Finding Rhiannon Pt. 03

FINDING RHIANNON

Chapter 3 -- A Scent of Lavender

As Martin turned the key and held open the door to his apartment, something stopped me from entering. There was some kind of barrier here.

Not the physical kind. Not even the invisible-but-very-real obstacle that until twenty minutes ago had mysteriously imprisoned me in a lingerie store. This was different, it was a ... feeling. A sense that if I walked through that doorway things would never be the same again. A sense that there was some sort of decision here, perhaps bigger than I wanted to make.

Which of course was ridiculous. It was Martin who'd rescued me from my prison, Martin who was offering me shelter. Martin who might be the only person on the planet who could see or touch me right now, for all I knew.

I was standing outside his flat dressed ridiculously -- if rather attractively -- in women's underwear. So why wouldn't I want to take the sanctuary he was offering?

Ignoring the pain in my calves, which seemed to be spreading right up and down my legs as they protested against the unfamiliar demands of walking in high heels, I turned to look at my rescuer. He frowned slightly, no doubt wondering why I wasn't accepting his invitation to enter. But as he opened his mouth to say something, a door opened just down the hall.

A young woman emerged from what I assumed was the apartment next to Martin's. She was petite in stature, with short blonde hair, a snub nose and creases in her face that suggested she smiled a lot. She was dressed simply in a t-shirt, jeans and open-toed sandals. The knapsack slung over her shoulder looked heavily laden.

She shot Martin a cheerful look as she locked the door behind her. "Hey Martin," she called. "How's it hanging?"

Martin ducked his head, glanced quickly at me, then back at the girl. "Hi Zoe," he managed to say. "Okay, I guess." He held up a bag. "Just back from a little shopping trip. You off to class?"

"Sure," she said. "Hey listen, me and some of the girls are heading out later to check out this new bar, on Hunter. D'ya think Lucy might want to join us?"

Martin looked at me for a second and inclined his head very slightly. He clearly wanted me to go into his flat.

It was pretty clear that Zoe couldn't see me, or she'd have reacted to the strange sight of an androgynous figure standing in the hall dressed in sexy lingerie. But as Martin said "I'm not sure" and moved towards his neighbour to continue the conversation, I took the hint and walked unsteadily through the doorway.

Inside I found a living room that was neatly if a little spartanly furnished. An opening to my right revealed a small kitchen, while ahead of me a short corridor led to what I assumed to be a bedroom and bathroom. The walls were white and devoid of decoration. Everything seemed clean, well ordered ... and a little impersonal. There was little sense that anyone spent time here -- though maybe Martin just liked the minimalist look.

I wandered over to the window and looked down at the busy street, four storeys below. There was surprisingly little noise, which suggested decent insulation.

The location was certainly a good one, as I'd observed to Martin when he pointed out where we were heading. It was one of a number of very similar buildings that were springing up around the city, mostly to provide accommodation for students at the nearby university. I assumed Martin also studied there, though I hadn't asked him about that.

As I retraced my steps and lowered myself gingerly into a basic-looking but surprisingly comfortable couch, I tried to take stock of my situation.

So far as I could tell, I was no longer barred from going anywhere and I could touch inanimate objects again. I ran my fingers over the fabric of the couch, grateful that it had supported my weight, then reached down to massage my aching legs.

But none of the many people we had walked past on the way here had noticed me. And just as had happened in the store, any attempt I made to touch a passer-by just resulted in my hand going straight through them.

What else? Well, aside from being dressed in drag, I had no phone and no way to get at any of my possessions without going home -- and that was something I wasn't yet game to try. Though goodness alone knew what my wife must be thinking.

I had been with Caroline at the lingerie shop when ... it happened. Whatever the hell it was. From her perspective I must simply have vanished when her back was turned, even though I was there all the time.

She certainly couldn't see or hear me when she said something about buying clothes for her girlfriend. I still couldn't make sense of that, but unravelling that particular mystery wasn't high on my list of priorities right now.

As for work, well, fortunately I was on leave right now. My job in the human resource management division at a large law firm wasn't high-powered enough for anyone to want or need to contact me for another couple of weeks. Which was something, I supposed.

My thoughts were interrupted by the click of the front door as Martin closed it behind him. He shook his head.

"Boy, that girl can talk ..." He flopped down on a chair opposite me and shot me a crooked smile. "How you feeling? Still not hungry?"

I shook my head. I'd told him on the way here that I didn't seem to have any physical needs right now, whether it was food, drink or ... the bathroom. He grimaced sympathetically. "Well, at least you made it out of that store."

"Thanks to you," I said. "Listen Martin, I'm so sorry about this, I really didn't mean -"

He cut me off. "It's okay, it's clearly not your fault, ah, Rhiannon."

I shivered slightly. Each time he called me that, it was like being ... caressed.

He seemed to notice my reaction. "That's not your real name though." He made it a statement, not a question." It's something you've been given. As part of whatever's happening to you, right?" I nodded.

"And you've never done anything like this before?" He gestured at my attire.

"No!" I answered rather more loudly than I'd intended. I could feel the blush under the foundation and rouge that coated my cheeks. "Sorry, but no, I haven't. I mean, I'm married, I'm into girls, that's not my thing at all ..."

I trailed off as I saw Martin raise an eyebrow. Frowning, I tried to recover my composure. "I mean, I know that's not necessarily ... Anyway, the answer is no. I mean, do I look like I'm practised at this?"

He laughed. "Certainly not from the way you walk. Anyway, as I said, not your fault. The question is, what do we do now?"

I'd been trying to think about this. "If it's okay," I said slowly, "I'd like to change out of this stuff." I indicated the collection of lacy undergarments I was wearing. "Do you have any old clothes I could borrow? And maybe somewhere to change?"

"Sure," he said, getting to his feet. "Through here." He led me down the corridor, and went into what I assumed was his bedroom. After rummaging around inside for a moment, he came out with a pair of tracksuit pants and a faded t-shirt.

"These should do for now," he said, handing them over. "I'd say we're about the same size." He pointed to another door just across the corridor. "You can use Lucy's room to change -- there's a mirror in there."

I looked at it uncertainly. "Um, Lucy?"

Martin smiled. "Don't worry, she's not here right now. And I'm positive she won't mind." I nodded, turned the handle and stepped inside.

To say that the decor came as a surprise was an understatement. It was as if someone had taken every scrap of colour in the rest of the apartment and crammed it into this one room.

The predominant hue was pink. The shade on the walls was fairly light, and the same was true of the rug on the floor. But the duvet on the bed was a bright magenta, as were the curtains and the drawers on the bedside cabinet, on top of which sat a sequinned lamp.

The room was tidy enough, with no sign of clothes strewn around. But the walls were festooned with brightly coloured posters of what at a quick glance looked like K-pop girl groups.

"Wow," I said.

"It's pretty overpowering, isn't it," remarked Martin, grinning at my reaction. "Don't ask me why she likes it like this. It just makes her feel ... girlish, she says."

"Oh really?" I said drily, "I can't imagine why ..." I turned to Martin. "Look, thanks again. If you don't mind though, I'll just ...?"

"Sure," he said and left me alone in the room.

I looked around for a minute, dazzled by the sheer ... pinkness. Then with a shrug I tossed the clothes Martin had given me onto the bed and started disrobing. The room had a built in wardrobe with a mirror in the central panel and I watched my reflection with some trepidation as I removed the lingerie I'd donned in the store.

Sure enough, as each item came off, that part of my body disappeared. I could see it looking down, but not in the mirror. Eventually, with everything off I could only see my face and hands -- presumably because of the makeup and nail polish I was wearing. I tried putting on just the lacy robe, but that didn't help. It was the underwear or nothing, it seemed.

Shaking my head, I turned to the clothes Martin had given me. Understandably, perhaps, he hadn't lent me any of his underwear. But that was okay, I could at least regain some kind of normalcy. Lifting my legs up in turn, I stepped into the track pants.

I had only pulled them halfway up my legs when I realised something was wrong. The insides felt rough and scaly against my legs. It was the most unpleasant sensation.

Puzzled, I reached down to feel the inside of the pants. To my fingers the material felt soft and fluffy. But my lower limbs were sending a very different signal. Gritting my teeth, I pulled them all the way up and slipped on the t-shirt.

It was horrible. The material almost seemed to burn against my flesh and my stomach heaved in revulsion. With a cry, I tore off the clothing and flung it away from me. A few seconds later I heard Martin at the door, asking if I was okay.

"Just a minute," I called. Rummaging in the pile of lingerie I'd discarded, I found the panties and slipped them back on, then pulled on the diaphanous robe. The roiling in my stomach disappeared, as if it had never been there.

"Come in," I called and Martin entered. "You okay?" he asked, his face a mask of concern. I must really have let out a yell.

"I am now," I said and proceeded to explain what had happened.

He shook his head in bemusement, lightly fingering the t-shirt and track pants to confirm that, no, they weren't coated in some kind of toxic substance. "Wow," he said thoughtfully, "someone really wants you in women's clothing. Or something does ..."

I shook my head in irritation. Finding out who or what was behind my present difficulties was far less important than figuring out what to do about it. But I didn't say that. It was hardly Martin's fault, after all, and he really was trying to help.

A question occurred to me. "Hey Martin, can you see me? All of me, I mean?" He looked taken aback. "Well, yeah. Why do you ask?" I turned toward the wardrobe and pointed to my reflection. "What about in the mirror?"

"Woah," he said, clearly surprised. "That's just weird! I can only see your face and hands and, er ..."

"My groin," I said flatly. I was trying hard not to think how see-through my panties were.

"So it seems I've got to be fully dressed up to show in a reflection. And even then, I'm not visible to anyone but you. That I know of, anyway. Which is probably just as well. I mean, it's not as if I could pass as a woman. I'm not the right shape, for one thing, and I've got hair in all the wrong places."

"Hmmm," said Martin. "I wonder ..." He chewed his lip and then looked at me. Behind the long fringe that covered one side of his face, I could see his delicate features were creased up as if he didn't like what he was thinking -- or at least wasn't sure about it.

"All right," I said, with an exaggerated air of resignation. "What is it? Come on, spit it out."

"Well," he began hesitantly. "It seems like every extra step you take to look more, you know, feminine, seems to -- I don't know -- help break the spell."

He saw my expression and hurried on. "Or, you know, allow you to do things. I mean, it was the clothes that you were first able to touch and then help bring back your reflection. And the makeup got you out of the store. So maybe the next step is ... get rid of your body hair? And, er, do something with what's left. With the hair on your head, I mean."

I stared at him, utterly nonplussed. What he was suggesting was ridiculous. Except ... it wasn't. Not when I thought about it logically. Or as logically as I could in my present predicament.

"What -- what did you have in mind?" I asked weakly.

"Well, there are all kinds of ways to get hair off," said Martin, tucking his fringe behind his ear to reveal both his clear blue eyes. "But some of them are pretty painful. Or they take a lot of time -- or both."

He looked at me appraisingly. "Your hair's not too heavy, I reckon an all-over shave would do the trick. Best do that in a nice warm bath. And I can give you something for your skin."

I shook my head. Martin frowned. "You don't like that idea?"

I held my hand up as if apologising. "No -- I mean yes, I'll give it a try. I guess. It doesn't matter whether I like it," I added, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

Before he could take that the wrong way, I added: "But it is what it is -- and I still appreciate the fact you're trying to help me. So, if it's not too much trouble ..."

His face relaxed into a smile and he gestured towards the door. "Bathroom's this way."

I slipped off the robe and, rather self-consciously clad only in lacy black panties, followed him out of the door and then into a small bathroom. He opened a cabinet which was chock full of what looked like makeup and beauty products.

"This is all Lucy's stuff, she won't mind us using it," he said. Pulling out a bottle of makeup remover and some wet wipes, he gave them to me. "You can probably start by cleaning off all that stuff I put on you earlier. I'll redo it after your bath."

I started to do as I was told, but then shot him a curious look. "Martin, can I ask you a question?" I hurried on without waiting for an answer. "It's just, you seem to know a lot about makeup ...?"

He gave a shy smile. "Oh, that? Well, growing up with four older sisters will do that to a boy. Especially when they find out he's got a steady hand with eyeliner and can handle a curling tong ..."

He watched me work for a minute then, seeing I was making progress, went back to looking through the cabinet and some equally full drawers.

"I'm actually training to be a beautician," he said, "apparently there's more money in it than you might think. Well, that's what the people at the college say anyway. They're certainly making enough money out of me ..."

"Well I hope you make a success of it," I said indistinctly as I swabbed away at my face. "Lucky for me you know this stuff ... Hey, is Lucy one of your sisters?"

"No," replied Martin, "we just share this flat. And before you ask, we're not in a relationship either. Well, not the sort you might be thinking of anyway."

I looked at him. "Sorry, didn't mean to pry."

Truth be told, I wasn't at all unhappy about hearing that Lucy was just a roommate. It might be less complicated that way. The fewer people knew about me the better, at least while I was being forced to dress and look like a woman. Hopefully I would be out of here before she got back.

I wiped away the last of the cream, looked in the mirror to see if I'd got all the makeup off, then cursed when I realised there was no reflection.

"Here, let me have a look," said Martin. He dabbed at a few spots around my eyes, then pronounced himself satisfied. He handed me a slim electric shaver that looked rather different from the sort I used on my face, together with a pink razor and some shaving gel.

"I suggest you use the electric shaver to get the worst off, then after you've got in the bath, finish it off with the razor. The only problem might be your back. Do you want me to go over it for you?"

I looked at him uncertainly, then nodded. I was painfully aware of being semi-naked in a bathroom with another guy -- and having him shave my back seemed to suggest an intimacy that I certainly didn't either feel or want. But again, what else could I do?

Martin was clearly trying to help, there was no sign whatever of him coming on to me ... and even if there were, I'd already decided I was going to do whatever it took to get my normal life back. No matter how abnormally I might have to act to get there.

I turned around and heard the buzz of the shaver. "You're lucky," said Martin, "there's not much here at all. Not like some guys."

I tensed slightly as he applied the shaver head to my back, but it tickled rather than hurt and he was quickly finished.

"No need to worry about using the razor there, it's smooth enough," he said as I turned back to face him. "Your arms and legs don't look to bad either." He pulled a face. "But I'm afraid you'll find it harder going under your arms and, um, down there."

No need to wonder what he meant by that last remark. I was just glad he wasn't offering to do it for me ...

"Just take it nice and slowly, okay? Be thorough, but careful. No point making a mess, is there?" He went over to the bath and started to run it. Once he had adjusted the taps to get the right temperature, he tipped some purple bath salts into the water and dug out a clean towel, which he handed to me.

"All right," he said, "got everything you need?"

"I think so," I answered, "And listen, Martin, thanks again, I don't know what -"

He cut me off. "Seriously Rhiannon, it's fine. I'm happy to help and besides -- I get to practice my dark arts on you, and there's not a thing you can do to stop me. Mwah ha ha ..."

He grinned and I couldn't help but return the smile -- even as I tried to ignore the now familiar tingling that his use of my new name had provoked.

Pausing only to flick a switch that started up an extractor fan, he left the bathroom and closed the door. I debated locking it, then decided I trusted him. Besides, I didn't want to be stuck in here if something bad were to happen. Given what I'd endured in the last twenty-four hours, I had to be ready for anything ...

Keeping an eye on the tub to make sure it didn't overflow, I picked up the shaver, turned it on and began applying it cautiously to my arms, legs and chest. It didn't take too long to remove the light covering of hair and it wasn't too uncomfortable either. My armpits took a bit longer and as for my groin ... well, let's just say I was very careful indeed.

It was some little while before I got into the bath, by which time the water had cooled somewhat. But even so, it was with a groan of pleasure that I lowered my tired body, and in particular my aching legs and feet, into the purple foam. The salts had produced a pleasant aroma, like fresh cut flowers. As I inhaled appreciatively, my head seemed to clear and my muscles unknotted. For the first time in at least a day, and maybe longer, I actually felt relaxed.

For a few minutes I just lay back and let myself soak. It was heaven. But all too soon I remembered I had a job to finish.

Reaching over the side of the bath, I picked up the razor and the gel. It took me a long time to go over the light stubble that the earlier use of the shaver had left. Again, I was excessively careful, especially with the hair around my genitals and butt cheeks. But eventually I had smooth skin everywhere but on my head.

To say it felt weird was an understatement. I had thought I was already naked, but that concept now took on a whole new meaning.