Nemesis Visits

"Erm, thanks, Jason but I've already eaten and, you know," I keep smiling and my voice friendly hoping to engage his sympathy, "it's been a long day with all the moving in and unpacking and stuff so I need my bed." Even as I say the word 'bed' I know it was a mistake and I inwardly kick myself as a lecherous gleam is kindled in his eye.

"Well, you know, we could just stay in and rent a movie or something," he suggests and his hand has slipped down to caress the front of my shoulder and is edging ever downwards to the top of my boob. I am almost paralyzed with fear.

"N-No Jason," I manage but it makes no difference as his fingers stray ever lower, now onto my boob. "I said no, Jason," I manage a little more forcefully, "didn't you hear me?"

"I heard a little girlie playing it coy, trying to be Little Miss Hard-to-Get," he smiles as his fingers are almost brushing my nipple. "C'mon Maxine, your brother Max wouldn't want you to be unwelcoming, especially to his boss..." With an acid, sick feeling in my stomach I suddenly know exactly how this could go because it is precisely the sort of play that Max would make: the friendliness first followed by gentle seduction, then the pressure, then coercion and then... force, if necessary. I know how it is done, the question is: do I know how to stop it?

He takes my hesitation for permission as his hand suddenly grasps my boob, squeezing it. If he thinks that's arousing then he must be off his head. I try to take a step back to break his grasp on me but he simply follows. I look up from my glance down at his still-mauling hand, a feeling of panic flooding me, when suddenly his mouth is on mine. I give a gasp of shock and horror that he seems to read as desire as his kiss becomes more forceful. I am driven backwards as he pushes me and I worry that he is trying to push me to the floor. Instead, I back into the edge of the kitchen island unit, the hard edge of the worktop pressing into the small of my back.

Terror floods my mind but there is not the answering rage and anger that I expect. Instead, I am paralyzed and helpless as his hand releases my boob... only to slide down and up under my skirt, lifting it, exposing my panties. I try to say "No" but my throat is too tight and I can scarcely breathe. His hand cups my sex, groping, squeezing... I am trembling now, my mind numb with fear as his hand moves up and then down as it slips behind the waistband of my panties, his fingers driving down in search of my opening. He is rough, harsh and without hesitation as his finger enters me with an intense discomfort that borders on pain.

I haven't the words to describe the violation I feel at his penetration, the sheer horror and humiliation that I have not stopped him and yet I still cannot move. "Fuck, Maxine, your pussy's so tight. It's like a little girl's..." he tells me in admiration. Somehow the sound of his voice as much as the vileness of his words breaks through my paralysis and I surprise him by suddenly pushing him hard away from me. He takes a stumbling step back, pulling his hand from inside me and from my panties.

"No Jason!" I say loudly, though there is a tremble in my voice, "Stop it, please," I beg as anger flashes in his eyes and a snarl curls his lip. An idea suddenly occurs to me and I hold my hands up, trying to give myself time to speak. "It's not that you're not attractive Jason," I tell him, "it's just, erm, well, sleeping with Max's twin, and, erm, given how alike we look, people might misunderstand and, you know, think it means that you, er, have a bit of a thing for Max. I mean, they'd be wrong, obviously" I add hastily as his eyes narrow at what I'm saying, "but if someone made, like, a comment..." I can see he is not convinced by the logic but his homophobia has now been triggered, overcoming his lust if not his anger at my rejection. "I'll let Max know you called round when I talk to him tomorrow morning," I assure him but trying to suggest that if he tries anything I'll tell Max. My heart still hammers in my chest, fearful of what he might do. "I'm really tired tonight and I know I won't be much company so maybe it'd be best if you go," I suggest carefully. He pauses for a moment, weighing up his options.

"Yeah, okay," he says at last and it's all I can do to not to sigh in relief. "Maybe we could go out another time, next weekend perhaps. Then I could find out Max's boyhood secrets from you," he suggests. Oh shit, that's the last thing I want! I'd love to just tell him to fuck off and die but I'm desperate not to say the wrong thing at this stage.

"Hmm, well maybe," I say reluctantly, just desperate to get him out of the apartment, "though I've quite a lot on for the next few weeks," I warn as I edge him towards the door.

Finally, he is out and I close the door, just managing to resist the urge to slam it on him. I watch the door entry screen as I lock the door and, a couple of minutes later, I see him leave the building. My legs give way and I am shaking and crying; great heaving sobs of relief. I climb unsteadily to my feet and hurry as much as I can to the bedroom where, without bothering to undress, I climb into bed, wrapping the duvet tight around me for comfort and security. I expect rage at what he did; what I feel is fear and, unexpectedly, shame -- shame that I gave him reason to think I wanted what he did to me, shame that I let him go so far, shame that I was grateful to him when he stopped...

The fear, the shame and terror of being raped are finally passing when I am struck by a new emotion: overwhelming guilt. I have been in Jason's position and not backed down. I have coerced and bullied women into sex numerous times, and once or twice, when that didn't work, I carried on anyway... Oh, Goddess forgive me, I had no idea of the terror and fear, shame and humiliation that I caused... No, it's not that I had no idea; I'm not stupid, I should have known but I didn't think, didn't want to know. No, I'm still lying to myself: the real truth is that I simply didn't care! Tears flow and sobs wrack my chest even as shame and guilt wrack my mind.

It all goes on for a long time.

CHAPTER 6: Meeting Mary

It's Monday morning and the first day of May; a new month in my new body. The last twenty-four hours have been, to be blunt, complete shit. The wracking guilt and crying passed, eventually, and I slept fitfully. Waking, I was depressed and spent the day unable to shake off the black shame and crushing guilt at what I now understood that I'd done. I was tempted to resort to alcohol but the memory of waking up covered in piss and vomit was too recent to actually try it.

I tried to rationalize that I deserved what Jason did to me and therefore I'd been punished and needn't feel guilty... but I couldn't convince myself. What Jason did wasn't a punishment but simply the Goddess finding a way, perhaps the only way, to make me properly comprehend what I'd done. However, comprehension doesn't allow me to put it right. Even if I were to search out and find the women, in this body I couldn't even fucking apologise. Is that what the Goddess wanted: me full of guilt I could do nothing about?

I realized that there was one thing I could do: I could try and not fuck up Marie's future. So after I took out the laptop and logged into Max's work email, I wrote another email to Jason:

Jason,

Maxine mentioned that you called round yesterday. Sorry I wasn't there mate but I had to go and see the aged parents before I head off -- don't want to be disinherited, do I!

Actually, it was them that have been bugging me to sort things out with Maxine which is why she's in the apartment. Maybe when I get back she'll feel better towards me and we can sort the past out. Families, huh?

I should say she's a bit off men at the moment -- Mum mentioned that she'd had a bad experience recently and was hurt badly so I hope she wasn't a bitch to you.

There is one more thing: Marie O'Connor. I'm worried that what you did might be traced to you if she got suspicious and you've really helped me over the last week. Also, she's withdrawn her complaint and I'm off to Hong Kong so it doesn't seem necessary to screw her future with the firm.

All the best,

Max

In the evening I found myself sitting looking out of the window. The day had been grey and raining, a fitting accompaniment to my sullen mood but, out to the west, I watched as the sun dipped below the cloud, igniting the horizon and gilding the clouds. Does the fact that the simple beauty of the view lifted my spirits make me soppy? Or that the fact that I saw in it a sign that I could get through this makes me a pathetic sentimentalist? Well, better a soppy, pathetic sentimentalist than a heartless rapist.

So now I have a new day in a new month in a new body; time to see if I can make a new start.

It isn't quite the new start I hope for when, as I'm finishing breakfast, I hear the rattle of keys in the front door lock. A few seconds later the door opens and Agnieszka the Cleaner walks in. There follows a very difficult conversation, starting with who the hell I am, proceeding through, "You do not tell me I not work more here," onto (after a quick trip to the bedroom to write a brief note from Max telling her she was no longer required) demands of, "You must pay me for month's notice to not work anymore," to the final agreement of a hundred and twenty pounds in her hand; she doesn't look happy but agrees to go when I finally persuade her that the fault for this lies with my 'brother' Max. At the last moment, I remember to ask her for her set of keys back. I don't think she was intending to keep them -- she'd probably forgotten about them as I had -- but she hands them back with very ill grace, slapping them into my outstretched hand.

It is only after Agnieszka leaves that it occurs to me that she could have given me much guidance and advice on several matters: the almost incomprehensible controls on the washing machine for a start as so far I've been selecting 'Colours' (on the basis that everything has a colour) and pressing start. Oh well.

I ought to see whether my email to Jason has had any effect and so I start up the laptop. Yes, there's his reply:

Max, you suddenly grown a conscience or what? Never known you to care about a bird's future further than whether she's willing to go down on you!

Good point about the traceability, though. Since you don't care if she stays here, I've undone the changes to the deals. No point in taking the risk if it doesn't matter.

Thanks for the tip about your sis. It explains why she went a bit cold when I was just being friendly.

Now f*ck off and enjoy HK you old bugger.

Jason

Did doing that for Marie make me feel any better? A little, maybe; it certainly stopped me from feeling any worse.

It's mid-morning when I head out to try and tackle the most pressing issue: work and the money that it will bring. This is particularly acute after Agnieszka's visit removed nearly a quarter of my remaining funds. However, despite my determined, optimistic start, it does not go well. I check each shop on the high street to no avail. A nursery school has an opening, but they want someone with childcare qualifications. A trip around two industrial estates is similarly fruitless: the few jobs available require skills, experience or qualifications I do not have, despite the fact that I could almost certainly manage the office administration or stock control duties required by two of the jobs.

It's late afternoon when I trudge, footsore and weary, into a restaurant. It's called 'Leonardo's' and is located just off the high street; it was closed when I passed it this morning but now there's a sign outside that's advertising coffee and I'm in desperate need of a caffeine hit to pick me up. Inside the restaurant is quiet and when I look questioningly at the waitress to ask for a table she seems to read my mind as she replies, "Suit yourself, love, we're not exactly heaving at the doors here," in a gentle Australian accent. I smile and make my way to the table by the window. I sit and kick my sneakers off to rest my aching feet on the cool floor tiles, letting out a heartfelt sigh of relief. "How you goin'? You look fair knackered," the waitress observes as she comes over to me.

"I am absolutely exhausted," I say in agreement, "I've been walking for hours and I'm fed up with it. I'm also gasping for a drink."

"Sure, what can I get you?"

"Oh, coffee, please, um latte?"

"Sure, no worries; I'll just be a couple of minutes," she smiles as she hurries off. She's of average height, slimly built with a mass of wavy blonde hair tied back into a very bushy ponytail. She's also pretty and I have to discipline myself not to do a Max and ogle her every step as she walks away. I resort to massaging my feet to distract myself.

"There you go, mate, one latte," she places a tall mug on the table in front of me. "So, what's got you so narked?" I'm taken aback by her question but realize she is just being friendly to a female customer. Fortunately, she mistakes my hesitation for me not understanding her question. "Narked, you know, annoyed, fed up."

"Oh, yes, well I've been walking the streets all over the neighbourhood, looking for work actually," I admit and she starts laughing. "What?" I ask.

"Sorry, but you just said you'd been walking the streets looking for work so you sounded like you're on the game," she smiles but a sudden, panicked look crosses her face, "Oh strewth, you're not..?"

"No!" I exclaim but smile at her to show I'm not offended, "No, but if I can't find something it might be my only option!" I laugh.

"What sort of work are you looking for?" she asks as she sits on the chair next to me.

"Anything really; the only requirement is that it doesn't require qualifications or skills that I don't have. Unfortunately, any job fitting the former always seems to need the latter and vice versa," I finish, my frustration evident in my voice.

"You've no quallies? I'm surprised: a bright sounding girl like you, what on earth were you doing at school? Or maybe I shouldn't ask. I'll bet some bloke was involved!"

"Erm, yes, you could say that it was a man got me into this situation," I admit. If only she knew how true that was, though not in the way she'd think. She looks at me for a few moments, evidently thinking.

"Look, they need another waiter or waitress here. If I were to ask you if you had any waiting experience, what would you say?" She has a gentle, encouraging smile on her face.

"Honestly?" I ask, to which she grins and gives a 'whatever' waggle of her head. "Then I'd say yes," I tell her, "I've waitressed a bit..." she gives a little nod and I grin back, "and then I'd trust that I'm a fast learner!"

"That's my girl!" she laughs. "You'd have to come back about six when Leon's in; he's the owner." I think of sitting in my flat for two hours compared to this, the first friendly conversation I've had in days.

"Or I could sit here and drink coffee and chat with you while you're not busy," I suggest a little shyly.

"Sure, that'd be cool. I'm Mary, by the way. You?"

"Oh, Maxine, Maxine Thomas." I hesitate, fighting the urge to hold my hand out to shake hands as this seems so much a man's action. She reaches across and pats my arm.

"Good to meet you, Max," she tells me.

"No!" I exclaim in panic. "No, not Max, please."

"Maxie? You okay with Maxie?" she asks and I nod. "Good; Maxie suits you better anyway. So, tell me about Maxie Thomas."

I tell her I'm new to the area, staying in my brother's apartment whilst he's working overseas. She tells me that she came to London as part of a trip to Europe that was supposed to last three months, "but I kinda got stuck here: I like London, apart from the bloody awful weather, I found work, made some friends... been here for three years." We talk on for a bit and, when a trio of customers enters, I watch Mary go over and serve them, studying her manner and how she greets them, offers the menus, takes their orders and finally brings their food and drinks. "You're very good," I tell her, "a natural."

"Thanks, Maxie. It's really not too hard; just try to be welcoming and concentrate really." When another couple of customers arrive Mary suggests that I try a bit of waiting. "Then, when Leon asks you, you'll be telling the truth about having some experience," she points out in a whisper.

"Okay," I agree, but very nervously. Nevertheless, trying to emulate Mary's warm, friendly manner and with her guidance and support I greet the couple, show them to their seats, provide menus and even take their order. Mary retreats to the small bar area after passing the order to the kitchen and I take a seat nearby. When their food is ready, the two of us convey it to the couple.

"What did you think?" she asks as we return to the bar area once again.

"It was okay," I tell her, "but how did I do, Mary?"

"You did fine, Maxie. You were nervous, that's understandable, but you made them feel very welcome and did everything right. I guess you are a fast learner," she smiles.

When Leon arrives later I have even more reason to be grateful to Mary as, after I ask Leon for the job, I am given an on the spot assessment: "Okay, let's see you take the order for that table over there," he instructs. I obviously do well enough because he offers me the job and asks whether, since one of the waitresses has phoned in sick, I'm available this evening. I guess the panic shows on my face because Mary jumps in before I can reply.

"Of course she will; a little ripper like her'll have no worries," she pats me on the shoulder.

"Erm, yeah, sure," I agree somewhat reluctantly. "Am I dressed okay? All the others seem to be in black trousers or skirts and white tops," I ask looking down over the pale salmon blouse and mid-blue trousers that I'm wearing.

"I think there's a something that'll do for you in the staffroom," Mary says. "C'mon, let's get you sorted before we get more customers." She leads me through the back of the restaurant and into a small, slightly tatty room with several dilapidated lockers, a worn, scratched table and a couple of chairs. She goes over to one of the lockers and opens it, pulling out a black skirt which she holds up for me to see. "Here you go Maxie, this should fit you. Try it on." I hesitate, expecting her to leave but she doesn't move. Hmm, is changing in front of each other a general girl thing or is it just Mary? Oh well, at least this won't be my first time in a skirt, even if I've never worn one in public before.

Once it's on I find that this skirt is noticeably shorter than the one I wore at home, barely reaching mid-thigh, and I feel very exposed. "Strewth, it never looked that sexy on me!" Mary laughs. "Of course, you've longer legs than I do. Okay?"

"It's a bit shorter than I'm used to," I reply earnestly.

"Looks good though and it certainly won't do any harm to the tips you get from guys!" she smiles. Can I go out wearing this? Dare I? "C'mon, Maxie, you look great and the girlie pink shoes work too."

"Okay, Mary, you've been very good to me so the least I can do is trust you on this," I tell her, hoping I can find the courage to go through with it. Her smile helps.

My heart hammers as I head out into the restaurant. Colin, the other waiter, doesn't react and, as we pass his little office, Leon just gives me a nod, though I notice his eyes travelling down and up my legs a couple of times first. Somehow, this comes across more as a mixture of checking I'm suitably dressed and simple appreciation than as lechery, perhaps because he immediately returns to the paperwork he was doing.