Some Enchanted Girlfriend -Part 1- Up?

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Some Enchanted Girlfriend

by Donna Lamb

Part 1 - Up

I woke up that morning with a hangover; the sun coming in the window seemed to hurt my eyes, even with them closed. I hunted for the pillow
to pull over my face but at first I didn't find one. What I pulled across by eyes turned out to be a hairy arm that didn't belong to me.

That took a moment to sink in. Still with my eyes closed, I felt of the arm. It seemed enormous. Had I gotten drunk and ended up in the bed of some professional wrestler, I wondered. Or I would have wondered if I'd been able to rub two coherent thoughts together.

The arm moved down to my shoulders and with a spastic motion, dragged me against a hard, hairy, warm body. A voice grunted and another voice squeaked a protest.

I seemed to be the owner of that second voice. I squinted an eye open and looked across a messy bedroom at a blurry digital clock which seemed to read WV 90:9 o'clock. "That can't be right," I said out loud. My voice sounded thin and squeaky and my tongue felt thick and furry.

"Ow, my head," said the deep rumbly voice. "Stop shouting." The heavy arm lying across me twitched again, squeezing the breath out of me.

A nasty taste came up in my mouth, forcing me to struggle. "Let me go!" I tried to push against the arm but the effort made my head pound and my stomach heave up. "Let me go! You better! I'm going to puke!"

We rolled around on the bed, partly tangled up in bedclothes, trying to sort out which limbs were whose. Naturally, I fell off the bed. The jarring impact would have been worse but I seemed to have landed my ass on the missing pillow. Still, the shock sent lances of white hot light through my eyeballs and left me incoherent and whimpering.

"Are you okay?" the deep voice asked.

"No," I said. I tried to open my eyes but the sunlight still hurt. "It burns, it burns!" I said. "Nasty bright daystar! We hates it! We hates it forever!"

The voice chuckled then said, "Ow! Don't make me laugh."

I got one arm up to shade my eyes and squinted up at him. It was him, a him, that is--dark tousled hair, beard stubble, crinkles around the eyes and corners of the mouth, olive skin and tea-colored eyes. A truly enormous face, frightening for the sheer size of it if it hadn't been for the slightly goofy smile and the narrow gap between the two front teeth. Big teeth, though.

"The better to eat you with," I said.

"Are you okay?" he asked again in his rumbly voice.

"No," I said. "I'm halloonisating there's a hairy-ass giant in my bedroom."

He pulled himself up and looked around. "Um, this is my bedroom."

"Worse yet," I said. I moved my head the wrong way and another sunbolt screwed its way through my skull. "Ay, caramba!" I smacked myself in the face with my own arm trying to protect my eyes.

"You are funny," he said. "I remember that you're funny." He chuckled like someone dropping rocks into a rain barrel.

"That's funny," I said. "I don't." Frowning made my head hurt so I just rested my forearm across my face. "Remember that is...." Who the heck was this guy and how the heck did I get in his bed?

He seemed to have heard the question I didn’t ask. "Uh, we met at a club.... Damned if I remember which one." His deep voice seemed to be getting further away. "Gotta whiz," he added.

I felt sort puffy, as if I had been over-inflated by a careless balloon-animal artiste. My stomach protested that it contained nothing but acid and fumes. When the tinkling evidence that he had found the bathroom reached my ears, my bladder burned hot and urgent. "Ow, wow, ow!"

My eyes popped open, distracting me from other pains with needle-like rays again. I rolled under the bed to get away from the sunlight, amazed that it sat high enough for me to do that.

"You sound like a kitten with someone pulling your tail. Where did you go?" The last part said from considerably nearer.

I could see his big, hairy feet. Coarse black hair grew from his toe knuckles, or whatever you call them on toes, and a hairy leg-warmer started just above his ankle and continued up. "I'm under the bed," I said, scooting along on my back toward the bathroom. "Stay out of the way and you won't get hurt." It would have sounded more threatening if I could have managed to stop squeaking.

He laughed.

I rolled out from under the bed right in front of him, got my hands and knees under me and decided not to try to stand up just yet. I felt misconnected, as if someone had plugged my 5V DC brain into a 120V AC wall socket. Nothing felt right or looked right. My hands looked wrong, my fingernails shiny. "Some party," I said.

"Oopsy-daisy," he said. "Don't throw up on the carpet, love." He bent his hugeness down, picked me up and set me down on my feet which I barely got under me in time.

I grabbed his big hairy forearm in both hands and squeaked some more. "Don't let me go! I'm...I'm...." I looked up into a mirror over a dresser and saw the tiny little blonde being held up by the enormous swarthy giant.

Seeing that almost scared the piss out of me.

I tried to clamp my legs on it but it wasn't there and I knew what would happen next. "Get me to the john, quick!" I said.

We barely got there in time. When I peed it made a sound like pouring water out of a cup. I looked up at him. From that angle all I could see was... Well, his big, huge, enormous... sausage. His dick. Of course, we were both naked.

"I'm dreaming," I said.

He laughed. "You're not going to fall off the stool, are you?"

"Uh, no." I looked away. A full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door showed a small blonde girl sitting on a toilet while being held upright by a giant. I reached a hand up and felt of one of my tits. Then I sort of fainted. Okay, I fainted.

* * *

I came to under a blanket with a cool cloth on my eyes. My head didn't hurt quite so much so I tried to sit up. The mirror on the dresser showed my round little chin, turned-up nose and bright blue eyes. "That's me?" I squeaked. I thought I might faint again so I lay back down.

I could hear someone moving around in another room somewhere but I seemed to be alone in the bedroom. I used my hands under the blanket to explore. I cupped my breasts in my palms; they were bigger than that by quite a bit. My waist tapered down then widened back out to some substantial feeling hips.

“Holy shit,” I whispered.

I felt a moist little slit in my groin, a bit further back than I expected, surrounded by soft folds and tender places. My arms and legs were smooth and soft and my butt felt like I had two spongy half cushions under my skin. My face felt smooth, too, and lots of curly, pale blonde hair covered the top of my head and tickled my shoulders and back.

I sat up and looked in the dresser mirror again. "That girl is me?" I said in my squeaky voice. I frowned, even though it hurt. I didn't remember being a girl, in fact, I distinctly remembered being a guy. A guy who had to shave every morning, who worried that maybe he should start taking Rogaine, who could write his name in the snow....

"My name?" I said aloud. What the heck was my name? "Ow!" Frowning to concentrate still hurt. "I've had bad hangovers before but...." It wasn't funny. I tried to lie still until the pain stopped.

Had I had bad hangovers before? Sure. Back in college, when we initiated the new guy into.... We all got drunk and puked and.... What was his name? What was my name? Heck, what was the college's name? The more I tried to remember the hazier it seemed to get; I couldn't think of any names at all except a fat guy named Bluto—or was that a character in a movie?

But I'd definitely been a guy.

Harry the Giant came back into the room, this time wearing baggy men’s underpants. Boxers, I mean. Nothing baggy about him at all. When he walked through the doorway, the dark wavy hair on his head apparently brushed the frame at the top. The curly dark stuff all over the rest of him somehow emphasized his muscles. I did keep noticing his muscles; they looked—heroic.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“Maybe. Is your name Harry? Harry the Hero?” I think I smiled at him.

He laughed. “You’re still funny.” He scratched the pelt on his stomach and grinned at me. “No, my name is Tim. But you can call me — Tim.”

“Ho, ho,” I said. Sitting there, I realized that I had no clothes on. I followed his gaze, looking down at my chest. I glanced back up at him and he met my eyes, grinning a bit. “Uh, have you seen my clothes?”

“I was going to ask you that,” he said. “You didn’t arrive here naked last night, did you?”

“Damfino,” I said. Feeling a bit exposed, I pulled the sheet up to my neck and glared at him. “All joking aside, could you please get my clothes for me?”

“Honest,” he said. “I’ve looked all over the apartment.” He mimed looking around. “Do you remember what you were wearing?”

I snorted. “No, I don’t remember... lots of things I don’t remember. What the....” I trailed off, not wanting to say that I remembered having been a guy. That would sound loony. I’d looked in the mirror and if a tiny blonde with big tits and reddish pussy hair had claimed to be a guy, I wouldn’t have believed her either.

That bothered me, too. The hair on my head was almost platinum and I had red curls downstairs. Wtf? I felt pretty sure that my hair should be brown in both places.

I looked up again to see him frowning at me with a scary intensity. I heard a growl. “Don’t eat me!” I said. Well, it was the first thing that occurred to me.

“Huh?” he said, glancing down at his own middle.

“You look—and sound!—like a hungry ogre,” I said. “I duwanna be breakfast.”

He grinned. “Too late, I think we both had breakfast earlier. Though my stomach disagrees.”

I didn’t want to think about that, either, especially after I glanced toward the sausage he kept in his boxers. I didn’t mean to look, it just happened. I’d seen it before. I think I groaned.

“No,” Tim said. “I was just trying to remember your name. I don’t usually go to bed with a girl without knowing her name. What’s wrong?”

I put one hand across my chest and the other in my lap. “I’m sitting here naked and I don’t remember my name, either,” I said. Okay, I sort of blubbered that line. The sudden tears caught me by surprise.

“Oh, no, hey,” he said, reaching for me. “You don’t need to cry. It’ll be okay, you’ll remember soon. Jeez, how much did we drink?”

“Why ask me? I don’t know that either,” I wailed. I tried to dodge him but he folded me up in his hairy arms and pushed my head on his shoulder. I would have felt more comforted if I hadn’t known just where his sausage was.

God, he felt strong, though. I could squirm but I knew I couldn’t budge him, his muscles felt like warm steel. And squirming might cause the sausage to, um, similarly harden.

Too late. I felt the hot, rubbery heat of his dick against my leg. And a hotter, fuzzy damp feeling in a place where I shouldn’t have a place. My body wanted to tell me it felt nice but my brain kept trying to hit the panic button.

I wanted to run away, screaming but I couldn’t. So I did the next best thing, I cried some more. He patted me and said the sort of things men say when they are holding a naked crying woman in their lap. I stopped after a bit but I had to resist feeling around to see just where the wooden sausage had gone.

Maybe my reluctant interest in Topic S communicated itself to Tim. "Mmm?” he murmured into my hair.

I clenched my jaw in order not to make some sort of affirmative noise because I knew exactly what would happen if I did. And I knew it too would feel nice.

“Mmm?” he said again, rubbing my soft, tender cheek with his day-old stubbly one.

I felt my nipples crinkle up from the chills running up and down my spine. I had to get away before I said yes but trying to squirm loose still seemed like a bad idea because I could already feel Mr. Stiffy against my leg. “N-n-no?” I managed to say and pushed against him with hardly enough strength to move a lace curtain, let alone a brick wall like Hairy Tim Whosis.

He sighed and held me away from him to look me in the eye. “Better?” he asked.

Had I only imagined the invitation I thought he had made? “Better,” I agreed but it still didn’t feel safe to nod or say yes. One little mistake here and I knew I would end up on my back with my legs spread.

And the worst thing was it didn’t actually sound that bad.

* * *

Tim let me go and I managed to move away instead of...well, I’m not sure what my new libido had in mind exactly but I felt the eagerness to experiment. He looked at me curiously before moving to one of the chairs; not the heavy straight chair at the dresser but the office style at the desk in the corner.

As soon as he moved away, I felt like I had missed a chance I should have taken. But he looked at me again and grinned and I knew suddenly that he would be back in a heartbeat if I said or did the right thing. Or the wrong thing, depending on how you looked at it.

So, of course, I went all reluctant again. I’ll never understand women, even if now I am one. Maybe especially now.

But how? How had it happened? And would I ever get a chance to think about it with Tim, huge and hairy and reeking of hormones, in the room? Distracting just to watch him sit down and boot up his computer.

He got his calendar program up and running, and grinned at me. “Good news. It really is Sunday. I don’t have to be at work till Monday.

“Um,” I said, trying for terse intelligence.

He yawned, scratching at the fur on his chest. “Wanna go back to bed? It’s only six-thirty.” He turned the computer off without shutting it down. It surprised me that I knew what a bad idea that was.

“I’m in bed,” I said, stalling.

“You’re on the bed,” he said. “I meant, go back to sleep.”

Sleep, sure.

He’d loaned me one of his t-shirts, a black one with a funky looking silver “11” on the back. It fit like a nightgown, falling over my knees where I sat in the middle of the sheets. I pulled a pillow into my lap and held it so it hid the bumpy parts of my chest. “Uh-uh,” I said. “I’m not going back to sleep until I know who I am and where my clothes are.”

My clothes?

I glanced again toward the dresser. What kind of clothes would a cupcake like the one I saw in the mirror wear? Something pink and revealing, I felt sure. I made a face and then quickly made a different one; the first face had looked entirely too pouty. And too cute, much too cute, sheesh.

He grinned at me then sighed and ran a hand through his short, curly black hair. “Seems a shame to waste a Sunday morning not sleeping in.” He stretched and yawned, almost clobbering the ceiling with a casual fist and causing palpitations in my chest.

I took a deep breath, I needed it.

“Tim,” I said. “If I knew who I was — if I had any damned clothes! — I’d be out of here and you could sleep all day!” Okay, maybe the pouty look would work. “Could you please get dressed and get out of here, so I can think?” I tried to give him puppy dog eyes.

He frowned. “You can’t think while I’m here?” He flexed a wrist, just a wrist! And a muscle as big as my thigh in his forearm bulged like a submarine coming up to look around.

I shook my head. It was true. Something about having a hunky young giant in the room made it hard to think, and hard to think about why it made it hard to think. And I didn’t want to think about if it made it hard for him to think with me in the room.

We’d both taken aspirin and drank tall glasses of water or that last thought would have made my head hurt again.

I took another deep breath and tried not to look at him. “If I can just think for a bit, I can maybe remember who I am and call home for someone to come get me?” I said.

I didn’t really have much hope of that because I did remember being a guy and what the hell could I remember that would explain how I came to be a girl? Well, if it could happen, it must have some sort of explanation, I supposed. Other than the obvious one that I had gone stark, staring, bonkerino.

He frowned at me again. “I don’t want you to leave.... If I go out, you’re going to be here when I get back?”

I rolled my eyes, hugging the pillow to me. “Where am I going to go with no clothes on?”

He grinned at that. “How the hell did we get you in here without your clothes? You didn’t just magically appear, did you?”

Maybe I did just magically appear. It made as much sense as anything I could think of. I shook my head. “Just go, okay? Go get some breakfast and when something opens, see if you can buy me some clothes.”

“You’re not hungry?”

“You can bring me a donut.”

“What kind of clothes? And I don’t know your sizes.”

“I don’t either!”

He almost laughed. I wanted to hit him but I didn’t think I’d do any damage with the pillow, or anything else in the room for that matter. Nothing less than a sledgehammer seemed likely to dent his pelt.

“Please,” I said in my squeaky voice, trying the puppy dog eyes again.

He sighed. “Okay, okay.” He got up and moved around the room, getting dressed. He pulled some blue shorts out of a drawer in the highboy and put them on, one leg at a time without sitting down. A red t-shirt advertising some pizza place with a gold logo came out of another drawer and he put that on, too.

He sat back down at the computer desk to put on some crosstrainers without socks and I had to take a deep breath. Watching him get dressed had been having the oddest effect on me, like I wanted to take his clothes back off again.

Of course, in his red, blue and yellow, he looked like a comic book superhero, spoiled only slightly by the wads of hair sticking out of the gaps at neck, thigh and upper arm. The furriness made me think of the guy with the knives in the back of his hands but my Harry the Hero was too cheerful for a mopey mutant. And too tall for that particular one, jeez, he was tall. Sitting down, I decided he must be nearly as tall as me standing up.

Which explained why the bed was so high off the floor. And he had the surface of his desk set where it would be above my waist, everything built to the scale of his largeness. I’m short, now. He must be six-foot-six or more and at least a foot taller than me.

He saw me looking at him and grinned again. “Think I should shave?” he asked. He rubbed a big hairy hand across his face making a noise like harvesting corn.

I shook my head. When he’d held me in his lap earlier, I’d felt his stubbly cheek against my face and the memory sent chills down my spine. “Just go, okay?” I said.

“Okay,” he agreed. He stood up, towering over me, hesitating.

Oh, shit, I thought. He’s going to bend down and kiss me. I can’t get away, I can’t stop him, what do I do?

He did bend down and I felt myself rise up on my knees to meet him. His lips felt warm and dry against mine and just the tip of our tongues touched. My nipples crinkled again and I pulled the pillow tighter against my chest as I sank back down on the bed.

“I could go with you if there was anything for me to wear besides this t-shirt,” I said. Part of me definitely didn’t want him to go but it was a part I had never had before I woke up next to him less than an hour before.

“Sorry,” he said. He leaned more forward, resting his knuckles on the bed like some hairy, horny apeman. He wanted another kiss and I wanted to give him one—wtf!—but I pushed myself away.

“Just go,” I said. “You...we...you’ll never get out of here!”

He straightened up, laughing. He put keys, a wallet and a phone into a black hipbag around his waist, then paused at the door to baby-wave at me. “You like scones? There’s a Starbucks down the block.”

“Yeah, okay,” I squeaked.

He left the bedroom and I heard him go out the apartment door and pause to check the locks.

I sighed in relief, though part of me felt grumpy at not going with him. “Why couldn’t one of his other girlfriends have left something wearable behind?” I complained out loud.

Then pulled the pillow up and hid my face in it. What was I saying? Other girlfriends?

* * *

The idea of being Tim’s girlfriend disturbed me. And the idea of Tim having other girlfriends annoyed me. And the idea of being annoyed at the thought of Tim’s other girlfriends didn’t just disturb or annoy me — it scared the cross-eyed shit out of me.

Because I knew what that annoyed feeling was—I was actually getting jealous of some other women in Tim’s life that I had never met and who might not even exist. Oh, come on now, you know they exist—how could he not have tons of girlfriends? Just look at him, I told myself.

And I did mentally, picturing the way his ass looked in those shorts as he left the apartment. The way his back made a diamond shape above his waist. How his arms, just his arms, seemed bigger than my whole body. His muscles, who knew I liked muscles? Magic muscles. Omigawd.

Something else occurred to me. Omigawd!

I’d done it again, thinking of women as other women! Which meant I thought of myself as a woman. As Tim’s girlfriend with the sole and unshared privilege of admiring his backside, his back, his arms, his neck—his sausage, too, no doubt about it.

“Crap! Crap! Crap!” I said aloud.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror above the dresser. Yeah, no doubt about it, “I’m female.” I pulled the borrowed t-shirt tight across my chest and looked down and then in the mirror. My nipples had gotten hard again thinking about Tim’s butt and other parts.

“How the ever-lovin’ freakin’ shit did this happen?” I squeaked.

I jumped off the bed and ran out into the living room that opened right off the bedroom. I could feel my titties bounce every time my heels hit the floor and it wasn’t really pleasant. “Oh, jeez, I’m a fricken cow!” I stopped because it was getting uncomfortable.

I crossed my arms under the bags of flesh on my chest and glared around the room. Better nobody laugh at the tiny girl with the big tits. Okay, then.

Tim seemed impossibly neat for a bachelor; I hadn’t spotted a pair of underwear on the floor or a dirty dish on a shelf yet. Even his bathroom gleamed. Maybe he had a maid come in to clean.

I pictured a cute brunette in a pink and white maid’s uniform and gritted my teeth. She was smiling at him! The slut!

I needed a distraction before I went completely round the loop-de-loo and ended up feeling jealous of myself! I glared around, trying to focus on something, almost anything.

The carpet in the bedroom had been a two-tone figured slate color. The living room rug repeated the slate but added gold and burgundy accents to the figures. It looked expensive.

As if to prove the point, the long wall of the living room had a huge HD television, probably wider than I was tall. A dining table big enough for six took up the room directly under the windows and a small kitchen lay around the corner of a neat little breakfast bar.

I explored. Okay, I snooped.

I found a neatly sorted stack of mail on a small table between the bedroom door and the kitchen. Tim’s last name seemed to be Geelman and his middle initial was C. Or maybe it was Gellman. That seemed more likely. I said it out loud, “Timothy C. Gellman,” and someone giggled. Me.

I don’t know why I did that but saying his name out loud made me smile. And giggle, jeez!

I looked in the refrigerator. A bowl of grapes, a carton of 2% milk in the door. A wrapped package that turned out to have thinly sliced roast beef. Another package of intensely smoky smelling bacon.

Wait a minute. Wasn’t Gellman a Jewish name? Maybe not, or at least, Tim didn’t keep kosher. I spent a moment wondering how I knew the right term, was I Jewish? Who knew?

I had noticed Tim’s circumcision—for crying out loud, we’d been naked in the bed together—but thinking about it made me blush. And giggle again, dammit! “I’ll have my salami with cheese,” I said aloud and giggled some more.

Crisper full of fresh-looking veggies, doors full of condiments, bottom shelf holding six bottles of Sam Adams Boston Lager and four cans of Coke Zero, freezer full of good quality frozen entrees and a carton of Tin Roof Sundae Ice Cream. My favorite!

Wait! I had a favorite flavor of ice cream? Nice. Did that help me remember my name? Nope.

But how did Tim know? It must be his favorite, too! And now I was giggling again, just fricken thrilled that Tim liked the same kind of ice cream I liked, for pity’s sake!

“You are so hosed,” I said out loud. “Those magic muscles are on your brain and how you going to get them off?”

I tried to distract myself from my obvious, excessive, juvenile, boy-crazy girlfriendness by more exploring.

A door at the back of the kitchen proved to open on a tiny laundry room which must be back-to-back with the bath in the bedroom. Some part of me thought, nice design and some other part thought, how would you know, you dumb little girlfriend?

And another locked door in the kitchen probably opened to the outside hall where Tim had gone. Thinking of that made me feel lonesome so I backtracked to the big window wall in the living room.

A balcony outside filled the angle between a similar wall in the bedroom and I could see a deserted courtyard below and some other balconies across a blue-green swimming pool. It looked nice outside but until I had some clothes that actually covered my nether parts, I didn’t want to risk a wind blowing my dress up over my head.

Dress? Well, the damn t-shirt I wore. It hung on me like a tent. I tried to pull the neck around to see what size it was but no, I’d have to take it off to see that. Not just now.

“Bet he’s got a 20-inch neck,” I said aloud. And fricken giggled again! “Oh, jeez,” I complained. “Do I have to be such a girl about him?”

Okay, he seemed like a really nice guy, with muscles, and he hadn’t taken advantage of me, well, not after I woke up, and, and.... I remembered a line from an old movie, “He’s large.” I blushed—and giggled again, of course.

Wait! Where had I seen that movie? Who had I been with when I saw it? I remembered we had laughed at parts of it and yawned at other parts. What was the fricken movie, anyway?

The critics hated it. The fat sarcastic guy and the skinny sarcastic guy on Sunday night. What the heck were their names? And the name of their show?

It would be just too lame-ass if I could remember their names and not my own! Okay, so I wasn’t quite that lame-ass.  I couldn't remember anything else.

I went back into the living room to look into the mirror over the little telephone and mail drop table. My blondeness seemed very evident—my reflection looked as dumb as a rock with a seagull sitting on it. “What am I, stupid?” I asked. “Don’t answer that.”

“Olive!” I said suddenly. Olive? Wtf did olives have to do with anything? Martinis? Salad? Pizza? Huh? I had it on the tip of my tongue, not just olives; something olive or olive something.... Oh! The girl in the movie, the brunette!

The phone rang. It scared me since it was right in front of me but I snatched it up and put it to my ear. “Hi, Tim,” I said.

I know I damn near cooed and my nipples crinkled again. I put a knuckle between my teeth and bit on it to keep from giggling. Large Tim with the magic muscles. Stop it!

“Hey, babe! How did you know it was me?” he asked in that deep, rumbly voice that made me want to pee on myself.

* * *

“Well, who else would be calling? It’s not even seven o’clock yet,” I said. How did I know it was him, though? I hadn’t done any thinking about it at all.

He laughed and I did giggle, I just couldn’t help it.

“Which do you want; a bowl of oatmeal with fruit, cream and maple syrup, or a bagel with egg, ham and cheese? And what goes in your coffee?” He asked.

“Uh, oatmeals,” I said. “I love oatmeals.” I do? And I call it oatmeals? Is it possible to die of self-inflicted cuteness? “But not in the coffee.” I giggled.

He laughed again and I forgot to be annoyed at myself; making him laugh was worth embarrassing myself.

“Okay, babe,” he said. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Hot, sweet and creamy,” I heard myself purr. Crap. Crap. Crap.

He made the sound of rocks being dropped in a rain barrel again. I stopped myself from wriggling just from hearing it.

“Have you remembered anything? Uh?” he asked.

“Olive oil,” I said. “No, I mean, Olive Oyl.”

“Huh?”

“What’s-his-name’s girlfriend....”

“Oh. Popeye?”

“Yeah, Popeye’s girlfriend.” I blinked. The one-eyed sailor from the frat party? No, wait, that can’t be right. A cartoon sailor. I went to a frat party with a cartoon sailor?

“I yam what I yam,” Tim said, in a growly voice.

I shook my head, pulling myself back from the brink of nonsense. “Not him, her. Olive Oyl, I remembered her.”

“Uh-huh. What about her? I don’t think your name is Olive.”

“She said something. I remembered. In a movie. She said something in a movie and I remembered it.” But it wasn’t a cartoon movie, wtf?

Silence.

I stood on one foot and then the other for a moment; for some reason my feet hurt.

“What did she say?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you,” I said, remembering just in time what it was she had said that I had remembered and why I couldn’t repeat it to him. She even sang a song about her large boyfriend and his — largeness.

Tim laughed again. “I’m coming right back with the coffee and stuff, okay? Then maybe I’ll go find you some clothes somewhere. Only place I can think of open early on Sunday is Walmart. That okay, babe?” He seemed amused.

“Anything,” I said. “Walmart. Really?”

“What?”

“Eww.” I made a face. Mostly to be funny and try to make him laugh again but from looking around his apartment, he could afford to buy me clothes someplace besides fricken Walmart.

He did laugh then said, “Coffee’s up, be right there,” and hung up on me.

I stood holding the phone a moment, then put it back on the little table where I’d found it.

Leaning against the wall, I picked up my feet, one at a time and rubbed my insteps and my heels. They hurt, a burning sensation that wasn’t at all pleasant. And my tits hurt, obviously whoever I was, I didn’t go around barefoot or braless very much.

Whoever I was?

I stepped over to the breakfast bar and climbed up on one of the stools, folding my arms under my boobs again to give them some support while I got off my feet.

Whoever I was?

Well, obviously, I was me. But the me I sort of remembered was a guy. Not a girl with big tits and sore feet. Who couldn’t remember her name.

Okay. Now wait. Wait.

Trying to follow a thought I had, I rubbed the insteps of my sore feet on the rungs of the stool. That felt good. And stretching my feet out like I was standing on tiptoe felt good. High heels, I thought, I probably wear high heels all the fricken time.

I looked at my legs. Very smooth and girlish and shapely, especially when I flexed my calves and extended my dainty little feet. My hands and feet both seemed small, even for a short girl. My toenails were all neatly trimmed and looked shiny but without any polish on them. I’d already noticed that about my fingernails.

I held my hands out, looking at them again, fingers spread where I could see the nails. Definitely longer than a man would wear them and shiny. Could you make nails shine without putting polish on them? “That’s what those little sandpaper boards are probably for,” I said aloud. Or maybe not, what did I know?

I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about stuff I didn’t know, I wanted to think about stuff I didn’t remember.

I did remember being a guy. And I didn’t know things a girl ought to know, except some things that might be wired in like how to look cute. Really? It did seem to be easy to do unlike remembering names.

I wondered if Tim thought I was cute.

Try to stay on one line of thought besides that one, I told myself. Sheesh. Of course, he thinks I’m cute; he’s a guy and I’ve got tits. I glanced down at them, they might be a bit large for just cute.... Heck, they might be big enough to take me out of the cute category entirely. I worried for a moment that they were too big, that Tim didn’t really like them being so big.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

I’m a girl, I reminded myself again. I don’t remember being a girl. Amnesia can do some funny things but I never heard of anyone forgetting what sex they were. And it wasn’t that I just didn’t remember sitting down to pee, I remembered being a guy with all the apparatus and appurtenances thereto encumbered.

So.... So? How could that happen? If I used to be a guy, how come I’m a girl now, I wondered. Things like that just don’t happen in real life.

That would leave hallucinations and delusions. But I didn’t feel crazy. “Maybe a bit ditzy,” I admitted aloud. “But, jeez, it takes some getting used to!” If any girl ever had a right to be a ditz, I felt that I did. And I seemed to actually be enjoying it, which also worried me a bit.

“So, like, I’m so blonde!” I said aloud. As good an excuse as any and better thinking I’m crazy.

I tried pinching myself but that hurt. “I’m not asleep, I’m not crazy, I.... What does that leave? Drugs? Hypnosis? Aliens? Magic?”

I remembered having been hypnotized once. This didn’t feel like that because when you’re hypnotized one part of you is still in on the gag and you’re just agreeing to let the other part of you get fooled. It’s like a real intense game of pretend when you were a kid; if your mom calls out that it’s dinner time, the game has to end.

How the heck could I remember having been hypnotized back in high school when I couldn’t remember my own name? I remembered the bleachers near the football field, the cool wind that blew because it was October. But not my name or the name of the high school?

Or how I turned into a blonde cupcake and got into Tim’s apartment without any clothes? It didn’t make sense.

Drugs might be a possibility but I couldn’t figure out how to test whether I might be drugged. Wait and see if it wears off was the only thing I could figure out. But I didn’t feel drugged.

Which left the possibility of something like aliens or magic. Or maybe alien magic. And those possibilities were just weird, worse than drugs because they might never wear off and there might never be an explanation. I might be stuck being a girl for a long time. Forever! And never know why!

Ouch. Talk about depressing. Or well, no, I wasn’t depressed, just annoyed. Fricken magic aliens shouldn’t mess with me!

I turned around and looked up at the door just before Tim knocked and called out. “I’m back! Wanna come get some stuff, babe?” I heard him put a key in the lock and turn it.

“Sure!” I said, jumping off the stool and running for the door. I’d known he was there before he said anything and how the heck did I do that?

* * *

We sat on the big plush couch and ate oatmeals and drank coffee and Tim had got himself a ham-and-egg-and-cheese bagel, too. Got to feed those magic muscles, I thought and damn near choked trying not to giggle.

“You okay, babe?” he asked. He put a hand on my thigh and gave it a light squeeze, causing my toes to twitch. He took up most of the gigantic, grey leather couch, of course, and I had sort of wedged myself into one end with my legs draped over one of his.

I nodded, afraid to actually say anything. He smiled and squeezed my leg again.

I have no idea why I sat where I did but it put me within easy reach. I thought of that before I sat down and still I sat there. Go figure.

He finished his sandwich and took a big slurp of coffee. I made a face at him, I’m not sure what kind.

He grinned and asked, “What?” How could such a big guy have such cute expressions?

“Do you have to make that sound when you drink your coffee?” I asked, pretending to be exasperated at him. “You practically inhaled your oatmeals, too. Jeez, I’m tryna eat here?”

“Disgusting, huh?” He winked at me.

“Sort of.” I probably blushed and covered it by staring into my bowl. Really good oatmeals, btw. I could feel my ears getting red and a hiccup trying to giggle its way up from my middle.

“You’re from New York. Or Philly or Connecticut, one of those eastern cities, huh?” he asked, surprising me.

“Why... why do you say that?” I didn’t have to fake being startled.
Was I from New York? It felt right but I couldn’t be sure about it.

“I knew ‘cause of how you talk,” Tim said. “Tryna, wanna, jeez, dis, dat.” He grinned at me.

“I don’t say dis and dat and Connecticut isn’t a city,” I said. I handed him my bowl. “You wanna finish my oatmeals?” I’d eaten more than half but felt full, and those really were some disgusting noises he had been making.

“Sure, babe,” he said. He gave my leg another squeeze and took the bowl. “Good stuff.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “You say you think I’m from New York?” I thought about the courtyard I had seen out the window. Palm trees. “Meaning we ain’t in New York now, so where are we?”

“You don’t know that?” He finished off the bowl of oatmeals in three noisy bites. “We’re in Marina del Rey. Part of Los Angeles, sort of.”

“Oh,” I said in a small voice, fairly sure I’d never heard of the place. “It’s on the water? How the heck did I get here?”

“Yeah, more boats than houses. And I still don’t know how you got here. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Eating oatmeals,” I said, trying to look innocent.

He snorted. “I meant, before you woke up this morning, silly.” He gave me another squeeze on the thigh.

I decided I might be beginning to like that but it didn’t help me remember anything. I squinted at the ceiling, “Hofest, onnicer, I only dall fown when I’m vinking drodka,” I said.

Tim laughed, sat up and pulled me into his lap. I said something intelligent like, “Yike!”

“You’re a nut,” he said. “I like that in a girl.”

And he kissed me again. Holding me there in his lap, what could I do? Okay, I kissed back. I mean, I’d looked at myself in the mirror, I’d gone to the bathroom. I’m a girl. Kissing a guy is just a natural thing to do, right?

Wow.

When we came up for air I discovered that he had his hand under the t-shirt I was wearing for a dress, and... and he was doing things down there. “When I talk do your lips move?” I asked him between gasps.

He didn’t get it but he smiled anyway. “Uh-huh,” he said. I squinted into his face and almost busted up laughing, despite what was going on down below. His look of horny concentration was pure concentrated horniness.

“Uh,” I said. “Are you trying to avoid getting me some clothes?” I asked.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Yeah, babe, sure.” I thought he hadn’t actually heard what I said. “Clothes would just get in the way, huh?”

“Uh-uh-uh,” I said, or something like that, sort of a mix of a giggle and a gasp.

After that, I don’t really remember what happened. Okay, I do and it was fucking amazing, or vice versa, to coin a phrase. My first time, sort of—at least that I remembered from the catching side.

The huge couch made sense now. We finished up with me lying on top of the fur rug of his middle, probably because he weighed as much as two of me plus a kid sister. If I had a kid sister, she better not come near him, like in the song.

I didn’t want to think too much about what we’d done; far as I know, when I used to be a guy, I was straight as a missionary, maybe straighter. And it looked like I still could qualify as a card-carrying heterosexual, just one who had changed precincts.

He stroked my hair and made contented noises I could hear rumbling in his chest. After a minute of drowsy peace, he asked, “Did that help you remember anything, babe?”

I started to giggle then we laughed so hard we fell off the couch except he caught us and eased us onto the slate-and-burgundy carpet, nuzzling each other and still chuckling.

“Yeah, right,” I said. “Cure amnesia with the old beef injection.” I lay on my back with him over me, propping his head up on one elbow.

The t-shirt I had been wearing as a dress had disappeared and I vaguely remembered tearing his shirt off of him. Okay, yeah, I did that. From where I lay, I could see his shorts hanging from a corner of the 67” HDTV. I did not know how they got there, I swear.

He lazily stretched one leg over my ankles and caught my wrists with his free hand. “Got you,” he said. With no effort at all, he held me motionless, I could barely wiggle my middle.

This caused the damnedest reaction in me, like someone had wrapped my groin in a heating pad. “I’m—I—are you? We’re going to do it again?”

“Soon,” he promised, bending down to kiss me. “Recharging. You know guys aren’t ready again quite as soon as girls.” He kissed again, just little nibbles with his scratchy cheeks brushing my lips in between and making me nuts.

“Uh-huh.” I licked my lips myself. “Yeah, I know.” And I did, one of the advantages of being a receiver seemed to be not needing time to get ready. Well, some girls needed time to get hot for it. Evidently, not me.

“Am I gonna be your cupcake?” I asked, whispering.

He liked that. “If you wanna be, sure.” He chuckled, that noise he made deep inside, laying up against him I could feel it as much as hear it. “Long as I get to lick the frosting, huh?”

I giggled. Sure. The thought made me squirm.

He let me go then and rolled onto his back, the evidence of his need for a recharge lying across his leg like a sentry half asleep at his post. Even not quite ready, it looked ginormous, not just built to scale with the rest of him, maybe a bit over-sized.

“God,” I said. “That went inside me?”

He chuckled. “I thought you liked it. You certainly sounded like you liked it.”

I giggled some more, too awed to actually blush. “Yeah, I liked it, I guess. Uh-huh, oh, shit, yeah.” I nodded, feeling blonde to the bone and smarter than peel-and-stick kitchen tile.

He laughed and pulled me toward him. “You want to hurry things along a little bit?” he asked, pushing my head down toward his middle.

Oh, and I knew exactly what he meant by that, too. I didn’t  feel at all nauseated or turned off by the idea either, in fact, my mouth started watering. Face it, I told myself, you’re not just a girlfriend, you’re a complete slut of a girlfriend.

I started to crawl through the brushy growth on his chest, turning my own bottom up toward his face. “If I’m going to have a taste of your gander, I want you to sample my saucy goose,” I said.

Well, when all was said and done, a half-hour or an hour or whatever later, guess what he wanted to do? Right. Go back to bed, to sleep. Men!

* * *