton of clothes here." As I look around at the warehouse sized area, I instinctively find the exits and my eyes dart to see where everyone is standing and what they look like. Mostly older people. No threats. Easy to get out. Large, mostly open area except for the aisles but they're free standing racks and easy to knock over. Weird. It's weird. My reaction. Weird and new. Elaine is looking around but she doesn't seem to be doing the same thing - she's just gleefully eyeing all of the clothes around her.

"I know! Isn't it great. Come on - we'll start with pants. And then dresses? Skirts? Can we?" I can't look at her. I know the look she'll be giving me. The pouty lip puppy dog eye. I can't say no to that shit.

"Maybe. I don't even know what size I am, Elaine. I was a size 34 before but after, well, after it happened, I went down to a 30 as a guy. When I changed and then changed back. Ugh. I suck at complaining. But, whatever it did, it made me lose weight when I went back to being a man. And, umm, a 32 long. I'm bigger as a woman so maybe 34? 36? And 33 long?" Elaine is watching me in that way people do when they're letting you ramble on because you're making a fool of yourself but they're either too nice to say something or they want to see how far you'll go.

I watch Elaine contemplate letting me continue on with my little meandering speech but she decides to step in before I make it worse. She lays a gentle hand on my arm and adopts her most pitying look. "I... I hate to be the one to tell you but..." She bites her lip and glances away. "The people that designed women's clothing never settled on a standard. Sweetheart..." She looks back and the muscles in her face are fighting an epic battle with one side wanting to laugh at me and the other trying to pretend to sob. "You're fucked. We'll have to look at all the things. All of them." Her laugher wins out and I take a non-serious swing at her but she dodges easily. She's quite fast, even in play.

"Fine," I growl. "Fine. We'll look at the damn things."

Her lips are trembling with barely repressed laughter. "Aww, are you pouting?"

"Elaine..." I start but she holds up her hands in surrender and breathes deeply to cool off. "What sense does it make not to have a standard size? An inch is an inch everywhere unless your tape measure is off."

Elaine chortles again. "Or unless you're a guy trying to impress a girl."

I laugh with her this time. "Oh, shit. Tell me about it, right?" I do a mental double-take seconds after the words leave my mouth. I'm starting to sound like a woman. I was thinking about the people that lied on Craigslist but when I say it out loud, it just rolled off my tongue and I kind of did think mostly about how guys will lie to get in your pants. So far that I've seen in my brief stint as a woman. "Also, I need a bra desperately. Or something. A jacket. Sweatshirt. This shirt is driving me nuts with my nipples. And distracting me badly. In a good way. But badly. Everybody can see them. I can barely breathe in this shirt and they ache. Should they ache? I think you guys sucked on them too much. I'm complaining at all but I'm not a damn cow."

My eyes wander over to the cash register as I survey and I spot an old man giving me an eye. I skim past like normal and then stop as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He's not just looking at me. He's LOOKING at me. As a guy, I've had people glance over at me or look at me because I was in their way or because they were talking to me. This is different. Very different. He's not moving his head but his eyes are roaming over my entire body and now I'm keenly aware of myself. Aware of my heavy breasts against my chest, how warm it feels where the skin from my tits are touching the skin of my chest. VERY aware of how the fabric of the shirt rubs lightly against my nipples. Also aware of how that makes me feel deep inside. The very absence of my dick and this pussy between my legs still makes me want to reach a hand down my pants to touch myself. Years and years of having a dick is very hard to shake off. All of that is what the old man is looking at. My hips and tits and face. So I stare back. And wait. It takes him somewhere around 30 seconds to notice my glare and then he just turns and finishes his business. No shame or anything.

It bothers me and I can't figure out why. If I were still a man and a woman did the same thing, I'd probably preen a bit. Perhaps. If she were attractive. If she were older and not my type, I just wouldn't care. That can't be it, can it? Is it because the guy is older? Elaine starts off towards a random rack and I follow while I think it over. Is it shallow? Does it matter?

What I do know is that I don't like the way the guy looked at me. It makes me aware of who I am now. Even though I've been very conscious of the way this body feels, I'd forgotten that it isn't mine. That it isn't me. Seeing the way the old man stared brings it all back and I feel the urge to find a corner and hide. I feel vulnerable and exposed and, well, naked. I didn't want to be reminded how I'd changed. Not yet. I was happy just being me in my own little world, aware of who I was internally but not... Oh. Is that what it's like for women? The whole inequality thing? Listen to me, boiling it down to a simple 'Oh, right, that inequality thing' like it's that simple and no big deal. But, perhaps that's the edge of it. I was fine being me, the core of who I am and have been still there and then this old fuck leers at me and I'm suddenly reminded I'm a woman with tits and an ass and a pussy ripe for pounding. I nearly growl. Just not from him. I have my mate. My mates. They're MINE. But now I'm reminded that I'm very much out of my element and I'm a woman. What if I changed back right now? What if it's all some trick? Ugh.

"Elaine, this old guy-" I stop. I know what I'll see when I look over at her. She's excited. I look anyway and, yeah, she's staring at my tits, too. She's not even trying to hide it. She's got this slightly dazed expression on her face and a blush creeping up her neck. I can smell her hunger. "Jesus. You're both creepy. Come on, Creepy. Help me with finding clothes. I can't breathe right with this shirt on."

Elaine blinks at me owlishly several times and makes this little double-handed pulling motion. "You could always take it off, you know? The shirt. I wouldn't mind helping you with that." She's grinning like a mischievous little weasel (still like a playful otter in my mind with her looking and acting like she does - all lean and playful) and trying to play it off like a joke but I can smell her wetness. I know she still wants me. Badly. I can almost taste her in my mouth. The taste and texture of her sweet little vagina. And I can remember the not-so-little she-wolf slinking after me with her golden eyes and red fur.

"Shirts. And pants. Focus, Elaine, or we'll never get out of here."

Women's clothing is a chaotic and infuriating mess and it does not help that I'm six feet tall as a woman. A sturdy six feet tall. Elaine is a whirlwind of arms as she grabs things and holds them up to me. Most things are too tight in the hips or too short in the arms and legs because apparently, women should be 5 feet, 5 inches tall and about 130 pounds and God help you if you deviate from that. Unless you're 5'5" and 300 pounds. Then you're good. Beyond those two sizes, it's a snipe hunt for decent things that fit. It appears that most clothing manufacturers don't see fit to market to six foot tall farm girl body type. And the clothing that does fit? Not cute... Whoa, wait. Ummm, mental shift... I meant not attractive. Cute is a weird I use to describe things that pretty girls do. It is not something I use to describe clothing I may or may not be interested in.

So, clothes. I like green. Light green. I will never, ever admit it to anyone else but I like the way a light (but not pastel) green top looks with my blond hair and hazel (a little more golden in the light today) eyes. Sometimes I hold up a top in the mirror and just get enthralled by the beautiful woman looking back at me. I look at her and nearly want to cry at what it feels like. That's ME. That's me in the mirror. With the heart shaped face, blond hair and amazing figure. Elaine stands quietly next to me when that happens. Just letting me soak it in. She knows what I'm doing and why. Or at least she can guess and I'm sure her nose is giving her clues on my emotional state.

After much pawing and pleading and puppy dog eyes, Elaine convinces me to try on a dress or two. Honestly, I thought I'd have more of an issue with a dress than I actually do. They're pretty and they make me look amazing - especially when showing off my legs. Perhaps it's because I still see the woman looking back at me rather than me as the woman? Or something? As we're looking, I find a red dress that might fit me. I pull it out to look it over (it's pretty simple) and Elaine very not-subtly glances my way and then quickly looks away when I ask what she's looking at. Like a warrior marching off to battle, I hold the dress over my arm and march with grim determination to the small changing room. Without looking in the mirror, I strip and then pull the dress over until it's completely on. I tug a bit around my chest to settle the fabric and then turn to look.

I picked this out. Not Elaine or anyone else. I did. I saw a red dress and thought it might look good on me and so I picked it out. It doesn't fit perfectly but it comes close - a little tight in the waist and chest but otherwise light and comfortable. The material even feels good on my skin. I'm not quite sure about the bare arms and upper chest but, damn, I sometimes forget how buff I am. I hold out my arms and turn them, watching the muscles move under my smooth skin. My ass pushes out nicely in the dress but I wish I could walk a bit in the room to see what it does. Instead, I twirl. She does. The woman. Not me. She twirls and watches the way her hair shifts and the dress flares out slightly at the bottom. The effect is nice - especially the way it moves against the smooth skin of my legs and stomach... and my mound. Mound. Such an odd weird. Kind of erotic but kind of really not.

The dress comes off and my other clothes go back on. Elaine is waiting for me outside and I've already prepared my stony face. I hand her the dress with practiced disinterest. "This is okay," I tell her. "If you think I should get it then go ahead. I might wear it if I have to." Elaine's eyes are twinkling again and she's biting her lips. Red faced. "But only inside and only to show you why I think pants are better than dresses." I pitch my voice into an imitation of regality. "Come, Elaine. Attend to me." I sniff and swirl away, back to the racks.

To placate Elaine and keep her from pouting all day, I let her pick out one skirt and one dress - after receiving my vague approval. Both happen to be slightly different shades of green so I'm not the only one to notice how nice I look with the color. I get quiet catcalls from Elaine when I come out of the tiny dressing room while wearing the slit skirt she picked. My stony mask crumbles and I blush for her. Seriously. I can't help it. It's embarrassing. She even has me turn in a little circle so she can see the whole thing. My little show elicits a 'hubba hubba' that sounds odd coming from a small pretty girl. A small pretty adult girl.

"So," I ask, "Should we find some bras and panties here, too?"

"Oh god, no. No no no. Never buy used underwear. It's cheaper but so not worth it. You... right. Okay. Your... gah. Why is it hard for me to talk about this? I've never had to give the talk so it's weird to me. Your vagina isn't like a penis. It's, umm, picky. Temperamental. It doesn't just work all day every day. The wrong kind of fabric or detergent or, heck, a different penis can make your vagina all upset and grumpy. And then you're dealing with a yeast infection or interesting smells and liquids and... oh." Elaine stops mid-sentence looks down from my eyes.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Can..." She pauses again and then touches my arm. Leaning in close she lowers her voice. "Can you get pregnant?"

Whoa. Whoa whoa whoa WHOA. No. Absolutely not. No. What the fuck, no. I hadn't... no. But... but what if I can? I'm a woman. I'm a goddamned woman and it's not for show. I can remember the feel of my guts rearranging. I can remember the rush of emotions and wondering at hormones and other things. Oh my god. Oh my god, no. Stephen. I've had sex with Stephen without condoms. I can remember him fumbling for a condom that first night when he was changing into the wolf. I can remember growling at him to hurry and rubbing my sopping pussy against his furry wolf's cock. I can remember the feeling of his cum flooding me. Loving it. Wanting it. Wanting to taste it. Even now, remembering all of this, I feel my insides loosen slightly at the memory. I feel a flush of desire at the memory of his cock filling me. At the taste of his cum in my mouth. I have no doubts. None. No doubts that I'm fully a woman inside.

"Elaine. Elaine, holy shit. I never even... holy shit, Elaine!" My own whisper is fierce and loud to my ears. "I can't get pregnant! I mean, I probably can but no. I'm not ready for that. I can't!" She's patting my arm and looking around to see if anyone is listening.

"It's okay. It's okay. Look, it's easy. We'll just use condoms and I'll see if I can get some extra birth control. It's tricky because there are different kinds but you can't just buy them in the store. And we'll just wait until it kicks in and then... No, hey, it's okay. Hey."

My body is in a cold sweat. Birth control. Me. On. Birth. Control. So I don't get pregnant. What. The. Fuck. Birth control. I can't. I can't breathe. I can't. I sit. Hard. Against the wall. A thousand million thoughts circle around in my brain. Pregnancy. Birth control. Cum. Babies. Nursing babies. Being a mom. Children. BIRTH CONTROL. Elaine is stroking my hair and talking to me in a very obvious "You're a small scared child" voice but I'm alternating between sweating and having cold sweats. My heart is in my throat and I feel sick to my stomach. My ears are ringing. What if I'm already pregnant? What if there's a baby right now? Stephen's baby? Am I going to throw up? Here? Right here in the store? Oh my god. How could I be so stupid? How could I be so fucking... oh. Great. I'm crying. Now I'm crying. Jesus wept. Fat hot tears rolling down my cheeks while Elaine pets my hair. I don't know how long I'm down on the ground crying but I hear Elaine tell several people that I'm okay and I just need a moment. And, eventually, it passes. Something else kicks in and now I'm just sniffling and rubbing at my eyes. I have to fix this.