Chapter Two

What I Lost in Breasts, I Gained in Arse

I turned up to the bathhouse early in the afternoon, seven days later. I watched a little of the action, but nothing could hold my attention for long. Something was amiss. Yvonne was late.

I sat in the steam room, burned up in the sauna, and wrinkled like an elderly prune in the freezing-cold plunge pool. Every time the door would swing open, I’d expect to see my friend, but nothing was happening. I went back to my bag, sent Yvonne a text, but got no reply. I tried to distract myself; someone needed a third person for their scene, but I couldn’t even concentrate on that. Yvonne wasn’t just late, she wasn’t coming, period.

Michaela turned up with the after work crowd. I watched with some amusement as the word went around that she was there. Several women tried strutting and posing around her; one walked by her slowly, dropping her towel from around her breasts just as she passed by. My Russian friend ignored them all. I even spotted Gabriella smirking at some of the more overt attempts. Michaela simply flicked her blonde hair, took a sip from her water bottle, and that was that; instant dismissal. I was about to go over and chat with her, when a black woman walked in, looking nervous but excited. I could understand her state—I’d never seen her before, so if she were a first-timer, she could either be shocked senseless by the proceedings, or be absolutely overjoyed at the women’s wonderland she’d found. I was happy for her. But as she walked past me, I suddenly became happy for myself. This new woman had the most amazing backside; I leaned forward discreetly to see it, and I have to tell you, the view was something else. Even with the towel wrapped around her, it looked huge, sticking out almost at a right angle to the rest of her. And speaking of towels, someone had given the new woman a very small one that barely went around her. Gabriella was known to usually be a neutral observer of all the shenanigans that went on in the bathhouse, but I couldn’t help but think that she was involved in this somehow. My suspicions were further raised when Gabriella came in. She sat in her seat at the head of the room.

Michaela stood, extended her hand in greeting. “Let me help you with that,” she said in her accented voice, which had taken on a husky tone. With a swift movement, she gently pulled the little towel from the new woman. “It’s too hot for that, isn’t it?” she asked. The woman nodded, giggling. She tried covering up her big boobs with her hands, but Michaela swept them away. My eyes gobbled up the sight of dark areolas and stubby brown nipples. “Come with me, darling,” Michaela crooned. My skin broke out in goose bumps at her words. What a welcome!

A dozen eyes followed the couple as they sat on one of the benches. Michaela rubbed over the woman’s shoulder, stroking in wide firm sweeps.

“Tell me your name, sweetie. Tell me what you like,” she asked innocently. I shook my head as I chuckled discreetly. Michaela’s tongue wasn’t just made for sex—she knew how to use it to get whatever she wanted.

“Jenny,” the new woman whispered.

“Let me take care of you, yes?”

Jenny nodded, wide-eyed. She froze as Michaela reached over to kiss her full on the mouth, but then the freeze softened, and Jenny responded, moving hands over Michaela’s sides.

“I’d heard about this place,” the new woman said breathlessly. “But I never thought it was real.”

“Oh, this is real, sweetie,” Michaela replied. She cupped Jenny’s arse. “This is really, really nice.” Jenny arched against her as Michaela squeezed harder; I imagined that her new friend would be left with a nice set of fingerprints after this session was over with. I guessed it would be a souvenir of sorts.

Several women stood, peering closer to get a better look at the fun. Gabriella cleared her throat, looked pointedly at a few. Everyone sat, but they leaned forward in the steamy room. I felt water trickle down my back to collect in a pool at the cleft of my own bum. I imagined Michaela licking the sweat away with her long talented tongue. I opened my eyes, surprised that they had even closed. Jenny had laid face down on the bench. The woman’s tits were squashed against the wooden slats, but what I lost in breasts, I gained in arse. Jenny’s bottom was perfectly round; it looked soft but not too soft. Michaela ran her hands greedily over the two globes, making the woman beneath her murmur with satisfaction. All the other women in the room murmured too.

“I’m going to part your ass cheeks,” Michaela stated as if she were giving directions through traffic. Jenny whined as Michaela spread her wide. I almost imagined a curl of steam rise from between her cheeks. Michaela dotted little kisses all over Jenny’s arse, over her thighs and the base of her back. Jenny wriggled, giggling.

“Ooh, that feels ticklish,” she squealed happily. Michaela dipped her face between Jenny’s cheeks, moving half-hidden in the crack of her arse. Where the other women could not see, I could picture, through experience, exactly what was happening.

“Still feel ticklish now?” one of the women beside me asked, her voice an odd falsetto. The women-only session had always been open to transgender folk too, but it took me a moment to work out that this woman was early on in her transition from male to female, if she was even going through it at all.

I smiled reassuringly. “Michaela’s a talented soul,” I whispered.

Jenny babbled incoherently as Michaela continued to rim her. She groaned out loud, gripping the edge of the bench as she grunted.

I stood up, and winked at Michaela as she continued to pleasure her new friend. I was glad that someone was having fun, but I had to search for Yvonne.

As I walked through the steam room, I imagined that all the women were in the middle of the London fog from days gone by. I imagined strange fiends lurking in every shadow.

If memory served me right, Yvonne lived near Hackney Central station. I spent fifteen minutes trying to spot the building where she lived, but I’d only been there late at night, and everything looked different in the day. It was almost eight in the evening, but it was the height of summer, so it was still bright and sunny. I found the apartment eventually, in a little block of flats near the Pembury Road. The building was old and decrepit, with cracked masonry, gates that teetered on their hinges, and a layer of grey dirt that covered most of it.

A couple of teenage boys hung around, leaning their bikes against the wall as they talked loudly to each other. They only stopped their jabber to ask me if I had any cigarettes. I didn’t smoke, but I did have some gum. They looked at it like the poor substitute it was, but they helped themselves all the same.

“I’m looking for my friend, Yvonne. She’s a short white girl, a bit scatty,” I said vaguely.

“Ah, Yvonne,” one of the boys said. “I know her.”

“Who?” his mate asked.

“You know, her that hangs around with that dirty Lezzer.” I bit my tongue at his comment. “Ain’t seen her in ages.” He popped a bubble of gum in my direction.

“Thanks, mate,” I said with a false smile. I wished I’d had a pack of cigarettes to give them now. With any luck, they could smoke themselves into an early grave. The world would be a healthier place all round.

I walked back to the train station, passing one of my favorite eateries, Pogo Café, on the way. I stepped in, bought myself a piece of their mango cake, which has been known to cheer me up no matter what. I spotted their notice board on the way out; it was covered in little strips of paper: ads for drumming workshops, flat shares, organic fruit and veg schemes, and the like. But then I saw a square of white card that simply read “Missing” with a girl’s name. I saw another card with pretty much the same thing on it, and another, and another. My blood ran cold. I discreetly removed the bits of paper from the board, stashing them in my pocket. I put the foil-wrapped cake in my backpack, and returned to Yvonne’s home.

Breaking into Yvonne’s first-floor apartment wasn’t so hard, especially when I realized that the back window to her kitchen was open. Sure I had to clamber through the overgrown, nettle-filled garden, and then inch my way up a drainpipe, but once I was in, it was fine. The dark kitchen looked strange in the twilight of the evening. But it wasn’t the light that was wrong. It took me a while to realize, but everything was neat, really neat. Yvonne was usually a very messy person; I’d heard of people getting lost in the clutter of her flat before. Yvonne’s bedroom was even tidier than the kitchen. There were no personal touches there, no feeling that anyone had once inhabited the space. Yvonne collected snow globes—I didn’t see a single one out of place; they were all lined up regimentally straight on her mantle. Something terrible had happened, I just knew it. As my heart began to sink, something caught my eye—one of Yvonne’s cats was hiding just beneath the dressing table. I picked it up, and petted the little thing. The cat jumped out of my arms after a short while; it landed on the dressing table, knocking some lipstick and powder over. A little card fluttered to the floor from behind the make-up. I picked it up, turned it over in my hand to see a typed address on it. I had a start.

I pocketed the card, and then I glanced carefully out of the window to see if the two boys were still hanging around outside; I didn’t want anyone to see me go out the front door. The boys cycled lazily down the street, casting long shadows on the tarmac. They disappeared as I continued to peep through the net curtains, but as they rode away, I saw someone else—a young man looking up at me from across the street. He stepped back into the growing shadows, vanishing from sight. It was no coincidence. I raced out of the front door, but by the time I crossed the street, he was nowhere to be seen.