Strange Conquests

[Emsy]

Hi All, 

This is my first story in a long while. It's 11 chapters and about 14,500 words; I'm not sure if I'll be writing a 12th chapter or if I'm happy with where it is. I'll be posting a chapter a day for the next 10 or so days. I'll post the first two here tonight... I appreciate your support and your feedback; I hope you enjoy!!!

Emsy

Chapter 1 - FRESH

            Coleridge Towers wasn’t the most luxurious building in the City, but it certainly was luxurious. It had old-school charm—uniformed doormen and 24-hour concierge service—along with more modern amenities that befit its early 1960s construction, like a fitness center with an indoor pool and central air conditioning. And while East 54th and 2nd was not the most happening neighborhood or the coolest address, Abigail needed someplace safe and convenient to work. The tiny studio was relatively inexpensive, especially for something in midtown, and while it didn’t have a fancy view, Abigail was excited to have found something that barely fit in her budget.

            While the apartment fit in her budget, Abigail definitely did not fit in socially with the Coleridge Towers crowd.

“Any packages for me, Mark?” she’d asked at the front desk on her third day in the building. The concierge seemed flustered.

“Hi Abby, please give me a sec” he said quietly, turning his attention back to a middle-aged woman glaring at her.

“As I was saying …” the woman continued.

“MARK, come on, really, is there a package for me there or not?” Couldn’t this lady wait for just a second?

“Before I was rudely interrupted,” the woman said, staring daggers at Abby. Abigail looked at the ground and gritted her teeth, determined not to show how frustrated she was to have to wait as the lady droned on and on.

“There dear,” said the older woman finishing her business at the desk, “things tend to go better for little girls who wait their turn.” Abby blushed and bit back an insult, rolling her eyes dramatically and sighing. The woman seemed unaffected by her show of annoyance. Some days, Abby knew, that’s just what it was to be trans and tall and visible: some asshole was there to knock her down and she couldn’t stoop to their level.

“Who was that witch?” Abby asked the concierge loudly as the older woman finally started to walk away. She hoped that the lady heard her, but the woman showed no signs of annoyance. Mark handed her the giant package that was waiting for her.

“Evelyn Matson? I’d watch out for her if I were you, Abby. She’s lived here forever and she’s just… peculiar.”

“You mean rude for no reason?” The “little girls” remark, while gender affirming, still stung.

Mark shrugged. “Everyone who lives here long enough has a run-in with Miss Evelyn some way or another. It’s easier just to try and not antagonize her”

 

            Abby didn’t see Evelyn Matson for the next few weeks, and a day or so after the unpleasant incident at the desk, she stopped thinking about her, too. Near the end of October, on her way to work, she saw her again in the elevator. It was one of those late fall days where the weather is unseasonably warm, and Abby was ready for her Friday dress down at work. Evelyn was already on the elevator when it arrived on the 14th floor.

            “Are you on your way to work, dear?” Evelyn asked, as Abby stepped on.

            “Um, good morning. Yes, I am,” Abby replied.

            Evelyn’s eyes lingered for what seemed like a few moments longer than necessary, staring at her bare legs underneath the short skirt.

            “Are you sure you won’t be…” Evelyn seemed to pause and look for the right words, “too cold?”

            “Nope!” Abby answered cheerfully, “I’m pretty warm-blooded!” Ugh, she thought, how annoying. Best to kill her with kindness.

            “Hmm… Are you sure you mightn’t want some stockings?” Five more floors to go.

            “No thank you! I know how to pick out clothes. Byeee!” Abby’s voice fairly dripped with sarcasm.  Three more floors before she could escape.

            “And telling someone ‘Byeee,’” Evelyn said imitating her drawn-out pronunciation of the word sarcastically, “you think that’s an appropriate way to speak to someone who’s trying to help you?”

            “Oh, only when the person trying to ‘help me’ is being a total bitch!” she answered with fake cheerfulness, using her hands to put air quotes around the words. The elevator doors thankfully opened before Evelyn could retort, and Abby practically ran to the front door. What was this lady’s problem with her? She huffed as the doorman opened the door for her and she stepped into the brisk fall morning. It was hard enough being the only queer person for like 10 blocks in either direction. Why did this lady insist on making her so uncomfortable?

            “That girl,” she heard behind her, as Evelyn loudly struck up a conversation with the doorman.

            By the time she’d swiped her MetroCard and made her way onto the northbound Q train she’d made up her mind: no more Miss Nice Girl, next time, she was just going to confront Evelyn directly.

Chapter 2 - VIEW FROM THE 26TH FLOOR

Contrary to popular belief, Evelyn Matson had not lived in Coleridge Towers forever. She’d purchased her unit 10 or so years ago because she loved the sweeping southeast views of the city and the river from the 26th floor. She’d liked it so much that when the penthouse unit above her had come on the market, with its ridiculously large private balcony, she’d purchased that one, too, and combined the units together. She’d knocked out the bedroom walls downstairs to create more living space and converted the upstairs unit into bedrooms. In the mornings, she loved to sit above the City’s hustle and bustle and bask in the morning breezes just after she got out of bed as she waited for the coffee to finish its preprogramed cycle in the upstairs kitchenette. 
            This morning, however, as she sipped her coffee and looked out toward the the river, she was perturbed. And Evelyn Matson was not a woman who liked to be perturbed. It had to do with the new girl in the building, Abigail something-or-other who had moved into one of the rental studios on the 14th floor. She recalled her interaction with her in the elevator yesterday: the gangly girl was cute, somehow uncomfortable in her own skin, not unattractive, but certainly not well-mannered. She was petulant. No, Evelyn thought, sipping her too-hot coffee, that wasn’t the right word. As an educated person, Evelyn felt obligated to find the proper word.  She blew on the coffee and waited a few seconds before taking a satisfying slurp. Fresh. That was the right word. At 42, Evelyn had never called a young person “fresh” before, but that was precisely what she was. The too-revealing clothes, the childish eye rolls, the air quotes, the bratty attitude, the interrupting. 
Yes… “Fresh” sounded like something that her mother would call a young lady like Abigail and it fit perfectly. A young woman in need of guidance and discipline. The coffee was no longer too hot, and Evelyn was determined to get to know this Abigail whoseit better. She thought again of the creamy white thighs in the elevator, the subtle curve of her bottom visible through the slit in the trench coat and smiled to herself; she was certainly not unattractive. And the ”Good Out Here” rainbow t-shirt suggested a certain… openness and, perhaps, kinship. She smiled to herself. 
To say that Evelyn had a plan would have been to give her far too much credit. Evelyn didn’t need plans; she simply determined that she would do things, and through sheer force of will, they happened. It had been this way since her parents died when she was young: a combination of willpower and wealth meant that little stood in her way. On her way out of the building, she stopped to chat with Mark for a moment, exchanging pleasantries. 
“What do you know about the new girl? Tall girl, 14th floor, renter I assume?” Mark nodded. “You know, the one who interrupted us when we were speaking the other day?”
“Oh, Abigail Lawrence?” Mark shifted uncomfortably. “She just moved into 14L recently. A studio. No dishwasher, hasn’t been renovated.” Mark paused, and while Evelyn didn’t ask any follow up questions, the intensity of her attention drove him to expand. “She has a little dog, a yorkie? Its name is Apples.” 
“Boyfriend, girlfriend, visitors?” 
“None that I’m aware of. She’s a teacher at Selborne.”
“Selborne? Really?” Evelyn was surprised. The girl must be whipsmart to teach at one of the most exclusive all-girls private schools in the City. “What does she teach?”
“English I think? It’s only her first year there, though, and she’s still finishing her master’s during weekend and summer breaks.” 
As she walked the four blocks to her office to do a bit of drafting work on the quiet Saturday morning, Evelyn considered how surprising it was that Abigail had managed to land a job at Selborne. “Progressive” in name only, it was the kind of old-money school that her parents had chosen for her, and Abigail’s choice of clothes certainly didn’t fit with the conservative image that the school cultivated with its uniforms and exclusivity. 
 
            Evelyn wasn’t the only one who had noticed that Abigail’s clothes didn’t exactly fit the Selborne image. On Friday afternoon during the last period of the day, Abigail was sitting in the teacher’s lounge when the Dean for Student Affairs, Ms. Thompson, stopped in and asked to speak with Abigail in her office. 
            “How’s it going so far with the 10th graders, dear?” 
            “Fine, thank you.” Sitting in Ms. Thompson’s office, the skirt felt especially too short and her confidence from earlier in the day evaporated. Should she cross her legs? “We’re working through Milton now, and it’s such a pleasure to read with the girls.”
            “Oh? I’ve always been partial to Paradise Lost myself. ‘Into this wild Abyss/The womb of Nature and perhaps her grave-/Of neither sea nor shore nor air nor fire,/ But all these in their pregnant causes mixed/Confusedly and which thus might ever fight,/ Unless the Almighty Maker them ordain/ His dark materials to create more worlds,--/Into the wild Abyss the wary Fiend/ Stood on the brink of Hell and looked a while…’”
            “I love that moment,” Abby began, “the vulnerability that Satan feels, the uncertainty. His dependance on God, but also his bravery…” Mrs. Thompson was struck again by how much she liked Abigail; she was a careful reader, and she had the potential to be a wonderful teacher. And being just 10 or 12 years older than the girls she taught, she was relatable, too. It was no wonder that the girls had taken such a shine to her. As they talked about the book, Abby seemed to lose herself in the language, and Mrs. Thompson shifted the conversation to her purpose with regret. 
            “In any case, I’ve had some complaints that I wanted to address with you.” Abigail’s blood turned to ice. Not this. Not again. She felt the tears well up and start to fall softly. Fired for being too trans? Too queer? For wearing the gay pride shirt? Stupid, stupid, stupid, she scolded herself, I should have known that I was pushing it… “It’s about your skirt, dear. It’s a bit… more revealing… than what we generally consider to be appropriate for a young woman. Now, as a role model for young ladies, we place the utmost importance on ensuring…” Abigail’s tears turned momentarily into tears of relief, and then into humiliation. She should have listened to that bitch in the elevator who made the nasty stockings comment. She took the proffered tissue and wiped her eyes to try and preserve some degree of dignity. She made out the words “leggings” and “only a warning” while trying to pull herself together. “And of course, if you ever want advice, you’re welcome to come to me.” 
            “Thank you,” Abby said tearfully as she finished blotting her eyes. “I appreciate it.” 
In reality, Abby did not appreciate it. She did not appreciate it at all. As she fled the office and the school for the weekend, she considered that asking for advice about her wardrobe from Ms. Thompson was about as likely as Satan in Paradise Lost returning to God’s good graces. Back in 14L, there was no need to even pull the curtains to enjoy the privacy of a good cry in her tiny, dark studio. At least this was hers, and no one could take that from her, she thought, as she curled up under the covers of the full-sized bed that dominated the space. She took her pills early, letting bitter progesterone dissolve under her tongue. 
She hugged her teddy bear, Stephen, and drifted off to sleep. Her dreams that night were ultra-realistic and terrifying. When she woke up the next morning, her sheets were soaked, like they always were when she had bad dreams. 
 

[Emsy]

Chapter 3 [Into the Wild Abyss]

 It wasn’t so much the idea that was bad as the execution.

After spending most of the day grading papers and attending her Saturday class on inclusive teaching practices she felt the need to let loose to vent, to engage in some kind of ritual to let go of the week. Some of the people in her class went for drinks after, but Abigail felt strange going alone. What if she didn’t know anyone?

“Come on, Cor!” Abby’s voice came out whinier than she intended. “Happy hour is like, a normal thing that people do after classes, and I don’t want to go by myself.” Coralina was her best grad school friend, blond, sweet, and pretty. Unfortunately for Abby, she was also straight, which had turned out to be pretty disappointing.

“I’m supposed to go to dinner with Rob and his friends?” Rob had appeared on Bumble or Tinder or some app and had been stealing her best friend ever since.

Abby sighed dramatically. “So you can’t have, like one drink, with your best friend because you’re going to dinner with Robert and his friends?”

“You can come if you want! I think that Rob has a cousin that’s gay that’ll be there I think?”

Abby rolled her eyes. “I don’t want you to set me up with the only gay girl that Robert knows because you feel guilty. Just come to happy hour for a little while? I’ve had a really shitty week and I just need to have a few drinks.” Abby gave her a pleading look.

“Abagail…” Coralina sighed and gave in. “Whatever. That’s not what I meant. I’ll go for a minute, but honestly, I have to make it home in time to change. I think he really likes it when I make his friends jealous.”

They met up with their friends at the Stumble Inn, a too-loud dive bar that seems like it always smelled like vomit and ended up drinking the $3 Buds that were on special. After three or four, the noise seemed to drop away and Abby found herself cornered at a table talking to Dave, one of the guys from her cohort, who was talking about his teaching placement at a middle school in the Bronx. “It’s just like,” Dave gesticulated dramatically, as he’d clearly had a few drinks, “so many of the teachers there have given up on a generation of kids. Like if you’re going to do the job, you shouldn’t just use the same lesson plan year after year, you should care about pedagogy and you should make your lessons engaging. It’s just like, I know we’re using Expeditionary Learning, but just because you have a curriculum doesn’t mean you just have to follow it all the time!” Abby nodded noncommittally and looked for Cora. “What’s your placement like?”

“I mean, I teach at a private school, so I feel like I miss out on the part where you can ask people for advice. Parents are difficult. Kids can be demanding. And they want their 10^th graders to read college-level books, which is fun, but it’s so difficult to plan for and to help kids understand. I’m teaching Milton to 15-year-olds, for God’s sake.”

“Milton Friedman? Isn’t he like an economist? That’s weird.” Abby sighed. Dave was precisely the reason that people didn’t think that teachers were smart. She looked around for Cora. Freaking Irish exit. Maybe Dave would buy her another beer…

 

Abigail woke up alarmed and damp. Sun was streaming through the windows, and as she gazed out across the rooftops, she could make out the river in the distance and the Queens skyline. Where was she? She sat up, and a wave of nausea passed over her. She groaned and fell back against the fortress of pillows behind her. White pillows. White sheets. White comforter. White walls. This was much nicer than her apartment. Oh God, had she hooked up with someone? Suddenly, Abigail sat up in a panic. She always wet the bed after a night of drinking but on someone else’s white sheets…

“No no no no no no no,” she said quietly to herself as she peeled back the covers. But the bed was dry. And so were the cute pink pajamas covered in breakfast foods that she was wearing. She experimentally pulled down the waistband to reveal a very wet pink princess diaper, the kind she’d bought online and wore only when she was feeling particularly little. Most nights, she wore a Goodnite, or nothing at all. Where was she? And how had she gotten into this diaper? Her face burned with shame. She just needed to find her clothes, find somewhere to change. But first, she needed to find a bathroom. Really badly. She threw back the covers, suppressing the urge to throw up and ran out of the bedroom door almost directly into Evelyn.

            “Good morning, Abigail.”

            “Oh, um… oh…” Abby’s face burned with shame, and she could feel the diaper poking out of her waistband and her bladder on the verge of bursting. “Um, good morning. I really have to like, um, you know, is there a bathroom?”

            “Of course, it’s just down the hallway to the left. Feel free to take a shower and I’ll leave you some clothes.”           

Evelyn directed her down the hallway and Abby ran off, waddling as she went, the obvious saturated, drooping padding between her legs making her look more like a toddler than a girl in her 20s. She tore off her diaper and peed desperately in the toilet. And a lucky thing, too, since it seemed unlikely that it would have held another wetting. Abby took the advice and got into the giant rain shower with the water on slightly too hot and she cried. She cried because she’d gotten drunk and was hungover. She cried because her friend had ditched her for some guy. She cried because she was in trouble at work. And she cried because she’d woken up someplace strange and scary: the apartment of a woman who despised her. When she was done crying, washing away the pee, and washing her tangled mess of hair, she got out of the shower and dried off with one of the giant white towels she found on the edge of the soaking tub. There was a new toothbrush still in its wrapping, and she brushed the flavor of cheap American beer and vomit from her mouth vigorously. She dried her hair with a blow drying she found on the counter and dressed in the panties and floral print maxi dress she found just outside the door to the bathroom when she was done.

            She took a deep breath and went to find her hostess.

 

 

[kerry]

I'm not quite sure how I didn't see this before, but it is a really good start with a very interesting central character. Looking fwd to more. ?

[D503]

This is awesome.

[Anton]

Great start, hope we see more chapters soon. You have a wonderful way of setting the scene and pulling us in with your story telling.