A Fresh Start
Chapter 1 : Introduction, June 1993

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, NonConsensual, TransGender, Oral Sex, Slow, Transformation,

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 : Introduction, June 1993 - After a split with his girlfriend, a young man is changed by a magical spell. Will this give him the fresh start he so desperately wants?

I can't do this without going right back to the beginning, but I'll try and make it as brief as possible.

I was born Paul Hammond, I'm thirty-two years and I'm what you might call a 'rocker'. I know it's probably not fashionable to say so, but I was into Whitesnake, Foreigner, UFO, Zep, Black Sabbath, Michael Schenker and practically anything else you could bang yer 'ead to.

I had motorbikes from the age of sixteen and by the next year had graduated from a moped (God, did I actually used to ride one of those?), to a Honda CB 125 cause it was cheap.

My hair, much to mother's disgust was (I'm sorry to say — well no I'm not actually. It was right for the time, however embarrassing it may be now) a mullet. Of course I didn't call it that and the term hadn't even been coined then. I modelled mine on that of David Bowie — my hero — so it was long and feathered at the back, short and spiky on top.

I frequented a club in Brighton called the Hungry Years. Actually, its full title was the Hungry Years Gathering Place and it was where all the bikers and rockers hung out. It was right across the road from the Palace Pier and made for a nice ride there and a nice ride back.

It was also where I met Trisha.

She was a biker babe, long curly or unruly hair, hippy-style skirts, a biker jacket and that constant smell of patchouli.

I liked it anyway.

I was heading towards being twenty-one when I met her and my bike had graduated to a Suzuki GS1000. It was a rat with a cut-down registration plate (making it difficult for the cops to ID you) and went like pooh off a stick. It was my pride and joy. Me and the bike were well known in the club and it was almost like a second home, but things move on.

Ten years later, found me something of an old 'fuddy-duddy'. Gone was the bike and gone were the trips to the Hungry Years. That was okay, because they had long since ceased to play the old rock standards I so got off on like 'Can't get enough of your love' by Bad Company, 'Doctor, Doctor' by UFO, 'Runnin' with the devil' from the excellent Van Halen and many more. By then it was thrash metal and well, I think my head had had enough of being thrown around indiscriminately, my face being whipped by what was now a full head of hair that almost reached my arse.

As a youngster, I was always head and shoulders above everyone else. I left school in '77 at just under six feet tall and weighing in at a princely 154 pound (that's eleven stone in English) and by now, I was six feet three and only half a stone heavier (or 161 pounds). I looked like a golf club without my clothes. It was only the leathers that gave me any 'shape' whatsoever and despite having done many jobs labouring or 'lifting heavy things', I never seemed to get any better definition.

Trisha and I had moved in together shortly after we met and although we never married, we stayed together because we wanted to. I was attracted to her looks, her smell and intrigued I think, by her interest in Wicca. My interest petered out over the years, but hers never did. For the most part though, we were like two peas in a pod, but as I said earlier, things move on, or change, or something.

I went into computer programming, mainly from a desire to earn better money, but Trisha carried on doing basically semi-skilled tasks, saying that money wasn't the route to happiness. She may have been right, but I noticed that she didn't mind the luxuries that my new wage packets were bringing in!

We had a plan and it involved a house in the country with a few acres of land and possibly a couple of horses. We decided that it would be better if we rented a property and saved for our 'dream'. So we stayed in our rented, two-bed house while I saved my money as far as was possible, trying to keep the dream firmly in sight.

As the years passed, we seemed to slide apart. She finally saw that on my own, there was no way our dream was going to come to fruition, especially since she had now become accustomed to those little luxuries, which were now considerably more numerous.

She got herself into college, ostensibly to get a better paid job and help me to save. During her two-year course however, my wages had to stretch to cover everything and whilst I was scraping some savings together on a regular basis, she still wanted those luxuries.

They had one positive effect though and that was filling me out. I became heavier going up to about fifteen stone (210 pounds) and it suited my frame more, however, I was quite despondent that I never really got a more masculine physique out of it; I just looked 'thicker', retaining the slender arms and generally androgynous bodily appearance that I had always found so embarrassing in the past.

Anyway, having successfully completed her college course, Trisha entered the big, wide world of business and better wages. We became happier for a while, feeling more comfortable with ourselves and each other and the lifting of the entire financial burden from my shoulders was a real Godsend.

Unfortunately, as time went on and I don't know how it came about, we stopped talking to one another about what was on our minds, unless it was to complain about squeezing the toothpaste from the wrong end of the tube or leaving to toilet seat up.

We had little time for each other as work or rather 'careers' seemed to be the focus of attention. We spent less time together and towards the end, sex became less and less frequent. I wasn't surprised as I realised that with both of us so focussed on earning, there was little energy to spend on 'enjoying' each other.

Every now and again, I'd mention it and after a long sulk, we might get around to a bit of fun between the sheets but in the end, it just didn't happen at all. I thought it was all due to us saving for our dream house and dream lifestyle, but I couldn't be sure and I have to say, it made me surly and oftentimes more than a little short-tempered.

Trisha in the meantime, was rising through the ranks in her job and worked late a lot more often, so I saw even less of the woman I loved. When we did have time together, the atmosphere was frosty and I found myself becoming less interested in what she was up to.

Three months ago, she announced that she couldn't stand my moodiness any longer and was going back to her mother's. I was stunned, since I didn't believe that I was the one to blame. She was the one for whom the job was the focus of importance in her life and I felt that I was the one that had been pushed to the sidelines. She packed up a load of clothes and personal effects and that was the last I saw of her for ages.

I was devastated. I thought that to her, money wasn't everything, or however it was that she put it. In the end, I just thought 'good riddance to bad rubbish'.

I had done nothing that I could think of and true, I wasn't the happiest bloke on the face of the planet thanks to having supported the two of us for so long. I was tired and cranky a lot of the time, but I thought we understood that it was a temporary thing that would ease as we started sharing the responsibilities.

Dianne, Trisha's mother, was over the moon. She didn't like me because of my long hair, love of motorcycles and rock music. Despite having it pointed out that my appearance and interests were precisely what Trisha found attractive, she refused to accept me and I guess that could have been part of what parted us.

I did try and make friends with her mum, but I always seemed to end up on the receiving end of one of her mother's gripes. She had a tongue like a machete and wasn't afraid to use it. Of course, when we got home, it would always be my fault that any argument or disagreement happened and I'd spend the next few days in the dog house.

As if Trisha's leaving wasn't enough to contend with, I finished my contract as a consultant and for the first time in ages, had nothing to move on to. Talk about the shit hitting the fan.

So there I was, on my own in the house, no job and nothing on the horizon. I hadn't heard from Trisha since the day she left and although I phoned her mother's on regular occasions, I never had a message returned and what was worse, she never came and picked up the rest of her stuff. I suspect she thought I was too much of a wimp to actually do anything about it.

I became depressed and reclusive.

I had a tidy sum of money saved for what I thought was our dream and so was fairly self-sufficient, but as each week went by and all I seemed to be doing was spending, I became quite paranoid about the finances. As a result, I dropped to under 154 pounds and at nearly six feet three, I probably went back to looking like a golf club! I became slovenly and didn't much care about anything. I stopped going out and socialising and just faded into the woodwork.

After a couple of months, I managed to pick myself up and with the greatest effort I have ever put into anything, I started looking for work again, I cleaned up, washed up and got the majority of my self confidence back. It didn't extend to having the courage to go out socially, but at least the house was presentable, I was clean and fairly smart and when I did go out, like to the shops, I didn't look like some kind of vagabond.

Once I'd picked myself up, I re-evaluated what I wanted from life and what I really wanted was a fresh start, the chance to begin again and not make such an unholy fuck-up of it this time.

They say (whoever they are), that admission is half the battle and I realised that I couldn't blame Trisha for where I found myself. I could only blame me and after slapping myself on the wrist a few times, admitting that I was at least partially to blame, I got my act together.

I hoped that having dragged myself up from the pit of oblivion, there might be a chance that Trisha and I could get back together. Maybe, just maybe, she would see that I had changed for the better and she and I could carry on, not from where we left off, but from now, with a new direction, new priorities and a new purpose.

I started ringing Trisha at Dianne's again, but still I got that cold reception and a complete refusal to allow me to even speak to her. I tried a different tack and suggested that if her leaving was a permanent thing, she might want to come and sort through the bits and pieces that she had left behind, or I was going to throw it all out.

I felt quite pleased that I had plucked up the courage to say that, but it made no difference. Trisha never phoned back and for my trouble I got it in the neck from her mum for being such a callous bastard.

Go figure.

It didn't dampen my spirits as despite Dianne's negativity, I remained buoyant and was getting better daily.

See, that didn't take long and it only remains now, for me to bring you up to date to where the real stuff started, the stuff this account is really about.

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