*** A brief note from the author: Your about to read the first draft of the first chapter of a novel I have been working on for awhile now. The concept is simple, Maverick McCormick wakes up without a memory in his head. Desperate to figure things out, his memories start to come back to him, but are they in fact his memories? Is he really this person? What you are embarking on, is the journey of a person who lives three lives simultaneously and in random intervals – never quite sure where he is being dropped off nor what his predicament might be once he gets there. To keep things interesting, I opted to write this in first person, so that Maverick’s journey would in fact be our shared journey with him: making it personal for both the character and the reader. I truly hope you enjoy this effort – please send me any notes or comments that you may have. ***
Once in a Lifetime
By: Packy Smith
Chapter 1: Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes
An off putting shade of blinding white white slid into my vision as I attempted to open my eyes. I had apparently been sleeping, and it seemed far too early to be anywhere near awake. My head was pounding with a throbbing pain and I could’ve sworn I had just heard some horrendous top 40 pop crap noise pollution in the background. Nevertheless, I opened my eyes once more and came to an alarming conclusion: I had no idea where I was. On top of that, I had no idea who I was. On the plus side, the ear blisteringly horrible pop music was gone.
After scratching my headful of seemingly mid-length slightly curly brunette hair, I took in my surroundings and noticed a few things of interest. First, and foremost, I was nearly naked, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts with a faded Union Jack on them. I was, judging by the lack of of nicely rounded breasts and the immediately noticeable patch of dark hair streaming down my chest, a man. Possibly British. Good news, it was not enough hair to be considered a Wookie. Possibly British, certainly not a Wookie. Certainly a man, either way. I was in surprisingly good shape, not ripped mind you, but I clearly exercise and stay fit. This seemed all wrong. In my mind, I seemingly felt like fitness was no priority whatsoever.
I was in a bed that had some sort of an artistic print on the sheets. A full sized bed judging by how my feet were nearly all the way off of the bottom of the mattress. Clearly there was room for another person on the bed, and as I was on the left side of the bed, it stood to reason that perhaps someone had been in bed with me. I took another glance at these sheets and thought to myself, “did Van Gogh throw up on these hideous things?” I had far more pressing matters to trouble myself with, but these sheets were impossible. If not impossible, in any reality one should hope that they would at the very least be highly improbable. Yet here both I and they existed in some harmonious fucked up way.
I looked around the room for any signs of my clothing, yet not a sign of them anywhere. Odd. I would have figured myself for a “jeans strewn about on the floor,” kind of guy. I did not like the idea of being nearly naked in some strange person’s bedroom with a memory that was clearly determined not to work at all. Did I drink too much last night? Do I drink at all? I had no idea!
Just as I was about to gain the courage to get out of bed and take better stock of the situation, Coraline walked into the bedroom and began to take her tank top off. Wait. Who is Coraline? Why did I know this name? Who was she? My word those were amazing breasts. Natural, supple, flowing perfectly perky as she walked across the room.
“You aren’t out of bed yet?” She said as she dropped her panties to the floor and then kicked them into a dirty clothes bin near the bathroom.
The awkward birth of an erection creeped up as I flew the Union Jack high and proud. “I was working my way towards that goal,” I stated in a sort of dark brown southern voice. Definitely not British. Perhaps from Texas. Why would I think Texas? What do people from Texas sound like? I thought Texas immediately, so maybe this was Texas. At this point, anything was possible.
Having noticed my contribution to the conversation on both levels, she chuckled a bit, “Put that thing away. You’re acting like you don’t see me naked every morning.”
“Not like I’m seeing you today. I can guarantee you that!”
“Well, you’re going to have to hold that thought until later tonight. I have to get ready for a viewing of some of my paintings at 10AM, and you have a meeting with your boss in less than an hour. So get up, sleepyhead,” she said as she went into the bathroom and started a steaming hot shower.
“Understood. Putting it away now,” I said as I looked down at my new found friend. He stared back at me as if to say, “it’s never gonna happen pal.” “Putting it away might take a few, um, minutes, but I’m working on it,” I reassured her. This was all so jarring. Why did I know her name? Obviously we are involved. It appeared that we lived together. All things being even, she’s a knockout so at least I have that going for. We also have a nice, natural rapport, which leads me to believe that this relationship is serious. She was more than just a little comfortable around me, but I didn’t remember her at all. Just her name. Why only her name?
Coraline was a creature of exquisite beauty. She appeared to be in her mid to late twenties and had the most adorable freckles. Gorgeous long and luxurious flowing red hair. Relatively short, possibly only five foot four tops. Her body was height and weight proportionate that seemed not toned by exercise but well maintained by either healthy eating, a high metabolism, or a combination of both. Regardless, she was incredibly beautiful naked with just the tiniest pooch in her tummy, which I found absolutely adorable.
I stood up and adjusted myself appropriately for a jaunt walk around the room with a telephone pole between my legs. The shag carpet floor was a pleasant variation of black and went well with the chartreuse painted walls. It also felt amazing between the toes. Most would likely call the walls green, but fuck that, I somehow specifically knew that these walls were chartreuse. Neatly framed paintings of seemingly fascinating things adorned two of the walls. Two of the paintings on the wall to my left were oddly familiar, however the one over the bed was unique and fresh.
One of the paintings had a nude woman with flowing blond hair stepping out of an open shell. Two semi-clothed Angels were flying towards her as another woman seemed to be wanting to clothe the nude lady frantically, all the while flowers were flying around them all everywhere. Another painting seemed to be depicting a scene of overly dressed well to do folks at a park. They seemed to have a lot of hats. There’s a body of water, some various animals, trees, and some boats. I think that these may be studies or re-creations of classics. The paintings were familiar to me, but they did look a touch different than I remembered. I couldn’t be sure, but I’m fairly positive that I saw this park one in “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.” Hey! That’s the first solid thing I’ve remembered!
All by it’s lonesome, over the bed, hung a painting of a house near a bridge, with a magnificent pond. The home seemed a bit Art Deco, however brilliantly colored and certainly well painted. The bridge was ornate with a base white appearance, followed by a smattering of pastel floral prints around the trim and columns. The water seemed life like and begged one to touch it, almost daring you to prove it was not real. Luscious green plant life and bountiful trees tied the wholesome and whimsical image together. At the bottom lefthand corner was a bright yellow “C” with a period after it. This one was likely an original, painted by Coraline herself. The painting was framed in a simple dark stained wood frame, with a female Lego character that blockingly resembled Coraline, that was holding a paint brush on top of it. The Lego bit was likely my only meaningful contribution to this room. I could just feel that in my bones. Not that bone, the other ones.
All of the furniture was rather mundane and forgettable: wooden shelfs, dresser, vanity, etc. Nothing that would seem out of place in just about any civilized house in the United States. Compared to the bed, the carpet and the paintings throughout the rest of the room seemed at odds with itself. As if it was decorated by two people with highly differing tastes.
A variety of framed photos of myself and Coraline were strategically planted on all of the furniture. We seemingly made for a very cute couple. Upon closer examination of a particular photo on the dresser, it was easy to see that we were in love. It was in the eyes. The eyes never lied.
Having seen enough, I took a stroll down the hallway to find the kitchen. I wasn’t even sure that I liked coffee, but I was relatively certain that today was an excellent day to find out. Bless her heart, my lover had already put a fresh pot on. The magical aroma of the ground coffee beans was filling me with thoughts of curious joy. I have no idea why, but the unmistakeable smell of Colombian Joe was putting a bounce in my step. Perhaps with a spot of coffee in my system, I could continue to fake it till I made it, at least until my memory came back. It was going to come back, right?
The moment I touched the tile on the kitchen floor, my legs went numb and I crashed down onto the kitchen floor. Everything went hazy. A steady stream of information hit me with a sense of urgency that rivaled the surprise of the Spanish Inquisition.
My name was Maverick, Maverick McCormick. I was 32 years old and I worked as the General Manager at a crappy high end electronics shop called “Higher Definition.” No bull shit. I was caucasian, I had wild-woman curly brown hair that seems to take an act of a unified U.S. Congress touching my scalp to contain it. Oh, and I fucking hated coffee.
Cora and I have been together for over a year. Coraline liked to be called Cora. I had to remember that. Shit, what else did I need to remember? Why was this happening to me? I had too many memories flooding into me at once. Apparently I do drink. A lot. How fucking drunk was I last night? Why wouldn’t this headache go away?
I picked myself up off the floor and rubbed my forehead. Looking at the time, I saw that it was 8:38 AM. It was at that moment that an immense sense of panic ran threw my brain like an annoying kid playing nonstop with an even more annoyingly loud noise making toy. This sensation of disoriented anxiety was stuck between both of my eardrums and was making me freeze up. I didn’t have time to be frozen. I had a meeting with my District Manager at the store at 9AM sharp, and that bitch considers one second past the scheduled time to be late. Like, “will right you up for being twelve seconds late because she is a scornful bitch” kind of late.
I ran back to the bedroom and shucked my boxers in a manner that can only be described as legendary, and jumped into the shower with Cora.
“I told you we don’t have time for this!” she insisted.
“You’re telling me! I’m going to get fired in approximately 21 minutes and 37 seconds if I don’t get my ass down to the store.”
“Marcie’s still riding you hard, huh?”
“Hell yeah, and not in the way that I like!”
Cora smiled and slid her hand gently onto my stiff member. “Oh, I know how you like to be ridden,” she whispered into my ear with an impossibly sexy voice. Sidebar, why was I still erect? Did I live on Vitamin C and Viagra? I collapsed and banged my head against a solid tile floor, and yet here I am ready to service the woman of my dreams in the shower.
I lovingly moved her aside as I told her, “Seriously, I have got to go, go, GO!”
I washed my body and hair with the speed and the ferocity of the Tasmanian Devil as I flew out of the shower and into a towel. Grabbing the electric razor with one hand, I shaved my stubble while the other hand brought a brush down on my hair like Thor’s mighty hammer Mjolnir. It was only at this exact moment that I’d had a moment to gaze upon the classically handsome man that was myself. To be fair, I was looking damned good today. A few tweaks of the curls in my hairdo, added in a bit of aftershave on my face, and then I made a mad dash to the closet to get suited up for battle.
I threw a nicely tailored pinstripe suit on my body as quickly as possible, grabbing shoes and socks as I made my way to the kitchen again.
My head was still hatefully pained as I tried to remember all of the various details of what my meeting was going to cover. I threw a couple Pop-Tarts in the toaster and drank a quick glass of water to get back into my normal “running late” morning routine. My District Manager, Marcie Powers, was coming to talk to me about an inter-company transfer request I had put in 3 weeks ago. It wasn’t so much a promotion, as it is a position outside of the hustle and bustle of the retail store. I wanted it bad. I desperately wanted out of the brick and mortar game, and in order to get what I wanted I couldn’t be late to this meeting.
It took, worst case scenario, approximately 14 minutes to get to the store from my apartment. That time included parking the car, and making it into the building. I had 16 minutes left. I tossed my shoes and socks on as the Pop-Tarts flew out of the toaster. Snagging them with the grace of a pelican catching a flying fish over the Gulf of Mexico, I ran to the front door. With a thought like that, I was almost assuredly in Texas but I still didn’t have time to bother with my geographical location just yet.
Naked, moist, and immaculate, Cora handed me a cold Coke that she must have known that I needed and gaves me a sultry kiss on the lips. “Go get ‘em Tiger,” she purred as she slicked my hair back and then in one hyper fast motion kicked me out the door.
I made like a starved cheetah that was hunting his only chance at a meal to the car, a surprisingly nice Mini Cooper Countryman S replete with a Cosmic Blue paint job, white bonnet stripes and a Union Jack sunroof. The engine turned over faster than that. I’ve noticed a theme with all of these Union Jacks. A text came across my iPhone as I put the car in gear.
Cora: bring that flagpole back when you’re done! I wasn’t finished with it.
And just like that, I had a rager again. Just what I needed at a time like this. Road rage with a raging rager behind the wheel. You know what? What the hell, let’s do this!
13 minutes and 23 seconds later I parked the car at the back of the lot and ran to the storefront. I unlocked the front door, disarmed the security alarm and turned the lights on with 9 seconds to spare.
Marcie pulled into the parking lot right at 9AM on the dot. I checked my jacket for any errant remnants of Pop-Tarts and took one last swig of my coke before I gathered the gumption to face her. She slammed the door of her generic looking black SUV and took a brief second to check her teeth. Pleased with her appearance, she let out a defeated sigh and approached the front doors of the “Higher Definition.” Thankfully, my man essence had finally subsided, and there was absolutely no way that my DM could resurrect it. It’s not that she was necessarily unattractive, it was just that she had such a solid sheen of bitch permanently etched across the very fiber of her being that it was damn near impossible to accept that a sexual creature rested somewhere underneath there at all. In the dictionary under “resting bitch face” there is a picture of Marcie Powers. Plus, she was my boss. Never sleep with the boss, it could never end well. Ever.
She entered the building briskly and bothered herself to pass a scoff my way as I held the door open for her. She was a genuine piece of work. She made a bee line directly for my office and gently laid down her laptop bag, sunglasses and hung her coat on a nearby rack. She then stormed out of the office slamming the door behind her.
“Let’s take a look at this hunk of shit you call a store,” she snarled as if she had the magical ability to transform into a Rottweiler at will.
She walked through a few of the aisles and paid special attention to a handful of items, jotting notes down about them as she went by. Two aisles later she pulled a solitary white glove from her back pocket. Slowly she maneuvered the Mickey Mouse like glove onto her right hand and slid it across the back section of one of the store’s shelves. The glove came up and revealed no dust. She looked at her right hand twice, once in order to prove my inability to keep a tidy store and a second time in utter disbelief that she herself had been proven wrong.
Her walk had an odd swagger to it, which had the effect of making every moment that you had to follow her around the store awkward. Part of me wondered if this was strategy on her part, or if she started every morning off by being gang-banged by the most humongously hung men in the universe. On second thought, it was likely neither. She was just a stone cold crazy bitch and looking for any more justification beyond that was tantamount to copping to your own personal insanity.
We made a brief stop in front of the large screen high definition TV wall where she troubled herself to ask this question, “Why are these not turned on?”
“Because it’s only 9:06 AM, and we do not open until 10AM sharp. I’m conserving electricity, which as you know comes out of my monthly expenses on the P&L report.”
“I suppose that’s acceptable. Have them on no later than 9:50AM every morning.”
“Understood. I’ll make sure to pass that on to the rest of the team.”
An opportunity to destroy me shone brightly in her eyes, “and speaking of your team. Where are they? Shouldn’t they be here already?”
“No ma’am. They don’t come in until 9:30AM. Higher Definition does not believe in employee overtime and I need them out on the floor selling, not doing my job for an extra 30 minutes.”
“But if you are talking to me, then who’s doing the work you should be doing right now?”
I grabbed a clipboard with a completed morning checklist, which covered all of the necessary tasks that must be completed before the store can open each day, and handed it to her. “It was all taken care of last night. I knew you were coming so I came in and did the work while Seraphina closed the store.” It’s nice to know that even with some sort of mind-bogglingly selective memory amnesia, that I could still have the foresight to not completely screw myself over. Imagine that, thinking ahead when you can’t think at all. Huh? That’s actually a pretty great slogan. I should market that shit!
Although I was proud of myself, it was obvious that Mrs. Powers was less than thrilled. Not because I did the work the night beforehand, but because she was having a hard time finding any reason to yell at me. With a labored sigh and a bit of defeat in her voice she inquired, “When is your full store inventory scheduled for?”
“Tuesday the 8th, nearly 2 weeks from now.”
“I’ll be very interested to see the results from your inventory counts.” She moved in dangerously close to me with our noses mere millimeters away. She smiled as she imparted this comment to me, “I would hate to see anything unusual or expensive come up missing. It. Would. Break. My. Heart.” She backed away as she disappeared back into my office and then came right back out seconds later with all of her belongings in tow.
“This place is disgustingly clean and well maintained. Your crew will be here any minute and Lord knows I don’t want to talk to any of those idiots. Don’t believe for a second that this visit proved anything. I have my eyes on you Mr. McCormick.” And with that she walked out the door as if she had forgotten about the real reason I wanted her in my store today.
I followed her out the door and said, “Mrs. Powers, aren’t you forgetting something?”
Without looking up or anywhere near me she retorted, “No.”
“We were supposed to talk about the inter-company transfer that I put in awhile back.”
“No, Mr. McCormick, that is what you wanted to talk about. I had no intention of talking about it until after your inventory results are in. If you survive that, then we’ll talk about it.” And with that said, she scurried back in to her generic looking SUV, slammed the door, and was gone. What a waste of time. What an exceptionally frustrating bitch.
That woman had hated me for awhile now. I guess that was the price I had to pay for proving that her dearest boy-toy of a star General Manager was indeed a dirty rotten thief. He was actually the previous GM of this exact store, which was why she is so keen to see me fail on the upcoming dreaded inventory day. You know, the worst part about it was that he was only sleeping with her to keep her off of his scent. His paper trail was ridiculously obvious, but he planned all of their rendezvous in such a way that he could cover his tracks. I suppose somebody should have enlightened him to the digital age. I e-mailed all of the damning evidence to her, the corporate office, and the loss prevention team when I finally ran across it. And that’s how I got stuck in this store, as the man who found the problem I got put in charge of fixing the problem. Also, let this be a lesson reiterated: nothing good ever comes from sleeping with the boss. Marcie and I couldn’t get along, and as the boss she used every little trick up her sleeve to make me aware of who held all of the power in our relationship.
After a few moments of staring into the horizon and pondering the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything, I went back into the store and proceeded to turn all of the electrical devices on. The number 42 was blazoned into my mind and it at least put a tiny smile on my bewildered mug. Shortly thereafter, Seraphina, my Assistant Manager, came in and looked around the store with a spy’s gaze. “Is she still here?” I heard her whisper.
“Nope, she’s long gone.”
“Ah man, what a bummer. I was totally looking forward to talking to her about the price of pitchforks in hell,” she quipped as she walked in to my office.
Seraphina Jones was a bit of an odd bird. She was witty, exceedingly smart, and was exceedingly blunt. The kind of person who could sell heroin to cumquats. An amazing lady in her late 30s – she dressed sharp, kept her hair in a fitting pixie cut, was cute in a wrong feeling MILF kind of way, and got along with everybody, even the fucked up crazy tech-nerd customers. Trust me, there were plenty of those nerds to contend with. What she was doing stuck in retail, I may never know. Then again, I was stuck in retail too, so I suppose it didn’t take much to get here after all.
“You know, she did say that she was really looking forward to talking to each and every ‘idiot’ that worked here,” I told her jokingly.
“I’m sure it broke her heart to leave,” Seraphina said as she nosed about my office. As I entered the room, she spun around and smacked me on the right shoulder. “Where in the hell is my coffee?”
“You know I hate coffee. Why would I make coffee?”
“Because you love your employees, and because you know I’m a crazy bitch if I don’t get my java before the store opens.”
“You do realize that it only takes 4 minutes for the coffee maker to brew a fresh pot, right? We still have over a half hour before the store opens,” I assured her.
“Great, so you have plenty of time to make my coffee. Make it happen cap’n!” And just like that she was off to clock in and get to work, and I was stuck working the coffee machine. My brain was still taking in all of the memories and was trying to make sense of them, but regardless I was relatively sure that this was how most mornings played out for me. A man who hates coffee, brews it fresh everyday out of respect for his hard-working staff. If that’s not perfectly plutonic inter-company love, I just didn’t know what was.
The rest of the work day was a bit of a blur. I really more or less phoned it in today. Hopefully the gourmet blend that I kept brewing was keeping all of the other employee’s spirits high. I wasn’t really all that worried about it. Sera ran a great sales floor, and would no doubt make a fine General Manager. At least she kept telling me to get that new gig so she could find out. That’s really what today all boiled down to: another missed opportunity. I couldn’t barely get my DM to even acknowledge the transfer request, let alone talk about it for more than five seconds. I could only hope that Cora was having a far better day than I was.
It was Yabba-Dabba-Do time and I bid a fond farewell to the staff, thanking them for yet another excellent day. We were the number one store in the region, both in sales and profit margins, another reason why my DM hated me: I was successful and as such couldn’t be touched without cause, which she never found because it didn’t exist. Walking out the door of the shop I grabbed my cellphone and called Cora. She had sent me a text awhile ago saying she would be out of pocket, but I hoped that after 5PM was safe for a call.”
“Hey baby,” she said cheerfully on the other end of the line.
“Oh hai! How’d it go today?”
“It went really good. I had a few local area executives look at my work today and they were impressed. And that artist I introduced to you about a month ago, Ezra, he was there to help keep me networking. I think I’m going to be able to book my first non-restaarant art show in the near immediate future,” she gushed.
“That’s great baby. That’s amazing. I can’t wait to see your work in the spotlight soon. Any chance the Lego mistress will make an appearance?”
“You know what? If I get to put together an actual full exhibit, I will make sure that Lego Cora gets her fifteen minutes as well.”
I knew I loved this woman for a reason. Even though she was just scratching the surface of her potential, she still remembered her roots and respected the bond between us. That was important to me.
A brief silence ensued as I got in my car. Cora chimed in, “so how’d your big meeting go? Marcie give it to you like you’ve never had it before?”
I chuckled a bit as I replied, “you know, it’s funny that you put it that way. It was new and different and possibly more horrible than anything else she’s ever done.”
“How so?” Cora asked in earnest as I started the car and began the trek to our apartment.
I let out a deeply drawn out sigh and said, “well, she stayed for less than 10 minutes. Got mad because she couldn’t yell at me about anything. Then told me that I would have to ace my inventory results in 2 weeks before she would even contemplate talking to me about the transfer.”
“Ouch. No K.Y. or anything, huh? That’s tough kid, that’s double tough.” Cora always had a way of relating to me that made even the worst situation seem like a trip to Disneyland. “I’m sorry that she mistreats you baby. Why don’t you come on home and let’s drink some wine, and watch some stupid TV show, and then from there we’ll just treat each other right. Does that sound good to you?”
Boy did that ever sound good to me. “Yeah babe, that sounds perfect. Should I pick a fresh bottle up?”
“That won’t be necessary, I was given a Chardonnay from the Carneros Selection from 2005. I have no fucking clue what any of that means, but I do love a good Chardonnay and the executive who bought my painting insisted that this was the best year for that specific collection.”
“Wow, and you sold a painting too. Swinging for the fence today kid, I like it.” I couldn’t help but smile. Such a rotten day fraught with amnesia and frustration, had just suddenly turned into a fantastic evening. “Congrats baby, I’ll be home soon. I love you.”
I love you too. Be safe,” she said as she hung up the phone.
The drive to the apartment felt an awful lot like a music heavy montage from a cheesy sentimental movie. A wave of emotions hammered into me with unyielding persistence. In many ways I was very happy, and in others I was deeply concerned. Why couldn’t I remember anything this morning? Why did I collapse when I did finally start to regain my faculties? Everything seemed right with my world now, yet at the same time it felt all wrong. All of this felt very wrong. Why did it feel wrong? It almost felt like it didn’t exist at all. On top of that, I could have sworn that I just heard a woman’s voice say, “wake up,” just mere moments ago. There was nobody in the car with me, and there was in fact no music playing. Was I starting to hear things too? Hearing voices could not be a good thing.
Even more than the questions I had, I was now curiously struck by how I was in front of our apartment door, when I could have sworn I was still in the car. So as to not convince myself that I had gone totally crazy, I chucked it up to being so caught up in my own dilemma that I subconsciously went threw the necessary motions to somehow safely drive myself home and then made my way up to the front door. Sounded good to me. I just wanted to shut my brain off and enjoy the rest of night with my lover.
I walked in and saw a nice platter of finger foods on the coffee table in the living room accompanied by 2 wine glasses and a chilled bottle of Chardonnay. Cora came over to me and gave me a big hug. She was wearing a silly little Spider-Man shirt with a Ditko era design, underneath were her matching Spidey panties that I had bought her a long time ago. She never wears these things unless she knows I’ve had a bad day and is trying to cheer me up. It was working. Kind of like when she makes Macaroni and Cheese with cooked weenies mixed into it, I know that it means that I’m getting laid directly after that meal. I was never sure why it worked that way, but that specific food combination was some sort of aphrodisiac for her. Bottom line, good things were likely in store for me tonight.
I ran off to the bedroom and changed my wardrobe to something more acceptable: a robe and nothing else. I have found that going in naked for these types of situations increases the randomness and the playfulness by at least 109% exactly. Don’t ask me how I had arrived at that number, just know that it was correct and move on.
We drank and spoke at length about the day’s events. The food was good, the TV was acceptable, and the company was better than I rightfully deserved. I felt finally at ease with the strange manner in which this day presented itself once more.
As the TV was turned off I began to give Cora a back rub. “Oh God, yes! More of that please,” she said in complete surrender to my magic fingers.
“It’s good to know that I haven’t lost my touch,” I said sounding ominously like Roger Moore as 007.
“No, never. It’s so good,” she moaned as she melted into my hands. “Let’s just get this out of the way,” she said as she took off her top and tossed it across the room. Exposed once again were those magnificent breasts of her, which I found my fingers sliding closer to with each passing rub. Sensing which direction this was going, she placed her hands on my thighs, under my robe and found a pleasant surprise of her own. “I did say that I wasn’t done with that earlier, didn’t I?”
She turned around to face me as my robe slid off of my arms and onto the couch. We kissed passionately while our hands and minds explored the other more exotic parts of our anatomy. Whereas a good chunk of this day was blur, this was a beautiful moment of clarity that culminated in a virtual tour of the living room edition of the Kama Sutra, which is also a coffee table book that I ought to write. Think about it, the living room Kama Sutra with pictures would be such a conversation piece. Mark my words, many an orgy could be started with that book. But I digress. The passion between my lover and I was too good to maintain this whimsically goofy thought. We worked each other over until we both fell into each other’s arms onto the couch where we had started, completely satisfied. As we started to catch our breaths, a quiet calm took over the room and we began to drift off.
“I love you so much. Thank you for this. I needed this,” I whispered to her gently.
“I know you did honey, I know you did. I love you too.”
And with that we fell asleep as comfortable as could be right there on the couch, my robe draped over us as makeshift covers.
The morning came all too soon as I looked for Cora on the bed. Huh? How did I get on the bed? What the hell? This was not my bed! Where the fuck was I now? I mean I knew we had that bottle of Chardonnay last night, but that was literally just two glasses of wine each. Hardly enough to get a buzz, let alone drunk. How could I have made it to another bedroom in a completely different place?
As the room and everything else came into focus and my brain started to wrap itself around the new problems at a hand, I got dealt perhaps the biggest game changer of them all pretty quickly. As I looked down my still naked chest I noticed that I had two very pleasantly curvaceous mounds of feminine like breast with nary a colored hair on them. Just to be certain that I hadn’t completely flipped my shit, I reached between my legs to do a customary “junk check,” which yielded this exact result: I no longer had anything that resembled in any way, shape, or form a penis anymore, in fact I had the exact opposite now.
Against all odds and any common sense that I still had left I had to admit a truly frightening fact: I was now most certainly a woman!
***Find out what happens next in Chapter 2 – I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar!***