Chapter #13A Day in the Life of Claudia Nicholls by: Nostrum   You wake up to the sounds of your phone, another of the modern devices you allow yourself. They are not the mechanical squawks of an alarm clock, but the soothing sounds of chimes moved by the wind and the cry of a rooster.
You reluctantly unwrap from your bedsheets, feeling the smoothness of your new skin. It is very soft – the bed, at least compared to your old mattress – with pillows made out of down and feathers. You (well, Claudia, but you are her right now) have done her best to keep them as clean as possible, being hand-me-downs from her wealthy, aristocratic and late grand-aunt.
Acquainting to your new body prevented you from preparing for today’s workday, but you don’t regret it. The experience was so different from your typical moments of self-exploration – waves, rather than an increasing crescendo. You’ll have to change your bedsheets more frequently, but a pad underneath should prevent the bed from spoiling.
It’s obvious why Claudia chose to be a librarian. She's very organized, down to the activities she does each hour. Breaking that schedule would be unthinkable for her, but not for you.
You check her atemporal closet to choose your attire. You promptly ignore the business clothes – you only use them when strictly necessary, as they make you feel underdressed – and go straight to the dress ensembles. The choices are baffling, but you consult her mind for ideas.
How about the burgundy halterneck under the matching Brunswick, clasped with a corset? We could match it with the petticoat.
You like the idea – and you figure a wine neckerchief tied to the side will make you look lovely. Perhaps some ankle boots with small, frilly socks to let your legs show, and a little hat to avoid having to work with your hair.
The stockings will help hide the padding, she reminds you. But you don’t feel like wearing padded panties today.
You move towards your atelier, checking the box you bought for the reunion. You’re willing to give the silicone garment a test run, to see how it fits you. You lack underwear for it, but you feel daring today. It’s not as if you’ll sit anywhere but your car and office, and your petticoat should cover all.
As you take it from the bag, you can’t help but notice its bulk. You powder the interior – as the manufacturer recommended – and your hips, so that it slides easily. You slide your legs inside, adjusting the garment until it rests squarely on your hips, and move towards the atelier’s tall mirror to look at the results.
Perhaps Claudia feels some doubt about the look, but not you. As you turn around, you notice how the bulges become a fake pair of buttocks, making your ass look phenomenal. The seams are something to deal with, but your attire should be more than enough to cover it.
It’s almost as reviving the moment you slid into Claudia’s skin – and a bit unsettling, as your crotch unlatched from your own a couple times, making you feel the bulge inside before it got swallowed again. You’ll have to be more careful once you take it out, but you’re satisfied with the results.
There are a couple things to handle, but you’ve got enough time. Claudia wakes up three hours before work, as traveling from her cot to the Tyneside Municipal Library takes about an hour. This gives her enough time to cook breakfast and--
Bath! You just realized she takes a light shower before leaving – and since you didn’t bathe yesterday, you'll need to make it a heavier one today. Which means you’ll have to remove the garment and replace it once you’re dry. You’re not enthused to make a full breakfast (that’s for off-days, after all), so you figure some fresh fruit should save you some time. More than you need, you figure.
And with all that extra time... How about a little self-exploration before you go?
--
If it were for you, you’d be on the most boring job ever. Tyneside’s Municipal Library is seldom visited compared to the newer City Library, but its assortment of old and rare books is unmatched by the latter. Your job gives you full access to these tomes, given that your particular job is to maintain them. (Not to restore them, though – that’s Paula Derby’s job, and one you don’t envy.)
You read a first edition copy of The Grapes of Wrath for your leisure, waiting for someone to attend, when you hear the smooth and deep voice of Herman Woodrow greeting you. “Bored to your wits, madam? That’s the fifth time you’ve read that book since we’ve known each other.”
You take your eyes off the book only to see him. He’s a professor in nearby MTSU despite being an alumni and former teacher at Tynemouth. His decision to switch tenures was – to your surprise – his love for teaching, a rare choice these days.
Which gives you both an excuse to see each other. Something you don’t mind, for he’s gorgeous – short auburn hair, piercing gray-blue eyes, a square jaw with a stubble that steadfastly refuses to disappear and a melting smile. His tweed coat and khakis can’t hide his physique, as you can see his chiseled pecs flowing from the window in his shirt, as his own form of cleavage.
“Dr. Woodrow,” you tell him, knowing he does that on purpose. “Should I remind you of the dress code in this library?”
“I guess I must have forgotten my necktie,” he replies.
“Then you should...” You stop as Claudia warns you. You sigh and chuckle. “Yes, I am bored to my wits to forget you hate ties. But even reliving old favorites makes the time flutter.” You close the book, reflexively sliding the bookmark, and focus all your attention on his eyes. “Are you here for business?”
It’s never solely business, Claudia tells you. He wouldn’t come near break time otherwise.
“I need to consult the usual – a student challenged me in linguistic evolution and I wish to prove him wrong.”
You know the “usuals” - the first edition of the Oxford Dictionary, the Glossolalia (he prefers it to The New World even if the latter is more complete) and the Campbell edition of the Anglo-Saxon Dictionary – but though you’re not a philologist like him, you know he’ll need examples of use from books, which almost always means adding The Canterbury Tales or the Old English version of Beowulf.
And you know where they are (and whether they’re in use or not), to the point you have memorized the route to gather them the quickest. “I’ll get them for you. Old or Middle English?”
“Religious term, which means The Book of Sydrac.”
That takes you for a loop. You know there’s a late Middle English translation of the book of the Old French original, which is strange as Herman loves to use Chaucer because it encompasses the original writing. But then you realize the term must have come from French, which is why he went for that lesser-known example.
Unfortunately, that’s not a book that’s requested that often, which means you’ll have to consult the system. That shouldn’t take you long, but it throws you under the bus that you have to do so, since you pride yourself in memorizing almost every book in this place.
“That will take longer,” you tell him.
“That gives you an excuse for someone to cover you up while we drink some tea. You haven’t taken a break, have you?”
“I was about to,” you tell him, suspecting that was his plan from the get-go.
“Then separate my books and meet me in the entrance. My treat.”
You stand up, smiling at him. “I’ll meet you there once I finish.” You turn around, shaking your enhanced caboose as you move towards the index, bending slightly for him to enjoy.
And that makes you wonder. Did he notice, and asked for that specific book just to admire it?
--
As you sit on the same cafe where you made your choice yesterday, sipping some black tea and taking a bite off a plate of sweets, you idly listen to Herman's tale of how a student challenged him in his Etymology class while your mind lies elsewhere.
You know – or, at least, Claudia tells you – his invitation is part of an elaborate mating ritual. The invite was the first part. Then the small talk - he tells you about his day, you tell him about his. Then he makes his move.
"Have you thought of my invitation for dinner at Oceanside?" You know that restaurant caters to everyone, but specifically to wealthy people - a place your parents never took you, and that Claudia finds too haughty for her simple likes.
If it was for Claudia, her answer would be "no". Not because she doesn't like Herman, because she does. He's a charming man, well-behaved and funny - his tales are a bright moment of your work day, which is why you accept invitations like this. He's also very handsome - else, Claudia wouldn't dream of him at night, imagining she's devouring his lips while her caresses her. He's an old soul, a gentleman of yore, in a young body, and that ticks all of her tastes.
And most importantly, he's the son of Daniel Woodrow, one of the "old money" families of Tyneside. It's one of the reasons he had the job at Tynemouth, the reason he has a studio on the historical residential district, and why he has no worries about money.
Any woman would kill to have a suitor as him, but you know why he rejects him. She has a selection of suitors asking for her hand, equally qualified as him. And Claudia Nicholls is a romantic, a demure woman yearning for the love of one man.
Or rather, that was the old Claudia Nicholls. You don't have those inhibitions. Why live content with a dream when you could make it a reality? Self-exploration was great, but wouldn't it be better to experience intimacy for the first time?
All you need is to say "yes". And keep that a secret from your other suitors. They don't have to know, right?  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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