Alex sat up in bed with a yawn and stretched, a duvet piled upon her lap. Through the crosshatch window, she saw a bluebird on a branch, and it placed a twig in its nest but raised voices scared it away. A heated discussion that involved Sam, Russell, and a few others, took place outside her bedroom door. Even this interruption soothed her soul, a welcome salve after months of loneliness. Before the nightmare of her isolation, she would have described herself as a loner, but the torment taught her that she needed other people.

  The aroma of cooked bacon and brewed coffee compelled her to arise and partake. Clad in borrowed flannel pajamas, she inserted her feet into a pair of slippers and shuffled into the bathroom. She yawned and lifted up the lid and toilet seat. Her still drowsy mind lowered her pajama bottoms and panties, but her right hand found nothing, or it is more accurate to say that it did not find what she expected. This jolted her and snapped her brain to alert status.

  Hips thrust out, and breast pressed down by her right hand, her eyes examined her new gender. She considered finding a doctor; the city had a full medical staff. However, every time she approached the medical clinic, her throat went dry and breathing quickened. She made it into the lobby once, but she fled a minute later.

  Muscles soothed and skin damp from a hot shower, she returned to her bedroom and her donated wardrobe. She crossed the bedroom and on her way to the dresser. She grasped a wooden knob and slid open the top drawer. A kaleidoscope assortment of colored panties, neatly folded and placed in rows, lay before her. She snarled and crossed her arms. Boxer shorts and a sweat suit would have pleased her male ego, but they were not among her options. After several minutes of agonizing, cursing fate, and pouting about having breasts, she picked out a crimson satin bra — a combination pushup bra and a sports bra, having wide shoulder straps that gave a halter-top appeal — and a matching thong.

  She stepped into the thong and whisked it up her legs. Her upper lip curled as the string slipped into the crevice between her cheeks. Likewise, she fussed with the bra and fought to connect the back strap. She threw it onto the bed and brooded. “Stupid thing,” she grumbled and threw it onto the bed. She considered going without, but jiggly breasts and male eyes drew far too much male attention. Approaching the problem a different way, she turned it around backward, clipped the strap, turned it around again, and put it on that way.

  As she crossed her room, her mind examined the smooth cups that cradled a pair of soft, creamy globes: how strange it was to wear a bra. She paused and looked around the room to make certain she was alone as if a guilty child delving in her mother’s wardrobe. Chin pressed to her chest, the creamy swells and the vivid blue satin cups vexed her eyes, and she palmed them to make sure they were real. Upon inhaling, she sensed them rise and the flex of her bra strap.

  She sprayed a mist of perfume and walked through it, the thing to do if one’s a woman. The sweet aroma made her feel prettier somehow, and that seemed to be important to her new body. The phantom aches, the dull throb of her missing male appendages, intruded. Her left hand moved to the junction of her thighs, and through the satin, her sensitive labia felt fingers touch them. Taking a deep breath, she forced the cacophony of sensations from her consciousness and resumed dressing for the day.

  Comprised from clothes at the back of women’s closets, the eclectic array of garments offered some unique choices. She picked out a pair of stretch leather tights, shiny like liquid with a deep black finish, and a matching crop-top vest with a sweetheart neckline. The glossy black tights included a crimson side strip. The side panel traversed the outer length of her legs, and decorated silver embroidery adorned it. Likewise, the jacket included a crimson side panel that had silver embroidery, but the bolero lapels covered her sides, and that was it.

  She stepped into the tights and hopped around, cursing while she tried to pull them up her legs. With a red face, she walked to the bed with the tights around her ankles. She sat on the side of the bed and gathered up the right leg between her thumb and index finger. A little bit at the time, she worked the tights up her legs, but they ended at her hips. They molded to her body in the most obscene fashion, leaving little to the imagination, sculpting to her ass cheeks, and a heart-shaped contour across them, and as to the front, it stretched across the smooth arc of her crotch.

  She wrapped the crop-top around her chest and cinched the straps through the silver buckles. The patent leather demi-cups contrasted the crimson satin bra cups, which in turn complemented the crimson side panels. She felt very fortunate that it all matched, which seemed important; why — she had no idea.

  When a gentle knock came from her bedroom door, she opened a bit and peered out into the hallway. A beautiful blonde elva lingered in the hallway. “Hello, my name is Lyra Reylin.” She brushed a blonde lock behind her pointed right ear. “I thought you might like some company.”

  “Oh … um … sure.” Alex stood aside and held open the door. “That would be fine. I was almost finished. But I guess another opinion would be good.”

  She swept by wearing a dark floor-length lilac, gauze coat, and a light lilac satin gown. “I donated the outfit you’re wearing. I wanted to be a warrior like you, but my father refused. He said, ‘You are not meant to be a warrior.’” She glared at the floor and crossed her arms. “He’s wrong. I can fight.”

  Alex closed the door and said, “But could you kill?” She wrung her hands and moved to her dresser. “I’ve killed daemia, but that’s easy. Those things are so disgusting.”

  “And scary,” Lyra said, sitting on the side of the bed. She stared at her toes and became lost in thought. “I’ve lost good friends to them. Most days I wish they were back with me.”

  Alex cringed and turned away, asking, “What do you think?”

  “You forgot the jacket.” Lyra jumped up and rushed into the closet. She returned with a bolero jacket. Like the tights, the black kid-leather garment included side panels. Alex examined the jacket and then slid it up her arms. She tugged on the lapels and scrunched up her nose. “I don’t think I like having a bare stomach.”

  “You need to wear a belly button ring.” Lyra rushed over and picked out a sapphire ring. “This won’t hurt at all. It comes with healing magic.” Alex pressed her chin to her chest and watched as Lyra positioned the ring. When she released it, a sharp stick made Alex jump, but the pain disappeared seconds later. “Hmm, your ears aren’t pierced, strange. We should do them to; let’s find the matching earrings.”

  Alex leaned toward the mirror and brushed aside her wavy black locks. A blue gem sparkled on her right earlobe. “Huh, it feels fine, as though they had always been pierced.” She glanced at Lyra in the mirror. “So what else do you have that’s pierced?” Lyra blushed and wandered away. Only then did Alex realize how salacious the question sounded. “So you wanted to be a warrior?”

  “Yes, but … it was not meant to be.” Lyra picked up a dangly crystal earring and held it up to the morning light. “I’m engaged to be married.” Her fingers grazed her choker necklace and touched the blank oval at the front. It bore the crest of her house, and then her attention moved to her left ring finger, which would one day wear her husband’s ring. “My wedding ring will bear my husband’s crest.” She grimaced as if in pain and twisted her head. “He’s a good elvan. I’m lucky to have him,” she said with a strained voice.

  Alex tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. There was more to Lyra’s words than Alex perceived. “Is it like a human wedding ring?”

  “I have never seen a human wedding. What is it like?” asked Lyra and relaxed.

  “When humans marry, they stand before a minister and put gold wedding rings on each other’s fingers.” Alex rubbed her nose and averted her gaze. “I was married, but my wife left me to become an actress in Hollywood.”

  “You were married to a girl?” asked Lyra with girlish curiosity.

  “Um … yes.” Alex crossed her arms and tightened her lips. “I used to be a man, a human that is.” Her cheeks reddened, and she mumbled, “Then I became an elva.” She looked over her shoulder and inspected her reflection. Her sweetheart shape of her leather wrapped bottom, the tight swell of her breasts, and the hourglass figure belonged to a girl. “All of the guys keep looking at me. It’s weird.”

  Lyra giggled and then bit her lip. She sashayed to Alex, hands clasped behind her back. “We have legends of that sort of thing, but I never thought it would be real. What does it feel like to have a penis? Is it like your arm?”

  “What? No. It … well, it’s unique. It’s like your tongue.” Alex shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. It’s hard to describe.”

  She stared at Alex’s crotch and asked, “But you don’t have one now?”

  Alex jutted out her hips a bit and observed the smooth arc between her thighs and the stress creases in the leather fabric that pointed toward at her crotch. “No. I don’t have one of those anymore.” She whispered, “I have the other thing.”

  “Other thing? You mean a vagina?” asked Lyra and wrinkled her nose with a smile.

  “Yes,” Alex lamented. She flopped down onto the corner of the bed, put her elbows on her knees, and rested her chin on her fisted. “I know what the men have in mind, and it disturbs me.”

  “You mean sex?” asked Lyra with a giggle and scrunched her nose. She sat down beside her and clasped her hands between her thighs. “I’ve never been with an elvan.”

  “Yes, I mean sex.” She snarled and crossed her arms. “I am so not interested in that. I think I’m gay, you know, a lesbian.”

  “Breakfast, girls,” said Mrs. Marion Rodgers, a human female. Streaks of gray mixed with her dark locks and a kindly smile that wrinkled the corners of her eyes, the mature woman leaned into the room. It was their home in which they stayed. “Come get it while it’s hot.” Lyra had many questions, but she knew to wait. She rose to her feet and looked to see what Alex would do.

  Alex twitched her nose and rose to her feet. She kicked out her right foot and picked at the elastic material that sculpted to her backside. “These are kind of tight,” she said, her face contorted.

  “They’re meant to be,” Lyra said. “It allows a warrior to have freedom of movement — to fight. You can jump and kick a daemia.” She winced and clenched her fists. A moment later, however, she appeared fine. “My wedding will be everything I hoped for ….”

  Talk of weddings and flower arrangements caused Alex’s mind to wander. Once upon a time, she took up Karate in college. The first day the instructor made them punch each other in the face. If one cannot do that, then further training is pointless. Alex survived that day and eventually earned a third-degree brown belt. However, the class ended when the teacher fled the country: the IRS issued an arrest warrant for tax evasion. Alex wanted to continue, but the other students dissolved away.

  Hallways of wood and round windows, with a view of the forest and city, created a warm ambiance. Alex navigated the circular home and its maze-like floor plan, she was glad that Lyra knew the way to the dining room. The home, like most of those high in the tree, had circular and flowing shapes. This created a smaller footprint to the wind, allowing the occasional high winds to flow past with ease. The dining room lay in the center of the home with the great room beside it. A wall of windows allowed the morning light to illuminate the living area. “It’s like living in a bird house,” Alex said.

  “I’ve said the very same thing many a time.” Russell put his arm around his wife’s waist and held her tight. His blue eyes radiated kindness, and his smile wrinkled his freckled face. When he removed a faded baseball cap to scratch his head, one could see a few locks on his otherwise bald head. Although strangers, they made Alex feel at home, and she wished they would live forever. However, their weathered faces and age-spotted hands made it clear that little time remained for this loving pair.

  “Everyone take a seat. I’ll go get the food,” Marion said.

  “I’ll help,” Lyra said and glanced at Alex.

  Alex struggled with what to do: should she sit and wait for service or help serve? The question caused her to hesitate. She suspected that some vague, female unwritten rule was at play. “I should help?” asked Alex and screwed up her face.

  “Okay,” Lyra said with a smile and a nod. Alex made the right choice. The pair entered through a swinging door. Lyra asked, “How can we help?”

  “Those trays need to go on the table,” she said. One tray held pancakes and assorted pieces of toast, and the second held scrambled eggs, breakfast meats, and hash-brown potatoes. When they entered the dining room, Alex noted that all the men sat around the table, ready and expectant of service. She set her tray in the center of the table and noticed something peculiar. The men’s eyes shifted from the trays of food to her breasts, never making eye contact. When she left the table, she sensed eyes lingering on her bottom, so she hurried into the kitchen.

  “Oh Alex, this is my neighbor, Ava. She’s an elva like you,” Marion said. Alex discerned that from Ava’s pointed ears and her Elven beauty. When Alex extended her hand in greeting, Ava stared at it and furrowed her brow. “Alex wants to shake your hand. It’s a human greeting.”

  “Oh, I see,” Ava clasped Alex’s hands and held onto it. “It’s good to meet you.” Ava then led Alex by the hand to a circular table. She sat and Alex sat next to her, still holding hands. “I like this custom. Human traditions usually seem so strange.” Alex wondered when Ava would let go and wiggled her arm a little.

  Marion smirked. “That’s enough hand shaking. You’re going to need both of them to eat.” She placed 4 bowls of fresh fruit and 4 cups of coffee before them. Alex furrowed her brow and looked toward the kitchen door. Marion sat and placed a napkin in her lap. She cradled a cup of coffee in her hand and blew away a wisp of steam. “So Alex, you explored the Dragon’s Head. What was that like?”

  Alex sipped her coffee. “It was filled with undead guardians, monsters, and angry dwarves. Just when I thought we were safe, they stripped me naked and threw me into a sewer dungeon. I almost died of hypothermia, but other than that it was great.”

  Lyra coughed and patted her chest. “They stripped you naked and threw you into a dungeon? You must have been terrified.”

  “I don’t know. It reminds me of a ‘no-tell motel’ just outside of Houston. Only there I got bit all night long by bedbugs. I hate them.” When she observed the horrified expression on their faces, she said, “It was awful. I thought I was going to die.”

  “How did you escape?” asked Ava.

  “We told them that we were on a pilgrimage to honor one of their ancestors and gave them a gift. They showed us to the door and slammed it behind us. Say, do you know where my wolf, Socks, is?”

  “Russell told me that he went out with a group of hunters. Wolves have no use for human cities or customs.” Marion sniffed and said, “And they are terrible house guests. Still, I am always glad to see him, but he’s a free spirit.”

  Alex munched on a bit of melon and let her left hand go idle. When a hand clasped it, she chewed slowly and glanced over at Ava. They were holding hands again. Ava asked, “So Alex, when is your wedding? Who are you inviting?”

  “My what?” asked Alex, her mouth half-filled with food.

  “All elva are wear a necklace as a part of the clan’s Ascension ceremony. My brother, Elyon, graduated from the temple as a priest. When I turned 19-years-old, he performed my ‘Right of Inclusion,’ which gave me all rights as an adult member of the clan. We were all so proud that he could perform your ceremony. Have you picked out a necklace? Most elva’s necklaces are silver with a few embellishments. Do you have any noble blood? If you do, you can wear a gold choker necklace, and if you are a high noble, you get to wear platinum.”

  “We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Marion said. “Alex has to register first, and then she can wear her clan’s crest on her necklace.”

  “What do you mean, wear my clan’s necklace?” asked Alex.

  The girls wrinkled their noses and giggled. Lyra asked, “You have no idea of what clan you are from or their necklace? I thought everyone knew that.”

 

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