The spike heel bit on the pavement, listing to the left
which threatened to swipe the foot from under. But settled instead for merely
splaying the boot in a wobble. From the distance behind, I couldn't tell if
this was due to the spike heel itself having been worn down one of its halves,
or the result of the natural sashay that drove the heel into the pavement at such
an acute angle. The stutter lent the gait a teetering shimmy though.
The flap of an ankle buckle strap fluttered and reverberated
like an ensign with each stride, since it hadn't been fully clamped down
beneath its restraining bar. I wondered if it actually made any metallic
tinkling sound, but again was not quite close enough to pick it out against the
clamour of the noisy street. I increased my own lope in order to narrow the gap
between us.
Travelling up the leg now. The nylon wrapping the calves
rippled with each movement of the flesh they contained. Yet beneath their sheer
sheathing, I could trace the tensing and relaxing wiggle of the calf sinew as
the sole of the foot reclaimed contact with the ground. The knot of muscle moved
like devoured pray being worked through the body of a snake.
The rep's sinuous give and flow with the elliptical orbit of
the ball of muscle, was hamstrung further up the leg. That denier material
covering the haunches, did not twitch or ruffle at all. Instead it remained
ramrod stock-still, as if spray painted directly on to the skin. No matter the
pivot of the hips causing the thighs to sway, the seams of the tights were
immaculate vertical lines piloting the eye back down towards the tumult below
the knee. Like the bars of a portcullis slamming shut on the bedlam beyond.
I espied the short mini-skirt rucking up with each lift of
the leg into a forward step. Exposing the panty-line beneath the dark hue of
the tights. An enticing ridge, that teasingly reburied itself beneath the swell
of the skirt's fabric on the down-stroke.
Is this perhaps what my own flesh looked like while I'm in
motion? Were I to be adorned in women's raiment that is. Or was my twin's
mirror image revealed to me, not a reflective replication after all, but one deliberately
distorted and carved by the alien clothing? My brother was yet to have the
operation to change his body shape, yet nonetheless the legs would not be undergoing
any surgical modification. Though how he held his pelvis, may have been subtly
altered by the hormones be ingested.
Well may my sibling claim that he was a woman imprisoned
within a man's body. Yet I rather feel that this was another instance of him
trying to differentiate himself from me and to assert his own being by way of
contrast.
But he did make a fine woman, so maybe something untoward
had taken place within our shared womb. That the chemicals had wrought about an
unintended transformation which my brother was seeking to put right now. Who
knows, if we had been lying the other way round in respect of one another, I
may have received the concentration of chemicals that bathed and cast him so.
I slowed my pace. There was little point in pursuing him now,
in order to capture myself.
