Finding Rhiannon Pt. 06

FINDING RHIANNON

Chapter 6 -- A Pinch of Spice

I stared at them in disbelief. "I can't believe how big they are," I muttered. "Oh, they can get a lot bigger than that," said Martin jovially.

I glared at him. "Well, they're too big for me. I'm going to be overbalancing with every step. And god knows what Adam's going to think."

"Are you kidding? He's going to love them," said Martin. "I mean, look what they do to your figure!"

I looked again at my reflection and had to admit that he was right -- the shape and outline they provided was sensational. I'd be getting a lot of admiring looks, and not just from my dinner companion.

"Besides," he went on, "it's not as if you have any choice here, Rhiannon."

"No," I conceded, "it seems like I'm stuck with them." My mouth twisted. "But do they really have to be green?"

"That's just a trick of the light," said Martin patiently. "They're closer to aquamarine, if you want to know the truth."

We both stared in silence at the impossibly high-heeled shoes that he had selected for me from Lucy's extensive collection.

I had rashly promised to let Martin dress me for my evening out with Adam, the young lawyer I had met the day before. For reasons I was still struggling to understand, I wanted to make a big impression on him.

And rather than rely on my own potentially questionable taste in women's clothing, which I'd been wearing now for all of two or three days, I thought it far better to put myself in the hands of someone who was not only training as a beautician, but spent a good part of his life en femme.

Martin had indeed jumped at the chance. I had expected some kind of elaborate outfit. But he had opted instead for a simple but eye-catching look, giving me a sparkly silver cocktail dress with a halter neck.

My hairless legs were left bare rather than being encased in silk or nylon. Yet despite that disappointment -- I had quickly grown to love the feel of stockings -- I couldn't deny how sexy they looked, once I stepped into the five-inch heeled slingbacks we had just been discussing. And as for the deep V cut into the front of the dress...

There had been so many shocks over the past few days to endure, so much information to process.

Being trapped in an underwear shop, unseen and untouchable by those around.

Escaping from there by being dressed and made up as a female, with the assistance of someone who turned out to be living parallel lives as a man and a woman.

Finding myself progressively returning to some version of reality, from a kind of ghost existence, but at the expense of masculine elements such as my clothes, body hair and voice.

Realising that the woman I was becoming was both more attractive and much more interesting than the man I'd been...

But these were nothing compared to finding out that at some point, either before or during my lunch with Adam, the fake boobs I had stuffed into my bra had magically transformed into real breasts.

In the space of just an hour after this astonishing discovery, I had in quick succession gone through what I was now thinking of as the five stages of mammafication: denial, regret, exploratory fondling, fascination, and a sudden interest in wearing low-cut tops.

(And yes, I knew there was no such word as mammafication, but in the circumstances I felt that I could be forgiven for making up a term for the process of being given breasts...)

It was crazy, but by the time I plucked up the courage to tell Martin what was happening to me, I had not just accepted it as an inevitable step in a feminisation process outside my control. I had started thinking about all the extra choices that real boobs would give me in dressing and presenting as a woman.

Once he had got over his own shock, Martin had told me that my new assets warranted a C-cup -- which was exactly the size of the bra I'd taken from the lingerie store, and perhaps part of the reason I hadn't noticed them sooner.

Was that a coincidence? I didn't think so, any more than it could be happenstance that I'd been rescued by someone with such a peculiarly useful background -- and a body shape that so exactly matched mine that Lucy's clothes fitted me perfectly.

In fact that there were so many aspects of my situation that went beyond any rational explanation. These included how I felt about what was happening to me. I should, I knew, have been frantic with worry. Yet I was quickly and (relatively) calmly adapting to life as Rhiannon. Where Ryan would have been desperately trying to figure out how to stop the transformation process, or at least anticipate the next step, I was tending to see each new development as a challenge to be overcome. All of which suggested that I was being mentally as well as physically controlled.

Oddly, the only thing that seemed to be permanently rather than temporarily bothering me right now was the last obvious vestige of my masculinity, the thing dangling (or more commonly now tucked away) between my legs.

In the last few days I had found myself getting repeatedly aroused by the feel of the clothes I was wearing, even just the sight of my female appearance.

This had been particularly evident after discovering what was filling up my bra. Not to put too fine a point on it, my new breasts were almost perfectly crafted to turn me on.

They were large, yet not too big, with enough of an upward tilt so that the word "perky" didn't seem out of place. And even after I disrobed, they ensured my upper half could still be seen in a mirror.

The sight of me standing topless, face made up, legs encased in pantyhose and beautiful breasts fully visible... well to say that it made me hard would be a massive understatement. My erection had been so stiff and unyielding that I had to pull myself off twice in quick succession just to be able to get my panties back on.

Curiously though, playing with my new funbags did not have quite the same effect. Stroking the nipples certainly sent waves of pleasure through me, and I was aware of it feeding a strange sensation -- something between heat and pressure -- deep in my innards. But when I wasn't looking at my boobs, touching them didn't seem to have the same effect on my male organ.

Not that I was only responding to my own appearance or attire. The previous evening had provided a good demonstration of that.

Martin and I had just finished a less than healthy dinner of takeout pizza when he received a text from Emily, to see whether I might be free to join her for a drink.

We had been out together the previous night as part of a larger group, during which we had both got spectacularly drunk and ended up in Lucy's bed together, naked. Neither of us, it seemed, could remember how this had happened -- or indeed whether anything had "happened" at all.

I could doubtless have asked Martin for his (or rather Lucy's) version, but I was too embarrassed to do so.

At any rate, when the message came through, I was delighted to see more of Emily. After all, I found her incredibly attractive, with her toned body, gleaming dark skin and expressive almond eyes -- not to say a spectacular rack that more than matched the one I had so recently acquired.

And yet, sitting opposite her in the pub and chatting over glasses of wine, I gradually realised that for all that my cock was straining in my knickers, I was not having the same thoughts about her that Ryan would have done.

I was not imagining her without clothes, with her lips around my manhood, or spreading her legs for me. I was simply enjoying her company, not because she was a beautiful woman, but because she was a fun person to talk to and be with.

So while my body might be lusting over her, my mind, it seems, wasn't... or at least, not in the same way. The fact was though, I'd still jump at the chance to sleep with her -- only with not so much of the sleeping...

During our conversation, Emily managed to solve one of the previous night's mysteries. We'd been talking about TV shows and got onto Game of Thrones.

What started as a serious conversation about how the televised version had differed from the books (which she'd read and I hadn't) degenerated into a debate about whether Jon Snow or Jaime Lannister would be more fun to sleep with. After all, each was devastatingly handsome, but also came with serious baggage.

"Of course," said Emily with twinkling eyes, "you might prefer to be choosing between Daenerys and Cersei!" I gave her a puzzled smile. "Why do you say that?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, I don't know, maybe you sticking your tongue down Eleanor's throat last night? Seriously, I thought the two of you were going to get your gear off and do it right there on the dance floor!" She noticed my shocked expression. "What, you didn't think we'd noticed?"

"Uh, no... well, I mean..." I frowned in consternation. The fact was that although I had a vague recollection of kissing somebody last night, I'd had no idea of who it was until a few seconds ago.

The most obvious suspect had been Emily herself, and not just because she was the one I'd woken up with. I had wanted it to be her. I would never have thought of Eleanor, the tall, thin brunette who'd been easily the quietest of our group.

I sighed and decided to come clean. "The fact is, Em, I can't remember who it was I kissed. It's all a bit blurry. I mean, why Eleanor?"

Emily laughed. "Oh, Rhee, you're priceless! I'm pretty sure you kissed her because you wanted to! And I certainly know why she would have kissed you. She let on earlier in the night that she really fancied you, but I think it took her a few drinks to get the courage up to do something about it."

So it was Eleanor hitting on me -- well, okay. But I didn't say that aloud. Instead I asked: "So she and Zoe...?"

Emily snorted. "Are you kidding? Zoe's as straight as they come. I'm not sure she knows Eleanor that well, but she's been helping her to get over, well, some shit she's been going through lately."

I must have been feeling very relaxed at that point, because I slyly asked: "And you? Are you as straight as they come?"

Her response was to look horrified -- or try to. The twinkle in her eyes and the way the corners of her mouth were trying to twitch into a smile rather gave the game away. She held my gaze for several seconds, before finally responding.

"Usually," she said, one eyebrow delicately arched, "but I have been known to make exceptions." My heart gave a little skip at that.

"Anyway," she continued, "I was kind of expecting that after your little pash, you and Eleanor would have made a night of it -- and I rather got the impression El was expecting that too. But by the time we got back to Lucy and Zoe's place, I don't think that was happening. Well, it obviously didn't, because you ended up in bed with me, you minx!"

She shook her head and grinned. "I'm still don't know how that came about, but we were all pretty legless by that stage, I reckon."

I frowned at hearing this. "So, do think Eleanor will be upset that I didn't, you know...?"

Lucy shrugged. "Dunno. Perhaps go and ask Zoe about that. Now, you look like you're about to finish that glass -- want another one?"

So, we chatted on for a while over a new round of drinks. I was delighted that there seemed to be no tension or complications between us over what either had or hadn't happened the night before.

I got the clear impression that she liked me as much as I did her. If we simply became good friends, then great. If it turned into something more than that, well, neither of us seemed too worried about that prospect either -- we'd deal with it in good time.

Emily was just on the verge of calling it a night and heading home when she slapped her hand on her forehead in exasperation.

"Ooh, I'm such an idiot! I nearly forgot what I meant to ask you about tonight! It was the main reason I got in touch. Or," she amended, "one of the reasons anyway..."

She fished out her phone and started looking for something. "Foster and Lamprey -- that's the name of the law firm you work at, isn't it?" she asked, without looking up from the screen.

"Uh huh," I said, wondering where this might be going. I'd rather inadvisedly told Emily last night both what Ryan did and where he worked, after she mentioned she also had a job in Human Resources.

"Now where was that ad... oh yes, here we go! Here, have a look," said Emily handing me her phone. "Isn't that the same department where you are? Can't be that big a group, can it?"

I stared at the advertisement she had found on one of the more popular job sites. It was indeed for an HR role at Ryan's law firm. In fact it was advertising exactly the same job that Ryan did. So unless they were bringing in someone extra, which seemed unlikely given the current downturn, this was my position!

I looked more closely at the date of the ad. It had supposedly been posted four days ago -- after I had gone on leave, but before being trapped in the lingerie store. Something the firm could not possibly have known about at the time they put this out, even if Caroline had subsequently told them Ryan was missing. It made no sense at all...

Thinking quickly, I said: "Uh yeah, that looks like, um, Ryan's job. He is -- was -- one of the full-time staff. Not sure what's happened to him though. I, er, may have misled you last night. I don't have a permanent job there, I've just done some relief work, you know, on a temporary basis."

Fortunately for me, she didn't seem upset about me pretending to do a job I didn't have. Even though I really did have it -- or at least Ryan did.

"Oh, okay," she said. "You see, I was thinking of putting in for it. Only I don't want to stand in your way if you're planning on going for it as well...?"

She giggled. "Though it would be fun to work together, wouldn't it?"

Despite my consternation, I managed to answer with a grin. "It would indeed... But to answer your question, I'm not sure. I hadn't seen this, but I'll make some inquiries and let you know, all right?"

We hugged, perhaps for a beat longer than two new acquaintances might have been expected to embrace, then went our separate ways. I went to bed that night with a great deal on my mind...

The following morning, I decided there was nothing for it to but to ring the firm. It was quite scary talking to my boss, but I figured (correctly) that like Adam's personal assistant, who I'd briefly spoken to the day before, there was no way she was going to recognise my new and thoroughly feminine voice.

I spun her a line about having seen the job ad and being surprised, because it looked like my old friend Ryan's position. I hadn't seen him in a while, but wondered if he was okay, et cetera.

Celia was, perhaps understandably, a little reluctant to say anything, but I managed to wheedle out of her that Ryan had left the firm without notice a couple of months ago, in mysterious circumstances.

Something was very wrong here. I had been in the office working with Celia only last week, for heaven's sake! And now she was saying I'd been gone for months! Promising to call back if I managed to hear anything about Ryan's whereabouts, I rang off, feeling distinctly unsettled.

Again, however, I seemed to be able to brush this news off far more easily than I should have done. After all, I reasoned, it was just one more mystery in a whole litany of them -- and far less perplexing, in the scheme of things, than suddenly acquiring boobs.

Besides, Martin had promised to give me makeup lessons, so I spent a happy morning learning about the various types of foundation, how to mix colours, and how to make my face more feminine -- though Martin noted wryly that my cheekbones and jawline seemed to have very nicely rearranged themselves all on their own.

I didn't need makeup now for my face to appear in the mirror, and even without any paint it seemed distinctively different. In just a few short days -- if that's really what it was -- I'd become so accustomed to seeing Rhiannon that I was almost starting to forget what Ryan looked like.

And so, after a lengthy process of prettying myself up, it was finally time to head out to dinner with Adam. As we'd arranged, I met him outside the apartment block.

He turned up in a red, open-top sports car that pretty clearly hadn't been bought on a young lawyer's salary. Either he or someone in his family evidently had a lot of money to spend. But the slightly smug expression on his face as he drove up was quickly displaced by a look of awed disbelief as he caught sight of me.

As I clambered into the car, careful not to snag my heels but making no attempt to prevent the short skirt of the cocktail dress from riding up my thighs, he couldn't take his eyes off me. Just as at our first meeting, it seemed that I had a knack for getting past the smooth and very assured demeanour that he obviously preferred to affect.

"God Rhiannon," he breathed, "you look... gorgeous!"

I could have hugged Martin. In fact I had hugged him, several times. I'd even had time to get at least somewhat used to walking in the scary heels he'd selected for me.

But I said none of this, simply giving Adam a cool look and commenting drily: "You sound surprised."

"Oh no, really, I didn't mean -" he started, and then seemed to realise I was just teasing him. Smiling, he added in a more controlled tone: "Just stating the obvious... you know, in case you thought I was blind or something."

He put the car into gear and it shot away from the kerb rather faster than was strictly advisable in the heart of the city.

"Well," I laughed, "if you really are blind, this is going to be a pretty short and exciting ride!"

Which in fact is what it was. To my disappointment, since I was enjoying the wind in my face as we hustled through the bright streets, the trip to the Indian restaurant he'd chosen was a relatively quick one.

But worse was to come. We'd ordered a banquet for two and were just embarking on a plate of delicious looking samosas when Adam's phone went off.

He glanced at the screen, frowned and, with an apologetic gesture to me, stood up and walked off a little way to take the call. As he listened to whoever had rung him, his frown deepened. He was positively scowling by the time he got back.

"Rhiannon, I am so, so sorry. That was my boss, there's some kind of problem blown up with -- well, can't tell you who or what, but one of our major clients. He wants me in the office now, no excuses."

His expression was a mix of angry and deflated that would have been quite funny if I wasn't feeling the same way.

But rather than express that emotion I simply said: "That's okay, I understand, you head off -- it's not as if we can't do this again, is it?"

That at least prompted a smile. "Try stopping me," he said. "Listen you can stay here if you like, I can fix up the bill and, you know, leave you enough for a cab. Or I can run you home on my way to the office?"

After some deliberation, I opted for the latter. I wasn't that hungry and the whole point of the evening was to spend time with Adam, not to eat. I could have stamped my foot in frustration, but decided that doing so might be a risky manoeuvre in my present footwear.

At any event, it wasn't long before we were pulling up outside the apartment block. "Home," Adam had called it, and I reflected just how quickly it had become exactly that for me -- and how little I thought now about the house where I had lived as Ryan -- or the woman with whom I shared it.

Caroline had just disappeared from my life like a puff of smoke. I could only imagine how it had been for her. Though when I had briefly seen her the night before last in a bar, she had not had the look of a woman grieving for a lost husband, that was for sure.