Chapter 10 – Wayward Brushstrokes
275 2 25
X
Reading Options
Font Size
A- 15px A+
Width
Reset
X
Table of Contents
Loading... please wait.

Once in a while, you have a fantasy that comes true.

Dinner that night was just such a fantasy. Nicholas cooked, a medley of Caribbean dishes and fresh hot bread and so much wine. Not San Italiano either, but the good stuff, pulled right up out of the cellars for the occasion.

We talked about art, and philosophy, blurring the two until the division was no more than a smudge. Gerald had a keen knack for an anecdote, and soon we were all telling stories. Yes, even me—there was very little that had happened in my life that could not be just as easily applied to a woman, as to a man, and the wine stripped away a lot of my inhibitions against personal sharing.

Long after the meal was over we remained at the table, but eventually we shifted back to the common room. Although it was late summer the evenings were cool up there, so Anthony started a fire. Darren and I wound up on opposite ends of the couch. At first Josephine was between us, but she got up for a drink at one point, and found a new position in a rocking chair.

I removed my shoes and curled my legs under me, being sure even in my buzzed state to keep the skirt over my legs. I was hyperaware of my body, in fact. The morning’s cramps had subsided — did wine help with that? — and my breasts no longer felt like they had spent an hour running flat out on a treadmill.

On the contrary, I felt... sensuous, that was the word. My legs were smooth on the fabric of the couch, and when I shifted position, they slid almost effortless against it. Maybe it was something about the way my hips were jointed, or some extra flexibility I did not have as a man, but it felt so natural to just curl up, cat-like, in a little ball of comfort.

And yes, Darren noticed me. At least, I think he did. My torso was oriented diagonally out towards the group, but on the other side of the couch, he was pretty much facing me. He had his leg stretched out onto the cushion between us, though with his shoe off the furniture — Madge was watching. It put just that little bit of him closer to me.

Once, when he had said something particularly funny, I rested my hand on his lower shin, briefly. I didn’t do it on purpose, exactly. But it felt right, and in my current state, I did not second guess it.

Here it was, my college fantasy brought nearly to life. There was no absinthe, but the wine was better. And I was a woman, but as I said, that was not interfering with my enjoyment. In fact, it was kind of nice.

The evening went on way too late. One by one, we made our way upstairs. Soon there were only three of us left: Darren, Gerald, and myself. It was with a mixture of consternation and relief when Darren decided to turn in next. Gerald and I quickly declared our intentions to do the same, and we all trooped unsteadily upstairs. Gerald and Anthony lived on my floor, so we left Darren behind.

“You’re cute,” Gerald told me with a wink when we reached my door. “Just a pure little cinnamon bun. Good night!”

The next morning, I hurt.

My head pounded with the slightest move, and my mouth was stuffed with cotton. But I had to get up, because in the night my period had started in earnest. I sat on the commode groaning and peeing and dripping chunks of uterine lining, trying to decide whether to throw up, and if so, what substance I would rather get on the floor.

I settled on a shower instead. Hot water quickly overheated me, and I turned it down so that a cooler stream trickled out. It felt good on my head, too. I sat there for a while, until the roaring pain behind my eyes quieted just a trifle. Exiting the shower, I donned fresh panties and a fresh pad, followed by the dumpiest pants and shirt I owned. They matched my mood.

I think I fell asleep again for a while. If nothing else, I was in bed when the knock came at the door. I wrapped a robe around myself and padded over. Gerald was standing outside, looking offensively chipper. “Care package for an ailing soldier,” he said, and handed over a tray. It contained a pitcher of coffee, a mug, plenty of sugar, and a plate full of eggs and bacon. My stomach rumbled loudly, and I decided that I could probably eat without inverting my internal organs.

I thanked him brokenly, and he chuckled. “Glad to, Cinnamon Bun. Feel better!” And off he went.

After eating I did feel better. Not enough to interact with the rest of humanity, but enough to finish unpacking. Halfway through, I realized that there was a decision implicit in the action. I was going to stay, at least for a little while longer.

And that meant that I needed to tell Janice I would be out. Email would be the easiest way, but her policy was that a phone call was more professional. There was no way I could make a phone call without taking off the necklace first, but I couldn't do that here. That meant leaving the property.

Around lunchtime I got dressed and descended to the kitchen. Madge was there, just finishing up her own meal. “Feeling better?” she asked.

I groaned. “Does everyone know I had a hangover?”

Her lips twitched in a smile, despite her disapproving tone. “We knew before you did. Still, any experience you learn from.”

“I was thinking some fresh air would do me some good,” I informed her. “Any problem if I headed into town? I was thinking about outfitting my apartment, getting some groceries, that kind of thing.”

“You don’t have to ask for permission, you know,” Madge said. “But if you’re going out already, would you mind very much picking up Aubrey from the train station? It’s in Poughkeepsie, but you’ll probably find more there than New Paltz anyway, and it’s not much further.”

“That’s fine!” I said, relieved enough to agree to anything. Madge promised to forward me the details, and we parted, her to work the galleries, me through the back garden to my car.

The drive did me good. The scenery here in the foothills of the Catskills was gorgeous, and I knew it would only get nicer as summer faded into fall. By the time I had crossed the Hudson and entered Poughkeepsie proper, I felt like a new woman.

I stopped off at CVS first, to pick up some more pads. Not tampons—I wasn't ready to stick something inside myself yet. I thought I probably had enough pads, but there were none in my purse, and my flow was heavy enough to warrant a change. I had to find a bathroom for that, which brought me to a mall. I was still unused to public women’s restrooms, but aside from the lack of urinals, they weren’t so different than a men’s room. One notable difference was the sanitary pad vending machine, and the little metal boxes in each stall that I soon discovered were intended for used pads. Convenient.

Once I was at the mall, I saw no reason not to look around. I bought a few dresses, nothing too formal, the sort of thing that I could see myself wearing casually. One in particular was made of a stretchy maroon fabric, and it clung to me in interesting ways.

I checked my phone for the time. Damn, Aubrey’s train arrival was getting close, and I had still not done the thing I came out for. I took my car out to a remote corner of the parking lot where I would not be observed, took a deep breath, and removed the necklace.

It almost hurt, pulling off that skin. In fact, it did hurt, around my chest. I wondered what was wrong, feeling up and down my body until I realized that I was still wearing a bra.

Ah. Yes, this was one of the new ones I had bought. It did not change back with the rest of my clothes. Instead, it clung tightly around my chest, and the straps dug deep into my shoulders.

I thought about taking it off, but then how would I put it back on? I didn’t fancy the idea of being topless in a mall parking lot, once I changed back. I’d just keep it on. This would only be a quick call.

I thumbed through my contacts to Janice’s number. I told her that I was sick, and that I would be going to the doctor the very next morning. The bra actually helped, quite honestly, because it gave my voice a sort of wheezy, breathless quality. She was not happy, but there wasn’t much she could do about it, especially since I had given her more than twelve hours notice. She admonished me to keep an eye on my email, I lied and said that I would, and that’s where we left it.

With relief, I put the necklace back over my head. The change radiated out from it, relieving the tight band across my chest. “Back to normal,” I thought, and then caught myself. Normal was what I had just left. Being a woman was supposed to be the strange thing. But as I cranked the engine and put the car into gear, I was hard-pressed to remember why it had ever felt odd.

25