"Live Long and Prosper"
by Brandy Dewinter
(c 2000, All rights reserved)
Chapter 14 - "Pay Before Play"
***********
Log of the Twilight Breeze
26 October 2004
Long 143.24 deg. W
Lat 12.17 deg. S
(Tirce's Island - just offshore)
This has been the most frustrating, and at the same time the most
rewarding day of my life.
It started out with Anya no longer being mad at me. I really had
been stupid the night before, though not for the reason I had thought
I was being stupid. Sometimes I think Tirce must have made as many
changes in my mind as in my body, turning me into some parody of 'macho
man'. That's an awfully convenient excuse, but the fact is I had somehow
come to assume that Anya was a cute little girl, well, young woman and
expected her to act that way. However, as she showed me quite
convincingly, inside that dynamite body lives the strength and drive of
Adam and I better not forget it. I'm sure I could physically force her to
do some things since I'm so much stronger now, but I will never again make
the mistake of assuming my macho personality can overwhelm her own inner
strength. And I wouldn't have it any other way. That's one of the
rewarding things - that Anya is all that Adam was in all the ways that
really matter.
Anyway, when I came on deck in the morning, she wasn't angry any longer.
Quite the opposite in fact. God, she is one HOT woman. When I kiss her,
Lordy . . . I know for a fact that *I* was never that good a kisser,
and if Adam was, he hid it for 40 years. She is incredibly sensual,
passion combined with tenderness, wanton desire matched with a sense of
fragile beauty that is in fact not fragile at all. Dear God, I love her.
And God, do I *want* her. When she went below to get some sleep, I had to
do *something*. So I spent a lot of time on the filter cycle today.
It's too bad we don't have any really cold water on board. I could have
used it. Several times.
The biggest reward of the day was that she has come to accept her new
form, and mine, and not with any 'make the best of it' reluctance. After
her morning rest, she came on deck dressed in that blue bikini that I had
worn once as Lainey - the one from my 'wet dream'. And my imagination
within the dream was not even close to the beauty of the reality. Part
of that was because the bikini, at least the top part, didn't fit her.
Not that I complained. Not like I could have complained anyway. I was
too busy picking my tongue up off the deck and trying to get it all back
inside my mouth so I could stop drooling. All day long she wore that,
with a little skirt that seemed to add just the right touch of secrecy
to keep things entrancingly . . . naughty. More time on the filter cycle.
She said, and I believe it, that even if we get Tirce to grant us another
wish, she is NOT going to use it to wish us back into our birth genders.
(Neither one of us wants to give up being young again, of course.) When
we first started to understand the nature of our transformation, I think
that Adam would have accepted being old again if that were the price to be
a man again. Now, I don't think Anya would accept being Adam again even
if that were somehow the ONLY way to stay young. And I know I wouldn't
either. Change back to Lainey, I mean. There is a freshness, a sense of
having a truly new life, exciting and full of wonderful surprises to come
that both of us have now. Fifty more years of being Adam and Elaine would
have been wonderful. Fifty years of being Anya and Ethan is going to be
off the charts!
Well, it should be. That gets back to the frustration thing. Anya is the
most beautiful, and the most sensual woman I have ever seen. Now that she
is, in her own mind, comfortable with what has happened she seems to have
released a pent-up backlog of, I don't know, femininity or something.
Every move she makes is graceful, but it's more than the grace of a
ballerina. She is Passion come to live. I swear, she can twitch her lips
in a hint of a smile and promise more than a city full of hookers, yet do
it in a way that seems demure and proper at the same time. If I had known
how to do that, when I was Elaine, I'd have made a zillion dollars in the
movies. There is this incredible undercurrent of something very animal
about her; supple, intensely alive, joyously unconstrained by civilized
limits. She loves being a woman, and it shows - not the least of which is
in her unabashed desire to be *with* a man.
And that is the core of the frustration. She is afraid that her body is
not able to accept intercourse. I have to admit, my . . . equipment is
larger than Adam's was, and there may be some validity to her concern.
It might be just the sort of cruel trick Tirce would play, like the way
she had interpreted Reyna's wish - some play on words where we'll be
healthy and always feeling, in Tirce's interpretation, the happiness of
sexual anticipation without ever facing the downside of satiation. That
would certainly make our lives seem very 'long', no matter how long they
really were.
I don't know what we'll do if Tirce won't . . . 'fix' things, but I
know Anya is so afraid of it, intercourse, that it won't be the fun it
should be. I remember my first time, and it did hurt. I can't deny
that. I guess way back then I was, I don't know, prepared or something,
and I don't mean by the foreplay. I was mentally ready for the idea of
a guy sticking his 'thing' in my vagina. I'd talked about it with other
girls and I thought I knew what to expect. In actual fact, it was both
worse and much, much better than I had expected, but the key was that I
wasn't really frightened at the idea. At least not much.
Anya is. Terrified of being damaged. And perhaps just as afraid of
disappointing me. Not that she could ever be a disappointment to me,
but I can see why she would worry about that. I feel this compulsion
to join with her that I have to really concentrate to keep under control.
And she can sense that, which means she can sense how important it is
to me and therefore how disappointing it would be if we can't share that
aspect of being together. What she doesn't realize is that any
disappointment I would have would NOT be directed at her. It's not her
fault, in any way, and her own desire is just as intense (well, maybe not
quite as intense) as mine.
So, we're both frustrated. We could have given each other pleasure in
other ways, of course, but somehow knowing the final step was denied us
meant the other things weren't . . . right somehow. I don't mean in any
moral sense. Someday they will add immensely to our pleasure. But for
right now, if we can't have the full union we both want, we won't be
satisfied with less.
And that's the last reward and frustration for the day. After we passed
the weather front, the reward part was that we made good time and we are
now just offshore from Tirce's Island. But it's also sunset, and Anya,
always the wise and cautious Captain, doesn't want to enter the bay after
dark. So, we'll sit out here at anchor all night, within sight of our
objective.
Frustrated.
End log entry
Ethan Bridger
***************
"Guess what!" Ethan called from his place in the bow as I conned the
Breeze into the bay at Tirce's Island the next morning.
"I'm not into guessing games right now," I yelled. I was following
the GPS track from our last time in, but when we were here before we
might have missed by inches a rock that would take out the Breeze's keel,
for all I knew. Actually, that's not fair. The crystal waters showed the
bottom as we coasted slowly to the dock and I knew we had a clear channel
because I had watched the bottom the last time, too. But I didn't get us
three quarters of the way around the world by taking unnecessary chances.
Ethan laughed, respecting my concentration even as he trusted my own
sense of duty to keep us out of trouble, and answered his own challenge.
"The dock needs some more work."
"It does?" I said. "It's only been a little over a week since we
were here before. What happened?"
By this time we were at the dock and Ethan got busy with the fenders
and the mooring lines. Once we were secure, he moved over to examine the
missing boards.
"They look weathered away, but I know they weren't like that before,"
he reported. Then an idea came to him. "Say, do you remember what Reyna
was saying, about when she, or, um, Reynaud and what was his name
visited?"
"Phillipe," I supplied.
Ethan continued, "Right. Anyway, she said that they found the dock
needing some work, too. Twice, a lot of years apart I'll buy as a
coincidence. But three times, and the last only a long week ago . . . ."
"I know what you mean. Well, it looks like 'pay before play' time
again. Do you mind? I'll help."
"That's all right. I'll get it," Ethan said, laughing in a way that
said he was the source of his own humor. "I've been wanting to build
something ever since I first stood up to pee."
"What?" Now *that* was weird, even by the standards of people who
have been at sea too long.
"I'll explain later," he promised, then headed up the beach.
I'd like to be able to say that I helped him anyway, or at least
supervised in an appropriately nagging way. But the fact was, I spent
the time while he worked on the dock deciding what clothes I was going
to wear. That sounds so . . . girlish I should be embarrassed, but there
was a good reason. Really there was.
I was trying to decide what impression we needed to make on Tirce.
If I wore Adam's clothes, refusing to accept my femininity, that might
make her think I hated it and . . . And what? She hadn't seemed like an
evil person when we had met before. Abrupt, for sure, and rude and not
very pleasant, but not actively evil. On the other hand, I certainly
considered her evil when I realized what she had done to us - when I first
realized it that is. And what she had done to Reyna was just wrong, just
inexcusable. Yet, now what she had done to me seemed like a marvelous
gift, except . . . Except there was a thorn in this rose if I couldn't
accept the full measure of being a woman; if I could never take Ethan
into myself because I was too small for his new equipment. That was the
worst sort of torment, and if it were deliberate, then . . .
So I could act like I hated being Anya and try to doublethink her
into completing the change. Or if there were a nice person under that
gruff exterior, then I should show that I accepted it and beg her to
complete it. Which would be the best approach?
I was replaying in my mind both times when we had seen her, and
something else came to me. When we had spoken, both Lainey and I had
sort of blurted out truthful responses to her questions. I knew we were
in a sort of strange situation, facing such an ugly woman on such a
beautiful island, and her abruptness sort of kept us off balance anyway,
but it seemed to me that, well, that trying to lie to her would not be
a good idea. So I would need to dress as Anya, and show that I liked
it.
That didn't help as much as I thought it would. Who was Anya?
Was she the 'wet t-shirt' floozy, or the bikini babe? Those were roles
I assumed because I was teasing Ethan. Were they really me? Or how about
some super-feminine satin and lace type? I suppose Lainey had something I
could wear. Was that Anya?
As I looked at myself in the mirror of the cabin, stripped out of the
shorts and t-shirt I had worn to enter the harbor, I just couldn't see
that person in delicate clothes. A part of me knew that I was foolish to
rule out things I hadn't tried. After all, I'd never have agreed to
become Anya in the first place, and now I loved it. But . . . I just
didn't think frills were going to be a big part of my life.
That left Lainey's casual clothes. Which was a problem, since
anything that fit her bosom would be ridiculously tight on mine. Her
shorts and things were fine, even if they did ride a bit lower on my
hips, but the tops!
I must have tried on 20 different tops, with half that many shorts.
Nothing was working until, way in the back of her drawer, I found a dark
red halter top with a white collar. As soon as I saw it, I knew that was
right for me - not the least because I remember Lainey saying it was too
big for her. It still looked like I was about to explode out of it at
any breath, but - I don't know why - I just felt that since Tirce had
given me those puppies, I might was well show her I wasn't ashamed of
them. There was another of those island-style wrap skirts that went with
the top, this time the pattern was giant orchid-type flowers against a
dark red background. That felt right, too. It hung *really* low on my
hips, but I thought it would stay up - and I knew that Ethan would let
me know instantly if it didn't. The net effect, with my newly-black hair,
was of a carefree, wonderfully-healthy island girl. I didn't have the
Polynesian eye shape, but I didn't figure Ethan would mind.
"Ready to go, gorgeous?" Ethan asked, making the Breeze shift as he
stepped back on deck. He had gotten heavier as part of his
transformation, and it was kind of comforting to just . . . feel his solid
presence around me.
"More or less," I answered. "I just need to find some shoes."
"I think I made out better than you did on that," he said, then
stopped in his tracks to look at me. The faint whisper of his voice
was better applause than a thousand Superbowl fans. "Dear. Holy. God."
"Is something wrong?" I asked innocently. Yeah, right. I knew how
I looked.
Ethan's lips quirked in a devilish sort of leer and he said, "Nothing
that a lifetime of holding you in my arms wouldn't help."
"Oh, you." But I loved it. And he knew I did. And I knew he'd
meant every word, which was absolutely the best part.
"Shoes?" I said as he moved toward me. The way I was feeling, we
wouldn't have gotten to Tirce's cottage for a long time, if we didn't
start right *then*.
"Oh. Yeah. Well, what I was saying is that I seem to have the same
size feet as Adam, near enough. Some of his shoes pinch a little, but I
can wear his deck shoes. I think your feet are a bit smaller than
Lainey's though.
"So I've been finding out," I sighed.
"Hey, I remember something," Ethan said. "I had a pair of . . . "
He disappeared from our cabin, headed toward the bow. I heard more
than saw a flurry of activity among the lockers of the guest stateroom,
and then Ethan was coming back with a shoebox held triumphantly before
him.
"Here, try these."
"*You* try them," I said when I opened the box. Inside were a pair
of wedge-heeled sandals. Real heels, for all that they weren't silly
spikes that would sink in the sand.
"Oh, lighten up," he said, laughing. They have a sling back so you
can tighten them to fit your feet. Don't worry about the heels. You'll
get used to them right away."
"Yeah, right. That's why you wore them all the time, of course."
"Hey! I'm not the one who decided to wear a skirt today."
"Yeah, but that was . . . "
Damn. Another aspect of Lainey picked the darndest time to show up.
Ethan stood there wearing a grin that I had seen so many times on Lainey.
It said that he was willing to stand there, patiently and politely, for
as long as I wanted to talk, but that he wasn't going to believe a word
I said. And the worst part of that expression, was that it only came out
when whatever I was going to say was, well, not worth believing. Dear
God I loved that man, mostly because he really was Lainey, too.
So I ran down before I really got started on my excuse for wearing
what I was wearing, and just sat to put on the shoes. Maybe a year at
sea, a good portion of which required me to balance on a tilted deck,
helped me with the shoes. They weren't really that high, actually. I'm
not exactly sure how such things are measured, and the number doesn't
matter anyway, but I figured they might have been a couple of inches at
the back, no more. Just as Ethan had promised, in a couple of minutes
I was, well, ignoring them and just walking.
He took a minute to duck in and wash off the sweat and sawdust from
fixing the dock, and I used that time to try a little more of Lainey's
makeup. I wasn't going to screw around with things I didn't really
understand, but I managed to get a couple of coats of mascara on, and
more of the dark red lipstick. I was just trying to figure out how to
brush on a little something for my cheeks when Ethan stepped close to
me.
"Here, let me help," he said. Taking a soft brush, he lightly
rubbed it in a cinnamon-colored powder and then dusted my cheeks with
it. "Your cheekbones are just marvelous, and I wouldn't try and make
them look brighter with your tan. But just a hint of darker color in
the hollow will make them stand out even better."
"Oh, um, thanks," I said.
"Thank you, my love," Ethan said, leaning to kiss my forehead.
"There isn't anyone on this island but a cranky old woman and me, and
I'll choose to believe you're making yourself beautiful just for me."
Who was I to argue with such flattering . . . insight?
He was very gallant as he escorted me on deck, handing me from the
Breeze to the dock like the most gentlemanly of courtiers. It seemed like
a casual stroll along the dock to the beach, and then to the little side
trail - only I kept remembering we were going to confront a woman who
apparently had magical powers, and sometimes used them to do ghastly
things.
"This is new," observed Ethan, pointing out a set of steps set into
the side of the little ravine. "We don't have to scramble for handholds
any more."
I just nodded. I knew I was getting nervous at the thought of seeing
Tirce again, but I had this feeling that there was something else,
something I hadn't thought of that needed to be done. Something important
to who I was in a way that was more than what I looked like. I knew what
my wish was, and Ethan had done the good deed thing, but . . . what was
I missing?
We reached the edge of the clearing that held Tirce's hut. It looked
just like it had when we left, and based on her description it looked just
like it had when Reyna last saw it. Poor Reyna, trapped in a wish that
had become a curse with no way to . . .
"That's it!" I realized.
"What?"
"It's Reyna. We can't just forget about her."
"Oh, yeah. Well, I had forgotten, but I'm glad you remembered. What
are we going to do?"
"Oh, Ethan, we can't just use up our wish on ourselves, not with her
needing it so much worse."
"You're right, but, um, what about us?"
"I don't know," I said, feeling trapped. "Maybe we could, um, go to
a surgeon or something. I mean, it's just that I'm too small. Don't you
think that could be fixed, and without magic?"
"But that might take months!"
"How long has Reyna been trapped in her nightmare?"
Ethan sagged a little, but he nodded. "Oh, Anya, I know you're
right. But I don't have to like it."
"Me neither, but you know we have to do it."
"Yeah. Well, maybe Tirce will, I don't know, be generous or
something."
"Maybe," I repeated, but I didn't believe it either.
Then I started to believe. We had walked across the clearing and
were getting fairly close to her house when I saw a flower bed I didn't
remember; one with giant white orchids just like my skirt.
"That can't be a coincidence," I whispered, pointing to it. Then I
was absolutely sure, because I swear even as we watched weeds sprang up
between the orchids.
"Well, I guess that's our answer," Ethan said, bending to the task.
I kneeled beside him, pulling that silly skirt to the side so my knees
didn't push it into the flower bed, and we spent the next 20 minutes or so
weeding flowers - not something you often do when you live on a sailboat.
By this time I was resolved not to be surprised by anything, so
officially I wasn't surprised to see a bucket of water and a bar of soap
by the porch, though I didn't remember seeing it when we walked up. With
that aid, we washed up after the gardening, then looked at each other.
"Well, I guess it's time," I said.
"Guess so," agreed Ethan. He took my hand and together we stepped
up onto the porch.
He never even knocked. Before he could, a soft woman's voice with
just a hint of huskiness to sound mature without sounding querulously old,
called out, "Please, children, do come in."
"Tirce?" Ethan asked through the screen.
"Of course. Whom did you expect?" the voice answered, humor floating
along with the words.
The woman we saw when we stepped inside was not the one we had seen
before. I had always thought the old Tirce, that is, the previous Tirce
was sort of artificially ugly. No one really had that big a nose. So I
guess at some level I was expecting something different this trip, at
least if she saw us at all. This woman, though was what I wanted to be
when I grew up. She didn't look anything like I expected to look at her
age, whatever that was. I thought she might have been, oh, late 40's,
with still-rich auburn hair that had just enough gray in it to convince
you the rest of the color was natural. She wore a pale linen suit,
perfect for the tropics, though not an island affectation like my own
hula dancer's wrap. She was taller than me, too, so I knew I never would
actually look like her at any age. Still, that was the impression that
came to me. She was mature, elegant, comfortable with herself yet clearly
still vibrantly living her own life.
"Thank you, dear," she said, smiling to me. "That's a pretty set of
compliments from such a pretty young woman."
Well, I had resolved not to be surprised by anything. So I made my
voice as nonchalant as possible and said, "You're a mindreader, too."
"Among other things, when I want to be" she replied. "Please, sit,
and have something cool to drink."
The furniture was as changed as the hostess. We sat on matched
wicker chairs (hers was larger of course, more like a throne) that were
at once cool and comfortable. Some sort of fruity drink had already been
set at the three places, and we sat as though we were merely visiting a
close friend. I surely hoped that was true.
