Finding Rhiannon Pt. 05

FINDING RHIANNON

Chapter 5 -- A Touch of Charm

Waking up seemed unusually difficult. It was as if I was swimming up from the bottom of a dark and noisome lake. Reaching the surface was much harder than it ought to have been. It was with a palpable effort that I finally broke through into consciousness.

And wished I hadn't. Where my head should have been was a solid ball of pain. Moving it turned out to be a terrible idea, so I quickly abandoned that idea, in favour of trying to figure out why someone had replaced my tongue with a piece of cardboard.

My eyelids also seemed to be glued together. Reaching up to clear them set my head off again. I was aware too of a roiling in my stomach, as if something was preparing to erupt, Alien-like, from my innards.

I let out a long groan. No, wait, that wasn't me... The groan came from right beside me. Without conscious volition, I shot out an exploratory hand. It traced the contours of what was unmistakably a naked bottom, prompting a chirp of surprise.

"What was that?" The tone contrived to suggest that the owner of the voice was in the same sorry state as I appeared to be.

It took me a minute to attach a name. "Emily?" I croaked. "Is that you?"

"I think it used to be..." came the halting reply. The voice was muffled. "Uh, it's Rhiannon, right? Do you... are you wearing any clothes?"

There was silence for a minute as I tried to process the question. Then another break as I tried to figure out the answer. Eventually I delivered the verdict. "No," I said.

"Me neither," came the response.

O - kay. So I was in a bed with a young woman -- a very attractive young woman, I mentally appended -- who I'd met only the night before. We'd been drinking in a bar, and then... what?

I racked what was left of my brain and tried to remember. I'd gone there with Lucy, to meet some of her friends. And then I'd had that first drink and my voice had somehow changed... Was that just temporary, or had it returned to a (somewhat) more masculine tone? I'd have to check once my throat didn't feel like sandpaper.

Let's see. I'd left the group and then I'd run into --

Oh god, Caroline! My wife had been at the bar. And she'd seen me! Looking like... well, nothing like the man she'd last been with in that lingerie shop.

She'd looked straight at me, wearing Lucy's dress, and stockings and heels, face made up and hair styled to look every bit the part that the name Rhiannon suggested. And she'd, she'd...

Ignored me.

A rush of relief came with the recollection. She'd looked at me, expression blank, flicked her gaze up and down me, then moved off, apparently searching for someone else.

I'd lost her in the crowd and, so far as I could recall, I hadn't seen her again. But the close shave had sent me straight back to my new companions, and I'd downed two glasses of wine out of sheer relief, while the girls laughed and asked me if I'd seen a ghost.

And then... what? Well, more drinks. Lots of chatting and laughter. I could distinctly recall calming down, even feeling relaxed as the evening wore on. In fact way more relaxed than I usually would be with a group of young women. Had I said anything to give myself away? I really, really hoped not...

I could remember slipping out to the bathroom at one point with Lucy, exchanging a few hurried words while she relieved herself and I pretended to. (My bodily functions had not yet returned to normal, clearly.)

I'd told her about my voice change and she'd said... oh yes, she said I must be doing the right thing, just keep moving forward and see where it all took me.

Easy advice from someone who wasn't turning into a woman! Well, okay, she -- or he -- turned into a woman on a daily basis. But that was voluntary, I recalled thinking bitterly.

Still, we'd gone back to the group -- and there were more drinks. And someone suggested a club. And it was loud and packed and chaotic and... there was dancing.

Seriously, dancing? I didn't dance as a guy, so how could I do it as a girl, in high heels? Only the memory was there all right. Well, a vague recollection anyway. There were so many people that it was more collective grinding than anything else. And then more drinks...

I screwed up my face, desperately trying to drag any remaining details out of the wreckage of my cerebellum. What else had I done?

Oh god, wait, had I actually done that? Had I been... kissing someone? I think I had! But for the life of me I couldn't force my aching head to divulge the crucial detail of who I had been smooching.

Wait though, surely there was an obvious candidate? I mean, hadn't I just woken up in bed with --

"Emily?" My voice was still raw, but as my senses reluctantly returned I had to admit there was a distinctly feminine quality to it. "Did we... do anything? You know, last night?"

I was rewarded by another groan from beside me. "Yup," I heard her say. "We did a whole lotta drinkin'..."

"I know that," I said, with just a touch of weary exasperation. "But no, I mean, did we, you know, you and I, do... anything more than just drink? You know... together?"

Despite my obtuseness, she somehow managed to decipher what I was asking. "Oh no," she said, with a throaty chuckle. "Don't be ri-"

She broke off. There was a long pause. "Uh, no... I don't think so," she amended. The change in her tone told me all I needed to know. She was no more sure about how last night had ended than I was!

I felt the bed move as she abruptly got up, an action that prompted more groans. There was a rustle of clothes and I resisted the urge to pry my eyelids open and watch her dressing.

"I'll go and see if anyone else is up," she announced and I heard her shuffle rather than walk out of the room.

I waited a moment and then, ignoring the internal protests, forced myself to sit up and open my eyes. Blinking in the morning light that streamed through the gaps in the curtains, I tried to take stock.

I was clearly in Lucy's bedroom. My clothes -- or at least the clothes I'd been wearing when I went out last night -- were scattered around the room. As for me, I was still wearing what was left of the makeup that Martin had put on me yesterday, but nothing else on my hairless body. And I had a raging erection.

Oh gods. It had been covered by the sheet, but Emily could still have seen it. Did she know the truth about me? Did any of the others, apart from Martin and Lucy? (I found it remarkably easy to think of the two of them as different people, even though I knew they were one and the same.)

I shook my head. The questions about what had happened last night and who knew what would have to wait. The more immediate challenge, apart from dealing with what seemed to be the mother of all hangovers, was to figure out how much progress I'd made towards being real again -- and to being able to resume my former life.

So, let me see. Still no pangs of hunger, or pressure on my bladder. But the evidence was pretty conclusive that my body could process alcohol -- well, up to a point. That was something, I supposed.

I lurched towards the wardrobe mirror. No sign of any reflection, bar my head. Clearly then I still needed female clothes to be visible. But at least women could see and touch me again -- and, wait, hadn't that guy at the bar...?

As I recalled bumping into a young man, just after my voice had changed, I felt fingers brush over my naked behind. Startled, I swung around, instantly regretting the sudden movement as my stomach gave a nauseous lurch. There was nobody behind me.

I stared around in a state of dazed puzzlement, until my eyes were caught by the handbag on the chair. It was the one Lucy had given me to take out last night. Something made me pick it up and rummage inside. Along with some makeup and a small amount of change, I found a business card.

There were two names on it that I recognised. One was the law firm where I worked. The other was the card's owner, Adam Ranieri, a young lawyer who we'd recently hired.

I knew of him, but hadn't yet met him -- until last night, apparently. His recruitment had been handled by one of my colleagues in the firm's human resources department, though I'd helped do some of the background checks.

Try as I might, I couldn't remember either encountering him or taking this card. Yet something told me it was important that I contact him again...

Possessed by a sudden decisiveness that I couldn't quite explain, I strode to the bedroom door, opened it a crack, and called out: "Lucy, are you there?" There was a pause, before I added: "Or Martin?"

It was the latter's cheerful voice that answered. "You rang?" Improbably, he sounded fresh and rested. Maybe, I thought, when he took off Lucy's clothes and makeup he lost the hangover as well? Either that or his female alter ego had been drinking a lot less than it seemed last night.

As I peered into the hall I saw him emerge from his bedroom, clad only in a t-shirt and boxers. He arched his eyebrows when he saw me looking at him. "You okay?," he asked.

"Not in the slightest," I replied, "but that doesn't matter right now. Listen, I'm sorry, but I need to ask three favours. A shower, a few things out of Lucy's wardrobe and, ah..." I gestured at my thoroughly smudged face.

He nodded. "Makeup -- sure, I can do that." He nodded towards the nearby bathroom. "You know where the hot water is. And take anything you like from Lucy's stuff -- except the green formal dress, the really long one. She'd be devastated if anything happened to that..." A dreamy look came over his face. "Happy memories..."

He flashed me an impish smile. "I'm surprised you haven't asked for a coffee -- I can get you one of those well as well, if you like?" Acknowledging my grateful nod, he padded off to the kitchen.

Looking around to make sure that neither Emily nor anyone else could see me, I slipped across the hall and into the bathroom, ignoring the flapping of my still semi-hard cock.

I glanced at the mirror on the bathroom cabinet and winced. I wasn't sure what was worse, the deep holes where my eyes should be or the smears of lipstick around my mouth. With a sigh, I opened the cabinet and started hunting for some makeup remover...

An hour or so later I walked into Martin's living room feeling a whole lot better. The combination of a shower, hot coffee and some more skilful attention from Martin to my face had done me the power of good.

A quick rummage in Lucy's wardrobe had netted me a long sleeved, bright red top, which I'd paired with a short black skirt, patterned tights and pixie boots.

I would have chosen a longer skirt, but it seemed Lucy liked to show off her legs... and for some reason I didn't want to put on any of her artfully torn jeans. Besides, I thought my legs looked pretty hot in the nylon hose.

My cock had thought so too, but a quick and shameless wank had taken care of that problem...

I'd also and rather thrillingly come across some false boobs in one of Lucy's drawers and, after some dithering, opted to put them to use.

The flesh-coloured gel mounds, which felt amazingly lifelike, were now sitting more comfortably than I might have expected inside the lacy black bra I'd liberated from the lingerie store. I'd got by well enough the day before with rolled up stockings, but these both looked and felt far more convincing.

The living room was empty as I emerged in my new outfit, now once again fully visible in any mirror. Emily, I'd learned from Martin, had headed home. I wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved about that news.

There was no suggestion that there had been anything wrong with her, other than a whopping hangover. In fact she'd asked Martin to pass on her apologies for dashing off and to say she hoped we could catch up again soon. All of which came as something of a relief -- though it still didn't explain how we'd ended up naked in bed!

As for Haruka and Eleanor, they'd evidently crashed in Zoe's apartment next door, though there had been no sign of them. I had been on the verge more than once of asking Martin what had happened last night, but in the end I was too embarrassed to admit my lack of recollection. Besides, I wasn't sure I was going to like what I heard...

Putting my now empty cup in the kitchen, I stood for a moment in thought, then went off to find Martin. There really was something I needed to do and for some reason it didn't seem I should wait any longer.

Martin had put some pants on and was carrying a laptop and some books as he emerged from his bedroom.

"I have to do some study," he announced in response to my unspoken query, dumping his load on a table and settling down on a chair. "But if there's anything else I can get you, Rhiannon, let me know."

The shiver prompted by my new (and, I sincerely hoped, temporary) name was becoming so familiar now that I was barely feeling it. Leaning over Martin, I rested my hand lightly on his shoulder and pecked him lightly on the cheek.

"You're a darling, seriously, I don't know where I'd be without you. But there is one thing, can I... borrow your phone?"

"You want to call home?" asked Martin, a quizzical expression visible behind the fringe that, as so often, seemed to cover half of his lean face.

"God, no," I said, rather more emphatically than I'd intended. "Not until I'm back to normal. I mean, my wife wouldn't even recognise my voice, sounding like this, would she?"

"I suppose not," Martin conceded. "So who then?"

I hesitated, but then decided that it would be crazy to lie to the one person who knew about my predicament -- and without whom, I might well still be stuck in lingerie store limbo. I showed him the card I'd found. "Just some guy I met last night."

"Really?" Martin was clearly intrigued. "I didn't see you talking to any men -- though I do recall there were quite a few at the club trying to hit on you. So when did you meet this one?"

"It was a very brief encounter," I replied warily. This was a deduction rather than a fact, but I wasn't going to admit that. So, okay, I wasn't ready to be entirely forthcoming, even with Martin.

"It's just that, well, I know where he works, and somehow I got the impression he might... have some idea of what's happening to me?" Well, that much at least was true.

Martin seemed sceptical, but he handed over his phone. "If you're sure it's a good idea..."

In fact I wasn't sure at all. I didn't know the man I was calling, other than from his job application and references.

But he might well know me somehow -- or rather Ryan, the person I had been until yesterday, and who seemed strangely distant right at the moment. For that matter, this young man had quite probably crossed paths with my wife, who also worked as a lawyer at the same firm. It was how I had met Caroline, after all.

Yet despite all these reasons to be cautious, I was positively anxious to make the call. Grabbing the phone, I punched in the number on the card.

As I did so, I once again felt a hand lightly stroke my buttocks, as if the panties and skirt that covered them weren't there. But I was somehow ready for it this time, and made no move to turn around. After two days of strange noises and sensations, I was starting to learn not to trust my senses.

The phone rang and a female voice answered. It was one I knew very well. Sally had been a receptionist before scoring a job with the department in which the newly hired lawyer had been employed.

I froze and heard her repeat her greeting, this time with a questioning tone. I was on the verge of terminating the call when I realised that while she might know Ryan's voice, Rhiannon's was a different matter entirely.

"Ah, hello -" I was about to use Sally's name, but stopped myself just in time. "Could I, er, speak to Adam?"

"Certainly," came the cool reply, "can I tell Mr Ranieri who it is and what it's concerning?" Now there were two questions I wished I could fully answer. Still...

"This is Rhiannon," I said with a confidence I didn't feel. "We, ah, met last night. It's a personal matter."

"Very well, just a minute while I check whether he's available..." There was silence for a few seconds and then a male voice said "Hello?"

"This is Rhiannon," I said, gabbling somewhat in my anxiety to establish who I was. "We met last night at that new bar, can't remember its name, the one on Hunter?"

I was about to add "I think," but decided at the last minute that this might seem odd. Why was I calling him if I didn't know where I'd met him? So I contented myself with adding "You, ah, left me your card?"

There was a pause, and then he said: "Oh yes, of course... Rhiannon."

As he said my name I felt a tremendous pressure in my chest, as if my lungs were trying to expand. It eased after a few seconds, but it took me a minute to focus again on what he was saying in his cultured voice.

"-sn't sure I was going to hear from you, especially after you left with all those lovely friends of yours."

I forced myself to affect a lightness I certainly didn't feel. "Yeah, sorry about that. Girls' night out, you know? But, well, I found your card and thought I'd... look you up?"

It sounded lame to my ears, but he laughed easily in response. "Certainly. I suppose now would be too soon? Are you free for lunch?"

"Um, sure," I said, my heart pounding. "How about, let me think..."

I covered the mouthpiece with my hand and hissed a query to Martin about nearby restaurants. He quickly came up with an Italian place just a few blocks away. I relayed the details to Adam and we agreed to meet there in half an hour.

"Great, see you soon," I said brightly and rung off. Letting out a huge sigh, I slumped back in my chair, conscious that my brow was beaded with sweat.

"Wow," said Martin admiringly, "you move fast! Is he as cute as he sounds?" I pulled a face and he laughed. "Maybe I should come along too, just to make sure you don't get into any trouble?"

That was actually a tempting offer, but I shook my head. This was something I knew I had to do for myself. "No thanks Martin. You and Lucy have done more than enough already. I have to start learning how to cope. Besides, I'm sure you've got study to do..."

"Okay," he said, "but let me at least give you some money for lunch." He brushed away my protests, claiming that I could pay him back after I had sorted things out.

I was far from clear what "sorted" might eventually look like, but I reluctantly agreed.

The short walk to the restaurant lifted my spirits. The day was again warm and sunny and a light breeze lifted my skirt slightly as I strode along. Although I had appreciated the shape that the high heels I had worn yesterday had given my legs, the flat-soled boots were a lot easier to walk in.

Besides, I was thoroughly enjoying the feel of nylon on my legs. The swish of the skirt against the hose on my thighs gave me a delicious frisson with every step.

Even better was the reflection I could see in shop and office windows as I passed. There were repeated glimpses of what was unmistakably a pretty young woman walking along. Nothing about that image suggested a man in female clothing.

Indeed when I stopped at one point to admire myself, while pretending to find something in my bag, I could swear my body shape had changed. My hips in particular seemed wider than they'd been.

This should have worried me, I knew somewhere in the back of my mind. But as it was I just felt a sense of pride and delight that I could pass so easily as a member of the fairer sex.

I was also revelling in the admiring looks and -- not to put too fine a point on it -- ogling from many of the men I passed. Again, I should have been concerned at this level of attention, but in fact it gave me quite a glow.

I noticed though that it was only certain men who seemed to be able to see me. So far as I could tell, there were still those who had no idea I was there. A quick experiment confirmed that I could still pass right through some of the figures I encountered. Still, I was definitely making progress...