The Blue Necklace Ch. 08

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Ch... Ch... Ch… Ch... Changes (Turn And Face The Strain)
1.6k words
4.76
25.8k
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Part 8 of the 8 part series

Updated 10/04/2022
Created 01/14/2014
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This is not so much a sex story as a love story with sexy bits and, if you're not into the whole transgender thing, there aren't many of those either.

But I hope you enjoy it anyway.

This is the eighth and final chapter. It won't make any sense at all unless you've read the others.

Enjoy

*****

Time may change me but I can't trace time.

I woke surprisingly early. Andy, my Andy, was still sleeping soundly; gently snoring on the other side of the bed. I needed to use the toilet so, grabbing one of Andy's tee shirts to use as a nightie, I got up out of bed.

And then it struck me. The room was different. The obvious change, the thing that first caught my notice, was that Andy's FHM poster had gone. In its place was a print of the Arnolfini Wedding; a long-time favourite of mine. That made me look closer and, there, next to the bed, was a framed photo of the two of us by which I mean Tiff and Andy, not Tom and Andy. It must have been taken somewhere hot as he was wearing shorts and I was in a bikini that left precious little to the imagination.

I didn't exactly panic but my heart was pumping as I looked around the rest of the room. The dressing table was covered in a mixture of male and female items. Sure, the aftershave and the cufflinks were his but I'm sure the Givenchy perfume, and the hair brush, and the nail varnish, and the lipstick and... and...

I went over to the wardrobe, suspiciously bigger than the one I remembered, and looked inside. Either Andy was a secret cross dresser or...

My bladder wouldn't let me look any further so I went through to the bathroom and did my business.

There were so many questions, so many unknowns. It had been bad enough when I had first found that I could change but this was more, much more. I was having problems taking stock of what was even happening this time. It wasn't just me that had changed; the whole world had changed around me.

As I sat on the toilet I rested my hands on my knees and, there, on the third finger of my left hand....

'Oh my god, I'm engaged!' I screamed internally. 'Where the heck did that come from?'

And that's when the 'new' memories started. I could still remember the dinner party but this time there was another version, a version where, together with our best friends, we were celebrating our engagement. I remembered Jen and Patrick's delight and the bottle of bubbly and the general sense of joy.

Which party had happened? Which party was real?

I finished off and, as I washed my hands, I looked in the mirror. There around my neck was the necklace. There was one thing I had to try. I reached up behind my neck, undid the clip and... and nothing. No dizziness, no sign of a change. Nothing. It was just an ordinary, if rather pretty piece of jewelry.

Still holding the necklace in my hand I went through to what I still thought of as my room. Not any more. It had changed to some sort of cross between a spare room and a study. I opened the desk and, somehow, I just knew where to find the passports. There was Andy's and there, next to it was mine. Tiffany Jane Roberts with that rather fine photo from the time when Andy had insisted that I get my portrait done and the photographer had thrown in a passport photo for free.

And I could remember the incident as clear as anything, as clear as that holiday in the Algarve, the one where I had worn that rather outrageous bikini, the one where we had had so much fun, the one where we had bought that necklace I loved so much.

I went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. There on the ledge was the usual pile of mail waiting to be put away. One of the items was my payslip. I opened it up and looked at it. Same company, same pitiful wages, the same T. J. Roberts on the address label outside, the same everything except that, when I opened it up, the name of the employee was Tiffany Jane Roberts, not Thomas John Roberts.

There on the kitchen table was my hand bag. Well, I assumed it was mine and I sort of remembered buying it in the previous winter's New Year sales. I found my purse and, yes, all my credit cards were in Tiffany's name. There was my driving licence with the same photo I had used for my passport.

And the more I looked the more complete it was. There was only one thing missing and that was any sign of Tom.

Again my heart lurched. If, a few days ago, you had asked me whether I would prefer to be Tiff or Tom then the answer would have been simple. Now that the choice had been taken away from me I felt a sense of loss. Tom had been part of me, hadn't he?

"Morning, sweetheart. Is there enough water in that kettle for two?" Andy came up behind me and he groped my bottom as he looked over my shoulder.

"Of course. What do you fancy for breakfast?"

"You."

"You're incorrigible, do you know that?"

"Yeah, but it's one of the things you like about me."

"Don't be so sure," but we both knew I was joking. The fact that he simply couldn't keep his hands off my body was deeply flattering and rather sexy. However, I was too unsettled to do anything about it right then.

"Sit down and keep your hands to yourself for five minutes and I'll rustle up some scrambled eggs."

"Do I have to?" His hands had wandered to my tummy and then on southwards. The feeling was delicious; we could just nip back to bed or even, right there, on the kitchen table....

"Yes, you do," I said, firmly rejecting these temptations. I was hungry, I needed coffee and, anyway, we had things to do. I turned to face him and he had that cheeky grin, the one I had found so appealing ever since that party back in college when... and that was another Tiffany memory being overlaid on top of the Tom memories.

"Hello, is this broken?" Andy said, picking up the necklace from where I had left it on the work surface.

"No, it's fine."

"It's just that you never seem to take it off. Do you remember when I bought it for you? Fifty bloody euros that old witch wanted but you were so insistent because you said it matched the colour of my eyes."

I muttered something at him but I don't know what. It was like one of those 3D pictures which you can't see until you suddenly do. And the woman's words from way back in Albufeira came back to me. 'It matches the colour of your sweetheart's eyes'. Of course it did, of course it still does. A perfect match for the colour of Andy's eyes. And now, in this world, it wasn't me that had bought it but Andy, my sweetheart.

"Andy, do you remember Tom?" I asked as gently as I could.

"Tom? I know a Tom at work but I don't think you know him."

"No, Tom from back in college."

"Can't say the name rings any bells. Why? Should I?"

"Not really. He was in the same history class as me. You know how sometimes you just remember people. I just wondered if you had ever met him."

"No, pretty sure not. Are you OK?"

"It's something and nothing. Time of the month, I guess," and, at that moment, the kettle boiled and let me off the hook. By the time I was serving the scrambled eggs the whole conversation was forgotten.

"Did you wash my footie kit?" Andy asked as he cleared away the plates. "You know we're meeting Patrick and Jen at the gym this morning."

"Yes, I washed your footie kit. It's in the drawer where it belongs." Another new set of 'memories' slotted into place. Andy was to play five-a-side with Patrick; I was to play squash with Jen. It seemed that, in this universe, our friendship was a lot deeper than in Tom's world. Not that I was complaining.

And so it was that, a few hours later, Jen and I sat in the gym café after she had completely battered me on the squash court. Once again there was something I had to know.

"Jen, do you remember Tom from college."

"Yeah, I remember Tom. Why do you ask?" Jen replied very cautiously.

"Sometimes I wonder what happened to him."

Jen gave me a long, long look.

"Are you sure you want to go there?"

I just bit my lip and nodded.

"Tom's gone, you know that, don't you?"

"Of course I do but...."

"Do you miss him?"

"Not exactly. Well, a bit. Mostly I just don't want to forget him."

"Then don't."

"I'm not sure it's that easy. I can feel him fading. I'm Tiff now and, more and more, it's as if I've never been anything else. But Tom is part of me too and I don't want to completely lose that."

"Do you know what I'd do? I'd write it all down."

"What, magic necklaces and all? No one would ever believe me."

"Then make it a story. Make it a fairy tale. How Tom found his princess."

And that's what I did.

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24 Comments
AnonymousAnonymous3 months ago

I love love. Thank you for sharing it.

Hillbilly55Hillbilly55over 1 year ago

This is the second time I have read this wonderful story. This might be my very favourite story of all time. I liked Tom, he was a nice guy but Tiffanay is an absolute sweetheart. I loved how the romance slowly comes into being.

MissLisaJones, thank you so very much. You are now my favourite writer.

Hillbilly55Hillbilly55over 2 years ago

One of the best stories I have ever read.

AnonymousAnonymousover 5 years ago
Absolutely Beautiful

I absolutely loved this story. Not sexy, instead a pure piece of art. I actually found myself at the bookstore a few days after finishing this, wishing I could find a story there as adorably comfortable as the one I've just read.

Obviously, none compared to this, so I came back and re-read it.

AnonymousAnonymousover 6 years ago
Amazing

I apsolutly loved the way that ended

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