The Blue Necklace Ch. 04

Story Info
Finding the new normal.
4.3k words
4.62
23.1k
10

Part 4 of the 8 part series

Updated 10/04/2022
Created 01/14/2014
Share this Story

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here

This is not so much a sex story as a love story with sexy bits and, even then, it's not very sexy unless you're one of those who dig the whole transgender thing.

So, don't go looking here for cheap thrills, you won't find any.

What is more, this is chapter four. If you haven't started at the beginning I strongly advise it.

*****

I lay in bed but I wasn't yet ready for sleep. After the high drama of the day I was finally in a position to quietly contemplate the sheer magnitude of what had happened to me. I assumed I was not the only guy to wonder what it was like to be a girl; now I had the chance to find out. What is more, given the opportunity, I felt so much more comfortable as Tiffany than as Tom. Maybe it was the novelty; maybe as time wore on I would become blasé, bored, and never want to change again but, right now, I couldn't get enough of it.

I lay on my back, pulled up the tee shirt that was acting as a nightgown and looked at how my breasts lay. Years of cartoons and video games had totally misled me as to what they would look like. They weren't loose or floppy but neither were they unaffected by gravity. This was real flesh, yielding, tender, female flesh. When I was standing they took the classic tear drop shape; now I was lying down they flattened out, became rounder, gentler. But then they weren't the only part of my body that felt strange. Every part of me seemed to be subtly different. Whilst Tiffany was just as fit as Tom she was nowhere near as muscular; she was softer and I delighted in the touch of my skin under my fingertips.

If I'd have been Tom at this point my hand would have gone straight to my prick and I would be pumping away furiously as I headed towards another frantic orgasm. For Tiffany, although my groin and nipples were super sensitive and felt delicious to the touch, they were only part of a larger picture. They were like the cherries in an ice-cream sundae; to be sure, they were the best bits but they were far from the complete picture and who wants to eat cherries all on their own. It was as if all of me was sexual or none of me was and, at that point, all of me was. I stroked, teased and titillated enjoying the smorgasbord of sensations.

But, for all that, I knew that I wasn't going to come. There seemed to be some trick to female masturbation that I had yet to learn. I wasn't exactly frustrated, the low level buzz was plenty to be going on with, but I was more than aware that this was not the full story. Gently tiredness overcame me and I drifted off to sleep.

I could feel his lips as kiss after kiss after kiss covered my shoulders, my neck, my upper arms. He lay over me, not crushing but protecting, his weight a comfort not a burden. I was his in every sense of the word. Down below I could feel his strength, feel the heat of his passion and, in time, I wanted to savour every inch of it but not yet, lover, not yet. Soon, very soon, but not yet.

His kisses moved to my breasts and his teeth teased at my nipples causing little golden threads to tingle through my body, exciting me, awaking me, arousing me. Oh, yes, lover, like that, like that! I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer, grinding us together. I want to feel him closer still, conjoined, as one. I'm nearly ready, lover, nearly.

He reaches down and guides himself towards me. He's pushing, pushing, pushing and I open up and welcome him. He slips inside, just a bit, just the tip, withdraws and then, this time, he's deeper, deeper, he's filling me, completing me, taking me, fulfilling me. Please, lover, just a little more, just a little, just a bit more, take me, hold me, make me whole...

With a start I awoke from the dream. I put my hand between my thighs and found that I was wet with my juices and my lips were inflamed and oh, so sensitive. I tried so hard to remember how it felt but the dream, as all dreams do, faded away and all I was left with was the sense of what might have been.

Anyway, my fingers, even if I knew what to do, could never take the place of my dream lover. I ached, not for an orgasm, but to feel his warmth, his strength, his passion and, when the time is right, to surrender to his power.

On a more practical note, whereas Tom had had his fair share of conquests, Tiffany was nowhere near ready for any sort of relationship, let alone sex. I had too much to learn before I would trust myself to get that intimate with anyone. That didn't stop me wanting it.

I rolled over and went back to sleep. Maybe I would dream again.

I awoke to my alarm on my mobile feeling curiously refreshed given my broken night's sleep. It was Monday morning and, inevitably, it was time to get up, get dressed and go to work. What's more, it was time to change back and become Tom again. I got out of bed, knelt down on the floor and took off the necklace.

As I went through my morning routine everything felt a little flat. There was no earthy reason why life should feel better, more fulfilling, when I was Tiffany rather than Thomas. Maybe it was simply the novelty; maybe it was simply Monday morning blues. Still, there was rent to be paid so money had to be earned and that meant going to work spending the day sorting out misdirected office supplies. I couldn't put it off any longer; it was time to tidy away the breakfast things, grab my coat and leave. As an after thought, before I headed for the door, I threw all my female clothes into the washing machine and put them on a wool cycle.

I found it really hard to concentrate at work. Sure, paperwork came in and paperwork went out and, as I didn't get more than the usual number of complaints, I guess it all got processed correctly but my mind wasn't on it and, come lunch time, I was looking through fashion blogs searching for a look that was 'me'. OK, so I had become a little obsessed but this was so big, so all encompassing; this was, quite literally, life changing.

And, on a completely different level, it was fun. I'd never really looked at fashion before. As a boy, why would I; none of the clothes were for me. Now, with a little imagination, I could see myself wearing the same clothes, looking like the women on the screen.

Some of the clothes still left me feeling wistful. There was an ever so smart outfit in light grey; an A line knee length skirt with a matching jacket, classic white blouse and black patent leather heels that would be just the thing for the office. But with Tiffany having no paperwork, no legal identity, I couldn't see how she would get a job, open a bank account, rent a flat, do any of the things that are involved in a practical life. If it were only possible I'd have worn the necklace all the time but I was always going to have to revert to Tom who had to do the boring bits.

As soon as I got home I wanted to change back to Tiffany as soon as possible. However, my clothes were still wet so I shoved them into the tumble drier and, as Andy worked later hours than I did, I was able to get them dry and ironed well before he got home. As soon they were ready I was off to my room, my boy clothes were off, I put the necklace on and, bingo, Tiffany was back.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I just loved Jen's blue dress and along with the kitten heels, I felt so fine. Of course there were one or two issues. I hadn't started to address the whole make up thing and I still hadn't bought a bra. Mind you, as long as I wasn't planning on going out it really didn't matter too much.

I went back to the kitchen and put on an apron to protect the dress before starting in on the evening meal.

"God, the traffic in town gets wor.... Oh! Wow! Hi Tom, er... Tiffany."

"Hi Andy. Dinner in half an hour, OK?"

"Yeah, fine."

I turned and looked at him. He was looking me up and down.

"Yeah, I'm Tiff for the evening. Is that going to be a problem?"

"No, no problem at all."

"And get that look out of your eye. Whatever you're thinking ain't gonna happen. Got me?"

"Got you. But a boy can dream, can't he?"

"Dream on, sunshine because dreams is all that will ever be. Now, get out of my kitchen."

As I shooed him out of the kitchen I was both exasperated and pleased: exasperated because his eyes had gone straight to my chest and stayed there and pleased because well, because his eyes had gone straight to my chest and stayed there. I returned to the stove with a flush to my face and not entirely in control of my emotions. Part of me was disgusted at him because, as ever, all he could think of was sex and part of me was thrilled to the core that it was me that he found sexy.

Not that I had any plans to do anything about it.

Over the meal it was more of the same. However, this time it went far beyond flattering and into the realms of annoying until, finally, I had to put my foot down.

"Please, Andy," I protested, "stop looking at my chest all the time. It's very off putting."

"I'll tell you what's off putting," Andy retorted. "Having you wandering around not wearing a bra. Sorry, Tiff, I don't mean to be rude but if your not going to restrain those little puppies then I'm going to stare. I can't help it."

"Andy!"

"What? I'm just telling it like it is."

"Did you have to be so...," and I burst into tears. "I'm going to change," I said, getting up from the table and storming off to my room.

I couldn't change back to Tom while wearing the dress. It was far too small for Tom and changing would result in some sort of Incredible Hulk type moment. However, maybe because of the state I was in, when I tried to take it off, I had problems with the zipper. It just didn't want to move. The worst of it was that Andy was right; I'd got so carried away with wanting to be Tiffany that I'd brushed aside the whole braless thing. No wonder the lad on the bus the previous evening had stared at me. Meanwhile the zipper seemed to have welded itself shut and I all but screamed in frustration.

"Tiffany... Tom... Are you all right in there," Andy called through the door. "Please, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. Please, open the door."

"Go away!"

"Please, Tiff, come on out. I promise I won't stare any more."

The damn zipper seemed to have a mind of its own and was locked fast. And there, on the other side of the door, was Andy being so reasonable. My emotions seemed to be all over the shop. I didn't know what to think or what to do.

"Are you still there?"

"Of course I'm still here. Where else would I be?"

"And are you still Tiffany?"

"Yes, I'm still Tiffany."

"Please, Tiff, come out and finish your meal."

I opened my door a crack.

"And you won't stare?"

"Well, I'll try not to."

And there he was, Andy, with that goofy grin on his face. Andy who hasn't got a mean bone in his body. Andy who's the best friend I'll ever have. I opened the door.

"Come here," he said as he opened his arms and gathered me in for a great big hug. I seemed to fit so nicely against his body and, while I was still a tumult of conflicting emotions, right there I was safe. Good old Andy, my best friend ever. I could feel his heart beating; I could smell the subtle perfume of the shower gel he uses; I could feel his strength. I leant my head against his shoulder and everything seemed to just be better. He stroked my hair, gently, soothingly. I looked up at him and he looked down at me. There was a look in his eyes, a very different look from the one that stared at my breasts. His lips puckered up and....

"No, sorry, Andy, I can't, not yet." I squirmed out of his arms.

"Not yet?"

"Please, Andy, I don't want to hurt you. I'm... I'm not ready for that. It's too quick, it's too soon."

"Not yet?"

"I don't know, Andy, really, I don't. Maybe."

"I can live with maybe. Now come along, the meal is getting cold."

And with the crisis averted we returned to the dinner table.

That night I lay in bed thinking about the kiss that wasn't. What was it that I was so scared of. Well, there was the whole Tom and Andy thing. He was Tom's best mate, had been for years, and that made it a bit strange. But that wasn't it. It wasn't Tom who had shied away, it was Tiffany. She was the one who was scared of the kiss. But Andy had been so kind, so gentle, so caring; what was there to be scared of?

But, when I thought back to how I had felt, to the pounding in my heart, to the way my whole body thrilled, to the way my lips ached to be kissed, to the way I just wanted to surrender, I knew exactly what I was scared of; it wasn't Andy, it was me.

As Tom I had been in control. Sure, I had known that there was something missing from my life, that there was a huge gap, a hole, an emptiness, but I had been in control. Now, as Tiffany, I was on this mad helter-skelter rushing headlong towards who knows what. I was the fledgling, tottering on the edge of the nest, wanting oh so much to fly but scared of plummeting to the hard, hard ground below.

Not yet, Andy, not yet.

That set the pattern for the week. I alternated the blue dress with the tartan skirt and sweatshirt combo that Andy had bought me but, every day, as soon as I could, I would change back into Tiffany.

On the Tuesday lunchtime I spent some time on YouTube and searched for videos on make-up for beginners. It all seemed so complicated but I got the basics. On the way home from work I stopped at Tescos and picked up some lipstick and eye shadow along with a make-up mirror. I would have gone to the chemists but Tescos have that self service checkout thing so I didn't have to explain my purchases to a cashier.

My first few attempts were disastrous. Well, they would have been fine if I'd wanted to look like Coco the Clown. I re-ran the videos and, by taking it slowly, managed to get results that weren't completely hideous.

By Wednesday my hair needed washing. When I had first changed into Tiffany I had been presented with a body in perfect condition. Now, even though I wasn't spending all my time as her, I still needed to look after myself. I quite fancied going jogging as Tiffany but, until I bought myself a sports bra, that was out of the question.

Actually washing my hair wasn't too much of a problem. I simply got under the shower as normal. However it was a far more sensuous than washing short hair and, for that matter, my wet hair was far heavier.

Drying it was another matter. Tom had no use for a hair dryer. Tiffany needed one rather urgently. Yet another thing to add to Saturday's shopping list.

On Thursday there was a good film on the telly which Andy and I decided to watch together. As ever we sat side by side on the sofa. Now Tom would have sat with his feet firmly on the ground but Tiff liked to sit with her feet curled up under her. It was because of this, and merely because of this, that I ended up snuggled up against Andy. Almost without thinking he put his arm around my shoulders and absent mindedly stroked my hair as, on screen, the hero and heroine resolved their differences and walked off into the sunset together.

At which point there was an awkward gap. It was so cosy, so perfect, that I could have sat there all night but I could feel that Andy wanted to take things further and I wasn't ready for that. I got up and went to make some hot drinks for us both.

"The Blackout are playing at the Student Union bar tomorrow. Do you fancy going?" Andy asked when I returned.

"Ooh, yes please!" We'd seen The Blackout several times. They're a high energy band of the sort that plays the student union circuit. They may not be heading for the big time but they're a load of fun to go and watch.

Andy got out his wallet and showed me the tickets.

"Well, I've got one ticket for me and... and one ticket for Tiffany."

"I've got to go as Tiffany?"

"That's the deal. Of course, if you don't want to, I could always ask Jane Parkinson."

"Jane Parkinson? That bitch! Why on earth would you ask her?"

"Because Tiffany won't go."

"But... but... you can't just watch The Blackout. You have to dance."

"Yeah."

"And I haven't got a bra yet. I haven't got the right outfit. Please, Andy, don't do this to me."

"You go as Tiffany or I ask Jane. End of."

"You bastard."

"That's me," Andy crowed rather smugly.

"And there's no way you'll let me go as Tom?"

"No way at all."

Jane bloody Parkinson. I knew Andy had a bit of a thing for her but if she thought she was going to get her hands on my ticket then she had another think coming. But there was more than the ticket I was concerned about. If Andy took Jane to the concert then pound to a penny he would bring her back and... and.... The thought of Jane in Andy's bed made my blood boil.

"OK, I'll go."

"As Tiffany?"

"Yes, Andy, Tiffany will be your date tomorrow."

"Thank you."

"And Andy...."

"Yeah?"

"Jane Parkinson?"

"And why not?"

"You can do so much better than her, really you can."

"Oh yeah? Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Do I detect a teensy bit of jealousy?"

"Of that slag? Never!"

Andy just laughed.

That night I lay in bed seething. Jane bloody Parkinson. Why would Andy even think of taking her. OK, so she's pretty, if you like that sort of cheap trash look, and, OK, so she put out, but.... Please, Andy, you're better than that.

But, if I were going to the concert then I would be dancing and, from what I knew already, there was no way I was dancing without a bra. I would flop around all over the place. But that brought me back to the problems I had had in Primark; what sort of bra was I going to get. Thinking it through I reckoned that if I was going to be doing vigorous action then I would need a bra that could cope so I'd be after a sports bra. I couldn't rest until I had this organised so I nipped out of bed and fired up my laptop. As luck would have it the Asda next to where I worked had them in stock and also had self service checkouts. Now I hadn't planned to go shopping until the Saturday when I was out with Jenny Eccles but needs must. With that put to rest I could finally get off to sleep.

The next day I nipped out to Asda during my lunch break and, when I got there it was pretty easy and, in the same aisle as the bras, there were some panties with a pretty pink floral pattern. The blue dress wouldn't be suitable for the concert so it was going to be the tartan mini-skirt and that meant that, if I were leaping around, there was a chance I would be showing my panties so I might as well make them something worth showing. Anyway the plain white cotton ones Andy had bought me were too boring and the ones I had borrowed off Jen were the wrong colour.

I was doing fine until I got to the self service checkouts and the assistant that floats around making sure no one has any problems came over to see if I needed help. "No thank you, I'm fine," I replied nervously but there was no disguising what was in my basket. Pretty pink panties and a sports bra. Just what you'd expect a man in his twenties to be buying. Blushing furiously I just kept my head down and got on with it.

When I got changed that evening I found that the bra made a huge difference. It flattened me off a little but I was still very definitely female and, more importantly, I could dance and leap about to my heart's content. The pink sweatshirt and mini-skirt combo would also do fine for the student union. It was hardly the place for the height of fashion. On my feet I wore the trainers and, after just a touch of lipstick and eye shadow, I felt ready to go out and face the world.

Andy had decided to make a night of it so, before the show, we stopped for a pizza in town. I'm not sure what had come over him but he was the perfect gentleman and it sounds silly but he made me feel special. He had a pint of Peroni with the meal and, normally, I would have joined him but Tiffany was more of a glass of white wine sort of girl and, as they had a very respectable Pinot Grigio, that is what I had.

12