Nephrite (The One Week Chronicles)

My friends would say that I'm a happy go lucky gal, full of energy and bubbling wit. I'll get up to all kinds of crazy mischief as long as no one gets hurt. I'm a yes girl, but not in that office politics bull crap way. My mother always found a reason not to do something. Always looked for an excuse to say no, however flimsy that may be.

My rebellion is to say yes.

It took a long time to get to the point where I am happy and comfortable with myself. I guess if I'm going to tell you the whole story, I should start somewhere at the beginning.

Picture a boy. He's unsure why he feels different. He knows he is. Something doesn't feel right. He hates playing with the boys. Likes to play with the girls. Dress up is his favourite game. He's small and awkward, not particularly handsome and an easy target for the bullies.

The boy works hard, gets excellent grades. It makes the bullying worse. They don't know why they don't like him; he's weedy and doesn't play sports. That's enough.

As he gets older, he knows why he's different. It starts when his mother makes him borrow his sister's coat as his own one was ripped by the bullies.

It's cold, she said. I'll buy you a new one tonight. No one will notice.

They all noticed. Danced around him, taunting and teasing. He doesn't mind.

He knows why he's different.

The boy cries sick the following day and spends the whole day home alone. He rummages through his mother's wardrobe. The clothes are too big, he is so small. He tries his sister's clothes on. Picks a few she barely wears and hides them in a bag under his bed. He steals one of his mother's negligees.

Every night, he waits in bed until everyone is asleep and then wears the negligee. He walks around the small bedroom in his sister's dress. She's angry that week. Can't find her dress or that skirt she hasn't worn for a year but wants to now. The boy is silent. He knows where it is.

The collection grows. He can't help himself. He steals a bra and matching knickers. Fills the bra with socks and wears the knickers to school one day. No one knows. It makes the bullying bearable.

The boy enters puberty and is horrified by the changes in him. He doesn't know what to do. The internet is barely in its infancy. It's not like today. Hate your body? Here, try these hormones, stop that testosterone in its tracks!

Miserable, he steals more clothes and then gets caught. His father. Old School people called him. By that, they meant he was narrow minded, unwilling to change his views and happy to use his fists when warranted.

They were warranted that day.

Don't let me catch you mincing around again boy. Emphasis on the boy.

You'd think that a broken rib and busted jaw would put the boy off, but you can't change what's writ in your DNA.

The second time he was caught, it was his mother.

Please don't tell dad.

You know I have to.

Please. I'll stop. I promise.

She closes the door and the boy, now a teenager, all gangly legs and arms, short and plain, waits in fear.

Eventually nothing happens. He thinks he's gotten away with it.

He hasn't. Dad is merely waiting until his precious daughter has gone to bed. In the dark, the door opens and his father stands in silent rage and anger.

Fucking faggot, he breathes. Fucking sissy cunt, he snarls. Strides across the bedroom and yanks the boy from the bed. He's wearing his mother's negligee and it sends his father into a frenzy of anger. Throws the boy across the room, tosses him a bag and tells him he has five minutes to leave.

Where to? he asks, shivering with fear.

I don't care.

And so he leaves. He has nowhere to go, but is lucky enough to find shelter at a hostel. Gets a part time job. Finishes his GCSE's, A-Levels and then attends university. Finds his feet in the world but is always alone. Always apart. Always different.

What the boy is, makes him very much alone. And so he wonders about the point of it all. Sees that there isn't one.

It's a long way to the bridge, but he reckons it's high enough and if the fall doesn't kill him then he'll drown. Always useful to have a backup.

The boy climbs over the barrier, a torrent of rain harrying him, wind whipping at his clothes, the storm frothing into a frenzy as if gleefully anticipating what was to come, determined to make a suitably dramatic backdrop to the suicide. He climbs the side of the bridge and looks down. He figures at this point he might back out, see the foolishness in his actions, but his life is devoid of meaning, his soul empty and he feels numb to the idea of death.

After all, what difference would it make?

- It's a long way down, says the voice. The boy almost falls off in sudden shock and he clutches a support beam to turn and see who spoke to him in such a casual manner.

She's tall, with long brown hair reaching to her shoulders. She carries herself with easy grace and strength. She exudes power and authority but also a warmth that the boy can feel wash over him as her eyes bore into him. He says nothing, just watches her as the rain lashes at her umbrella.

-How old are you?

He says nothing.

-Barely twenty I think, she says, ignoring his silence. Bit young to make such big decisions.

The boy snorts with derision.

-Old enough to know there's nothing here for me.

The woman smiles at that.

- That's not true, she replies. My hot chocolate and cookies are to die for. She gives an apologetic smile. Sorry. Bad choice of words.

The boy turns around, ignores her and makes to jump but her voice cuts through his intent.

- One night, she says. Come home with me tonight and if you still want to kill yourself, I'll drive you back here myself.

- I won't change my mind. There's still going to be no point to anything tomorrow.

- We'll see.

Two words. That's all it took. We'll see. It was filled with promise and mischief and interest. It said that there's plenty in this world to live for. Plenty of reasons, but she knew of only one that mattered. If he wanted to know what that was, he'd have to follow her.

Intrigued, he did.

It was many years before she shared the one thing that made life worth living. Many years in which she made the boy figure it out for himself.

There were many failures along the way. This is one of them.

Jessie.

I'm in a bar and I'm cursing the internet. I'd been chatting with a guy for weeks on some dating site. His name was Ryan and I liked his profile as he seemed genuine and kind. The picture promised a guy with rugged good looks, but it seemed that I wouldn't be finding out whether the picture was fake or not as I'd been stood up.

I toyed with the idea of sending a text, seeing where he was, but thrust the thought aside. I'd made the effort and it was for nothing. His loss. I ordered another glass of wine and toyed with the stem as I debated my next move. I could stay here, a lonely sad little girl in the bar or go and meet some friends over in Leicester Square. I could catch a cab and be there in ten minutes. However, the idea of gate crashing their night out, having been stood up, didn't really appeal. I would also be overdressed.

I decided to finish my drink and then walk to the tube and catch a train home. I was in a new bar on the South Bank and wore a black dress, matching strappy sandals with a five inch heel and sheer stockings, the lacy tops of which could just about be seen if I crossed my legs. It was my favourite dress and had taken an age to save up for. I had bought matching jewellery and painted my nails a nice deep crimson.

It was the one time I felt like a million dollars and I'd been stood up. Awesome.

"Drink?" the voice cut through my thoughts and I turned to focus on the guy who'd approached me. He was broad shouldered and looked like he used to play a lot of sport or work out. He'd given that up, however, and his muscle was turning to fat, slowly at first, but he'd wake up in a few years' time and realise that he had neglected his body, eating like a twenty year old and doing the exercise of a sixty year old. He had the confident arrogance of someone wealthy and he flashed wealth on his cufflinks, tie clip and watch. Every item was designed to display money like a peacock, yet he had neither the style nor the elegance to pull it off.

He simply look gaudy. I took this all in within moments and simply lifted a hand to thank him.

"I'm ok, thank you," I replied and turned back to my drink. He sat himself on the stool next to me, undeterred by my refusal. I saw him glance over at a group of men and wink. They egged him on. I'd always hated that boorish behaviour in men.

"Listen," he said, his voice wheedling and laced with an education that wanted for nothing but lessons in life itself. "You can say no, but it's obvious a pretty girl like you will find me quite the catch. Turn me away and you will regret it, always wondering about the one that got away." I turned to him, fixing a pleasant smile on my face.

"How so?" I asked. He grinned and counted off the reasons on his fingers.

"I'm wealthy for one," he started and I cringed inside, sipping my wine as he continued. The list was something like;

i.I'm rich

ii.I'm handsome

iii.Come from a good family or breeding and stature

iv.Great dress sense

v.Great personality.

When he was done, he leaned forward, giving his best approximation of a smile, but managing to look seedy instead. I smiled sweetly and raised the fingers and thumb of my right hand. I pulled each finger down as I counted off my own reasons.

"Let me see," I said. "You're an arrogant little tosspot, you're getting fat so you need to look after yourself before diabetes comes calling, you dress with the attitude that money equals style and you're a snob who thinks that breeding means you have class." I gave him four reasons and left my middle finger standing. I left it in the air between us and he flushed bright red, his cheeks and neck mottling with anger.

"Frigid cunt," he hissed and stormed off to cheers and caterwauling from his friends. I'd humiliated him, probably unnecessarily so, and decided to finish my drink and leave. I slid from the stool and walked past the group of friends, the spurned Romeo glowering at me as I left the bar.

Wrapping a shawl around my shoulders to ward off the slight chill from the river, I almost bumped into a man as he rushed to the entrance of the bar, clearly out of breath. He recognised me instantly and waved a hand in greeting.

"Jessie," he said. "I'm so sorry I'm late, my tube got stuck and I couldn't text. I got here as fast as I could." I was taken aback.

"Ryan," I stammered. If anything, he was better looking than his profile picture. Tall and lean, he had a square jaw and clear blue eyes in an open and honest face. He seemed genuinely upset to have left me waiting and was breathing heavily. He suddenly looked crestfallen.

"You leaving?" he asked, glancing at his watch. He'd left me waiting an hour. I'm not sure why I had waited that long, but I'd liked the bar. I shrugged and gave him a smile.

"I'm not sure," I replied enigmatically.

"You hungry?" I pretended to give it some thought. Truth be told, I was famished.

"I could eat," I said. It was his turn to grin. He nodded to the bar that I'd just left.

"I hear they have great food in there," he said and I laughed, enjoying the puzzled look on his face.

"Maybe somewhere else," I said and looped an arm through his, leading him along the South Bank and somewhere away from angry rich kids.

I couldn't tell you exactly what happened during the night. All I know is that we hit it off instantly. We laughed and joked, talked about all manner of things and opened ourselves up as if we'd known each other for many years. He made me feel like I mattered.

So, yes, I did put out. I know, it's the first date, but hey, sometimes, you really gotta cut loose. My place was closer and I was happy enough to bring Ryan round. We caught a cab and I saw the cabbie eyeing us as Ryan leaned over kissed me deeply. I returned the kiss and felt his hands stroke my leg, gently teasing the stockinged skin and sending ripples of pleasure shuddering through me. He stroked my leg higher and I playfully slapped it away, grinning as he pouted his lips in a mock sulk.

As I started unlocking the door, he pushed me from behind, kissing my neck as I leaned against the wood, his hands groping round and fondling my breasts through the soft satin of the dress. I struggled to turn the key and we both fell into the hall as our combined weight thrust the door open.

Laughing, I turned round as he started to kiss my neck from the front. I arched my back and he moved down, kissing the top of my breasts as they poked out from the low cut dress. I ran my hands over his body, delighting in the firmness and he flipped me onto my front again, kicking the door closed with his foot.

He snaked a hand around my waist and lifted me slightly so that I was on all fours. I purred in pleasure as he lifted the tight skirt of my dress and pulled my knickers down. He leaned over and kissed my arse cheeks, his tongue flicking over my smooth anus as I pushed back gently. I heard him fumble with his trousers and felt the tip of his cock push against my arse. It felt huge and I heard a fumble again as he emptied a small travel pouch of lube and touched the cold liquid against my willing rear.

Moments later, the huge cock started to penetrate me, slowly at first and I gasped with delight as I felt myself start to fill. I pushed back, willing him on faster and moaned as he found a rhythm to match mine. His strong hands gripped my waist and I heard Ryan grunting as he started pushing harder and faster. I urged him on, one hand reaching to the wall to give me more strength to push back.

I could feel myself start to shudder as an orgasm rocketed through me, a tidal wave of pleasure that made my legs and body shake as I was enveloped in rapture. Dimly, I was aware of Ryan groaning as he started to cum. I felt him start to shudder as he filled me with streams of thick cum, my arse quickly filling with his seed and dribble down my leg as he pounded one last time, gripping me tightly as his cock penetrated as deeply as possible within me in one final thrust of pleasure.

We said nothing for a while, the sounds of our heavy breathing filling the hallway. I laughed suddenly, giddy with joy and Ryan joined in.

"Sorry," he said. "I couldn't wait any more." He withdrew from me and I felt an emptiness as his large cock slid out, looking over my shoulder and giving him a disappointed look. He grinned and told me to turn over and stand. I did so, a little unsteadily in my heels and stood over him. He gave me an appreciative look and told me to strip.

"Just the dress," he said, still on his knees. I reached behind and complied, pulling the zip down and letting it fall to my feet, stepping out with one foot and kicking it away with the other. I stood over him in my five inch heels, stockings and lacy basque, the suspenders from it holding the stockings up.

He leaned forward and kissed my still throbbing cock.

I gave a satisfied sound as he started to stroke and manipulate it, teasing it with some skill. It was even bigger than his and I both loved and hated how large it was. It made it difficult to conceal, but was always great fun during times like these. Ryan kissed and teased the shaft with practised ease, his enjoyment clear. I rubbed my hands over my breasts, loving the sensation of Ryan taking my cock into his mouth as I fondled the soft nipples and pleasured myself. I knew I'd never get used to the sensation of having real breasts and closed my eyes in delight.

Ryan gagged a little as he took the full shaft of my cock into his mouth, but managed to get it all in, hands wrapped around my stockinged legs as he started to move back and forth, his tongue wrapping around my shaft. Combined with me pleasuring my tender breasts, I was soon brought to climax. Before, I had climaxed without cuming, but now I let loose, gobbets of cum erupting from my cock in thick streams. Ryan's eyes widened and he struggled to contain me as I almost lost my balance in my heels, hands reaching out to the walls to steady myself as I felt my knees go week.

The orgasm passed all too soon and I grinned down at Ryan and lifted him up to kiss him fully on the mouth by way of thanks.

I grabbed his tie and led him into my bedroom, leading him to the bed and pushing him gently so he fell on his back, trousers round his ankles, shirt still done up. I stripped him quickly and admired his naked form. He looked fantastic.

Still in my heels and basque, I straddled him and started to kiss every inch of his body. He tried to caress me with his hands, but I grabbed his tie and tied his hands together above his head, using the bars of the headboard to do the knot behind one of the bars, keeping his hands and arms above his head. I gave him my best sultry look and started to kiss his neck, torso, nipples and flat belly. I moved my way down, teasing him by raking my nails gently across his skin, using teeth gently and tongue firmly. He writhed under me, begging me to straddle him until I complied, moving until I was over his throbbing shaft and adjusting myself so I slid easily onto it.

I lay my hands on his chest and started to gyrate slowly, just moving my hips sensuously, teasing his cock as I felt it pulse within me. I squeezed my sphincter and was satisfied with the deep moan I elicited from Ryan. I started to increase my speed, using my hands on his chest, then on my own breasts, groaning as I felt Ryan start to climax. I moved faster, my stockinged legs rubbing against his waist as he started to writhe faster, eyes clenched shut as he climaxed inside me, thrusting up deeper and harder as he came relentlessly. I felt his cock tease my g-spot and started to cum myself, splashes of semen lancing his chest and neck as he gave one final thrust and was spent.

I sat on Ryan, gently licking the cum from his chest and neck as I felt him start to shrink inside me. Eventually, I lifted myself from him and untied his bind. He placed an arm around my shoulder and I curled up into his embrace.

Within minutes, we were asleep.

I woke with a start and noticed that I was alone. The space next to me was cold and I realised that Ryan must have left at some point in the night. I felt a little ache of sadness. I thought we'd had a great time and really connected. Outside of the amazing sex, of course.

Here's the thing when you present as female but have a surprise between your legs; relationships are more complicated and harder to come by. It hurts when you think you've made that connection only to find it wasn't really there. I clung on to the hope that he would call me or send a text and debated for an age whether to send one myself. I even composed several, my finger hovering over the Send icon, until I quickly deleted it.

Time passed and I never heard from Ryan again. I went to work, a boring temping job, and lived my life. Nothing glamorous. I figured I might need to get some cats soon. That's what spinsters did. I worried that I didn't know how to knit. I still had needs, however, so I went out with my friends and enjoyed myself, taking pleasure in the odd occasion I pulled. I wasn't arrogant, but I knew I looked good. I dressed as well as I could and was eternally grateful that the plain child I once was had blossomed into a beautiful woman.

I was often approached by men, some unknowing what I was and I sometimes debated whether to risk it, give a quick blow job and leave, but decided it wasn't worth it. One night, after a long and gruelling week at work, I simply wanted sex and scoured the club in Soho for someone who would take my fancy.