Two months where I could be her again, that’s all I wanted.
The last time I became a woman I was in college. It was a regular event back then, but I’m older now and frankly things have changed. I’m married. I’ve got responsibilities. But for two months I’ve got the freedom to be her.
My wife is away. That means it’s her time to play.
All I planned to do was live in her body. To feel the thrill of being a woman once more. The nimble and supple flex of her body. The rush that came from the pleasure she could take.
But he noticed me, my womanizing next door neighbor. He’s got a new woman in his bed every weekend and as far as he’s concerned I’m the sweet young thing next door, ripe for the picking.
He’s going to do whatever it takes to have me and I don’t know if I want to say no anymore. I forgot that it wasn’t just being a woman that thrilled me. That it was about the depth of what she could feel and what she could take. That it was about the promise of more.
Because if I could make her feel good, just imagine what a real man could do for her.
Excerpt
Rick clicked a button on a remote and music began to play, something light and delightful and ornate. A classical song that I didn’t recognize or know but one that was slow, the kind that you’d dance to wrapped up in the arms of your lover.
Any sound, though, was likely to make me jump then. I was so very on edge, Polly’s heightened senses at near overload as I waited for some other shoe to drop.
So the sound of music made me jump suddenly, then laugh nervously. Then I broke eye contact with him and stared down at my plate, starting to fiddle with utensils.
“Is something the matter?” he asked, “You seem… on edge…”
“No,” I lied, not wanting him to know the truth for some reason, “No I’m fine. I just love this song. It’s one of my favorites.”
As far as lies went, that was probably a bad one. But I was hopeful that it would quell his suspicions, yet any hope of that was denied when Rick abruptly stood and walked over to the table, holding his hand out to me.
“Well then dinner will have to wait,” he said, then explained, “You see I have a particular rule that says if a woman loves a song, I must dance with her to it.”
“Oh I couldn’t,” I mumbled weakly.
“Please do me the honor.”
Turning my gaze up quickly I stared into those eyes of his and I stared transfixed. It might have been a trick of the light, but I couldn’t make out the color of his eyes. Each time I thought I had it, it shivered into something else. The effect was hypnotic, it was distracting, and too quickly I found myself nodding and slipping my hand in his to let him help me to my feet.
Rick moved us out of the dining room and into a room where there was a space for us to be able to dance. He stopped and he gracefully turned me, expertly guiding me into his arms and pressing me up against his body as he began to take the lead in our dance.
Steps that I didn’t know, that I didn’t understand, came so naturally to me. Step and turn and spin and pull. He guided me with his steady hand, he held me close only to spin me out and leave me fluttering in the wind.
But always he had me. Always he kept me secure. And as the movement slipped my dress around my form it lit my skin aflame, feeding the fire within me until it was only too easy for him to pull me close and tilt my chin and stare into my eyes as I looked up into his.
I knew this was dangerous. I knew this was wrong. I didn’t know the color of his eyes, but the moment he kissed me that didn’t matter anymore.