Is This Love?

Sometimes I don’t really understand why, but with some new stories, I feel the urge to publish them the moment I finish writing...

...

Soft rays of morning sunlight gilded the room, gliding across the body of a young woman cozily nestled in bed. She lazily ran her hand over the sheet, pulling it closer, feeling the gentle fabric sliding over her new, oh-so-sensitive skin. Her fingers brushed against her breasts — a faint tingling swept through her body. She sighed softly, sinking with pleasure into this new sensation.

The girl's eyes lazily followed the light dancing on the wall, her lips — accentuated with rich lipstick — curled into a subtle smile.

He, her sweetheart… was probably already in the kitchen. She closed her eyes, picturing him fussing over breakfast, imagining the smell of coffee and toast... Damn, she’d earned this! After all the sleepless nights, the fear, the pain, and that awful year full of strange experiences, new discoveries — ever since she woke up in this body.

Click.

A light, almost weightless sound ran through the room, snapping her out of her thoughts. Barely audible, yet somehow too sharp against the calm of the morning silence. Sounded like a door… the front one?

The girl stretched lazily, arching her back with a soft moan, letting the sheet slide down a bit more, exposing even more bare skin. A mischievous smile played on her lips.

— At least he didn’t jump out the balcony, — she chuckled, half-joking, half-sighing theatrically, — and he didn’t leave a little “Thanks for the night” sign on the pillow.

She giggled, running her fingers through the sheet as she rolled lazily onto her side. Her body, ridiculously sensitive after a night of love, responded with a soft tension in her tits — when her bare nipples brushed against the cool fabric, she shivered, smiling to herself. God, it was so easy to turn this body on now... It felt like even a breath of wind could send her trembling.

— Sweeeeetheart, — she sang out, drawing out the vowels, — where are you? My coffee’s gonna get cold! Bring it over already!

No answer.

The smile slowly faded from her face. The girl frowned and, tossing the blanket off herself, sat up in bed. A chill swept over her bare shoulders, raising goosebumps on her skin, and her breasts quivered softly with each breath — like they had a mind of their own, echoing every emotion, every flicker of fear starting to rise inside her.

— Chris? — she called, raising her voice a little, — This isn’t funny!

Still nothing. Just the muffled ticking of the clock and the faint noise of the street outside the window.

She suddenly lowered her soft, delicate feet onto the cold floor, shivering at the jarring contrast after the warmth of the bed. Her ankles trembled elegantly, nearly buckling beneath her, as if her body still hadn’t adjusted to this morning weakness, this fragility that felt so foreign to her former self.

Her heart, filled with lazy tenderness just a moment ago, clenched so hard she thought it might burst right out of her chest. Something inside burned with pain, like an icy knife scraping through the most vulnerable corners of her soul.

— Chris?.. — her voice turned thin, trembling. She stood up, nearly stumbling over her own feet, and walked to the bedroom door, pressing her hands to her soft breasts. She already knew perfectly well he wasn’t there, and she already hated herself for still hoping, for ever believing — in his words, those looks, the promises, the endless “you’re special.”

Of course there was no one in the house but her. No need to check.

She laughed quietly, almost with a sob.

— God, what a fucking idiot I am!

Her throat tightened. She sank heavily onto the edge of the bed, her hair slipping down her back and tickling her slightly, and the cool air bit into her bare skin. Her breasts quivered subtly in time with her shaky breathing.

He was gone.

Just like that — bold, shameless. No explanation. No goodbye.

A sharp ache pierced her chest. She, who not so long ago used to leave women just like that — when she was still that womanizing asshole of a man, proud of how many chicks he’d fucked — now suddenly felt the full filth of that kind of move. But… she’d never done it like this. Never left when a woman had already woken up, looked you in the eyes, expecting… expecting you to stay.

Barely holding back the tears, she clenched her teeth harder. Scenes from the past month flashed before her: his messages, his jokes, his warm glances, tender touches… his promises.

God, she had even started to think maybe this was… normal. That he… that she had finally accepted herself — this woman in the mirror, this gentle, fragile creature that wanted not just sex, but to be loved.

And now? She stood there, in an empty apartment, with the bitter taste of humiliation on her lips — lips coated in that very lipstick he loved kissing — and this body that still remembered all those night touches, those caresses that had seemed so genuine and tender, through which she had lost her old self and found something entirely different.

"You fucking deserved this. You treated women the same damn way..." — the inner voice mocked. — "Only now you're the one on their side — some pathetic bitch who was told she was special, fucked, and dumped."

Her eyes stung and the first tears began to fall. She drew in a shaky breath, desperately trying not to cry, feeling her breasts trembling painfully with each inhale — too heavy, too feminine, too… hers.

At that moment, the door creaked softly, and the girl flinched, turning sharply, hope flashing across her face. But it was only the draft, playfully lifting the sheer curtain. And then something hit her — a sudden, jarring realization — and her eyes widened as the truth sank in.

— Shit, did I… really fall in love? — she whispered to herself, barely audible. — Like… like a woman? With a man?

A soft sob escaped her chest just before she suddenly burst out laughing — loud, hoarse, bitter, hysterical. Her tits heaved heavily, wet strands of hair clung to her face, and inside her grew that humiliating, cutting understanding: she had become exactly the kind of woman she used to laugh at.