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Man Wanted
Man Wanted
Man Wanted
Ebook268 pages3 hours

Man Wanted

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"PERFECTLY ROMANTIC"

Alison needs a man.

She’s inherited a fixer-upper from her parents, but with her own business floundering and far too much work needing doing, she’s in danger of going under. It doesn’t help that she’s hopelessly disorganized and has a phobia against DIY of all kinds.

Yes, she needs a man, but she has no intention of getting embroiled in yet another abortive romance. She’s sworn off men entirely, at least for now.

Alison’s problems seem to be solved when a strange stone ring she finds at the market transforms her into exactly the kind of man she needs – strong, determined and a whiz at DIY – but she really isn’t sure she wants to spend time in a man’s body.

But being a man is so much fun and before she knows it, Alison is getting the jobs around the house done, finding occupation as a local workman and even getting involved in a romantic entanglement with the beautiful, but complicated, Sangeeta.

It all seems to be going a bit further than she had planned!

"A PLEASURE TO READ"

LanguageEnglish
PublisherEmma Finn
Release dateOct 14, 2014
ISBN9781503020542
Man Wanted
Author

Emma Finn

Emma Finn is an exciting and prolific author who has been publishing popular stories online for years. She releases a new book every one to two months right here and posts new chapters free online every day on: http://transformation-stories.blogspot.co.uk/ & http://emma-finn-thrillers.blogspot.co.uk/

Read more from Emma Finn

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    Book preview

    Man Wanted - Emma Finn

    Chapter One

    A Woman in Need of a Man

    1

    I needed a man. That was my problem.

    No. Scratch that.

    What I needed was a workman – a big brawny hunk with muscles everywhere and absolutely no strings attached who also worked for free. I didn’t want a boyfriend – certainly not a husband – maybe never again. I’d been scorched one too many times already by the man-fire. No. Men were trouble.

    But that did leave me in a tough spot with this blasted house.

    I’d inherited a fixer-upper in the most complete sense from my elderly mother and not much else in terms of cash. It was a big house in one of the oldest suburbs of Nockton Vale but it needed an awful lot of work – most of which I didn’t have the upper body strength or technical wherewithal to get on with. With my own business as a dressmaker taking an awful hit in the recession I was practically unemployed. Losing my mum had been painful and difficult but this house had been a Godsend in its bittersweet way. If only I could get it fixed up and on the market.

    I really didn’t need a home this big but if I could sell it for a tidy enough sum I could downsize quite happily and reinvest the spare capital to get my business back afloat. Right now it barely existed beyond a blog I didn’t update regularly enough and a web store that was in need of a serious overhaul.

    The trouble was, I wasn’t cut out for DIY – I never had been. If there had been a girl at my school when I was growing up less likely to end up picking up a hammer, I couldn’t think of her. I didn’t have a masculine bone in my body. I was all flouncy skirts and court shoes, tight feminine tops and delicate intricate hairstyles that took the better part of an hour to sculpt in the morning. I was bangles and make-up and carefully chosen colour-coordinated outfits. I was manicured nails and girly hobbies. I loved to embroider and sew. I enjoyed crafts of all kinds. I was forever planning my next intricate and homemade birthday gift for friends, like bookmarks and scrap books, cushion covers and hand-crafted candles.

    I did own some tools, normal and electrically-powered, inherited from my dad, but I didn’t have a clue as to the best way to use them. I usually got a friend to help me, even when changing a light bulb if I couldn’t afford to hire in an electrician. And I definitely couldn’t afford that right now.

    And I was cut off from my friends now too. They all lived over forty miles north. I’d moved away from my parents after college but I’d come back here to Nockton Vale to do the house up. I didn’t actually know anyone apart from the postman and even that was only in passing.

    It was kind of a disaster.

    I was trying to repaint the hallway but I’d already dripped paint on the stair carpet. I couldn’t get the dust sheets to stay in position and the ladder was almost too heavy for me to lift. The painting itself had already worn me out and I’d hardly got any done. At this rate it was going to take years to get the house finished!

    It was so frustrating!

    I thunked the roller back into the paint tray and cried out in exasperation. I’d just about had enough of the whole thing. I was tempted to sell the house cheaply and quickly. It wouldn’t be as good an investment that way, but maybe that was all I was capable of. At least I could start to get my life back on track, such as it was.

    Feeling angry at myself, I decided to go out instead of wasting any more time.

    If in doubt, run away: that was the motto I’d based my life around so far and it had always done me proud.

    I covered up the paint tray and got out of my scrappy clothes; took a long hot shower, cursing my bad luck and wishing my life had panned out differently.

    I never left the house as a rule without looking my best so I spent an hour or so drying and setting my hair, applying my makeup and picking out a nice ensemble. I was only going to drift round the shops but there was no reason not to look good at the same time.

    I settled in the end for a gypsy-style top with a wide neck off the shoulder and puffy sleeves. I chose a long skirt and boots to complement it and did my hair up with little ringlets cascading over my ears. I loved earrings – big and small. I chose some larger ones and smiled at myself in the full length mirror by the front door.

    I knew I shouldn’t be shirking my duties but I couldn’t bear to waste another minute inside this stuffy old place. I had to get out!

    And anything could happen while I was out. Nockton Market was famous for its surprising little knickknacks. Maybe something there could answer all my prayers…

    2

    Nockton town centre was split in two by Hurley Park and each side had a different flavour. The south side was, on the whole, the standard high street shops that could be found anywhere: big department stores and ladies fashions. I tended to do most of my shopping there but I also had an eye for the eclectic.

    The side south of Hurley Park was closer to the age of Chauncy where my house was. The Narrows. It was slender streets and timber-framed buildings; little claustrophobic squares tucked well out of the way. That was where Nockton Market was, not in an open place but tucked into the labyrinthine streets and alleys. Some of the shops there were effectively open market stalls stretching back indoors but in other parts the streets themselves were filled – in places from one side to the other – with canopy covers and tables strewn with bric-a-brac or quirky artwork.

    Obviously I had almost no money to spend but I had never let that deter me before. I loved the Narrows. I loved the surprises waiting around each corner. Yes, a lot of it was cheap tat but there were some extraordinary artisans who lived here, many it seemed in the tiny garrets above the constricted streets. It was possible to stumble across hand-crafted items of extraordinary skill and ingenuity. I couldn’t buy any of it, even though the prices were usually fairly reasonable, but there was no harm in looking.

    I wandered the cobbles with a dreamy smile on my face, glad to be distracted from the pressure and guilt of doing up the house. Would that I could win the lottery and do this all day, every day, with cash in my handbag to buy it all!

    But you had to be in it to win it, and I wasn’t. I preferred to forge my own destiny.

    I got a good share of admiring glances from the men but I didn’t give out any hooks to reel them in. It was always flattering to be noticed but I really wasn’t in the right place for romance at the moment.

    After half an hour or so, when I was about as deep into the Narrows as I’d ever gone (though I suspected not as far as the centre), I found a little stall I hadn’t seen before filled with darling local jewellery. Each piece was crafted from stone, a selection of necklaces and earrings; even rings; plus some more decorative ornaments of varying sizes including some lovely carved pebbles. Each stone piece was formed with intricate swirling designs but no sign of chipping. It was all very high quality. Despite my status as a pauper I tarried longer, examining many of the items.

    A lady with long curly red hair showering around her shoulders manned the stall. She smiled at me in a very relaxed and content way, obviously ready to step forward if I made an enquiry but giving me the space to browse. I raised my eyebrows and smiled back at her.

    The stone is all locally sourced, she said.

    Mined?

    She shook her head. Not really. Just found. Around the ravine. Loose rocks.

    Oh, cool. I imagined her foraging near the cliffs above town, carefully picking out the best pieces. I picked up one of the rings. I’d never seen a ring carved from stone before. It was lovely. I pinched it in my fingertips and turned it back and forth. The sigils on its surface were black grooves but something glistened in the crevices as I turned it.

    That’s one of my favourites, said the woman. It’s very special.

    I made eye contact and smiled. Yes; lovely; but… The ring wasn’t quite as thin as I was expecting now I got a closer look. Is it for a man or a woman?

    Either, she replied. It’s unisex. I try to keep most of my items gender-neutral to broaden the appeal.

    It is nice. Before I could stop myself I glanced at the price tag. And not too expensive. I was pleasantly surprised. I was almost tempted. Maybe I’ll just try it on.

    I hooped the ring over the end of my first finger and started to slide it into place. I could tell it was going to fit me before it was half way down.

    I paused, revolving it slightly, then pulled it off and set it back on the table. Thank you, but… I stepped away then looked down at it. The woman was still smiling, eyebrows raised slightly; expectantly.

    The ring was pretty…

    I’ll take it, I said, reaching for my purse.

    I couldn’t afford it – I really couldn’t – but it called out to me. I couldn’t resist it.

    The red haired lady picked it up and popped it carefully in a tiny purple paper bag then taped it closed and accepted payment.

    She passed me the bag and I thanked her for it, then I put it in my handbag and went on my way.

    3

    I didn’t remember the ring until much later; well after I returned home.

    I was procrastinating again, doing anything to put off getting down to work. My latest excuse was a sudden and desperate need to tidy my handbag. I decided that it couldn’t possibly wait and definitely took a higher priority than painting the stair walls.

    There was a lot of crap in the bag: old receipts, makeup, cinema tickets, old batteries. It was kind of ridiculous. I made three piles: things I wanted to keep in there, worthwhile items that didn’t deserve to be crammed inside, and shit that needed chucking out as soon as possible.

    The bag with the ring in was about to go into the third pile when it came back to me what it was and I ripped it open. The ring dropped out onto my palm.

    I stared at it for a minute then flipped it over, tracing the intricate designs. I didn’t know now what possessed me to throw good money away on it, but it was pretty. I held it up between finger and thumb, looking through the hole, then slipped it without ceremony onto the first finger of my left hand.

    I held my hand up, admiring it, really loving it actually, then my fingers curled and I frowned, feeling… odd.

    In fact I felt very odd suddenly. It was almost… It was painful; like… It reminded me of a wound I’d had as a girl that went septic – the scratching feeling that had spread up my arm until I’d taken antibiotics to clear it.

    Like something was in my blood, spreading up my arm from…

    Oh my God.

    The ring.

    I held my hand up in front of my face, fingers splayed, staring at it.

    It felt cold to the touch but that cold was burning me like ice would. My hand was shaking.

    I reached to pull it off with my other hand but gasped, pulling my fingers clear when they got burned too.

    The pinched scraping in my blood vessels was most of the way up my arm. I had to do something. I had to take it off!

    But then a flicker of light flashed, dazzling me, a free-floating pulse of energy close to eye level. No more than two seconds later I felt a compression all over my body but churning into my stomach, clawing down at it with a terrible weight.

    Another flickering flash pop. I closed my eyes.

    The pain was in my chest. In my heart.

    And then suddenly it was everywhere.

    I snatched at the ring, pulling on it, ignoring the burning on my other fingers, gritting my teeth and moaning with the exertion.

    It had to come off!

    But then another flash came, brighter than the others, accompanied by a deep rumble and then a tearing snap, and instantaneously, all the strange sensations vanished and I fell against the table, breathing erratically, almost wheezing.

    All the strength was gone from my limbs. I could barely raise my head. When I eventually managed to I caught sight of my hand resting on the table close to my ear and stopped dead.

    It wasn’t my hand.

    It wasn’t my hand at all.

    It was a man’s hand: big and feathered with hairs! It had thick stubby fingers and blunt nails, the skin tough and leathery.

    I jerked upright, raising it to look at, then snapped up the other one. It was the same! Two men’s hands connected to my arms!

    And there on my left hand was the ring – the stone ring – and it still fit me perfectly!

    4

    I scrabbled up and back from the table, knocking the kitchen chair over onto the floor.

    It wasn’t just my hands. It was my arms and my legs and my torso. I looked down my body in disbelief, clutching at my broad but suddenly flat chest.

    Bloody hell! My hand went to my mouth as though it were grabbing for the deep masculine syllables that had just come through my lips. There was dense stubble on my upper lip, on my chin and cheeks. Against my face my fingers scraped, big and clumsy.

    My clothes had changed. My clothes had changed too! I wasn’t wearing the gypsy top and skirt anymore. In the flashes of light it had changed to a chequered shirt and jeans, the cuffs of the shirt folded back almost to the elbow.

    My forearms were double the thickness that they used to be, the skin a lot darker, the same thin web of downy hair down their length. I looked at them, turning them, then touched my face, the suddenly short hair on my head; starting to really panic.

    It was the ring. It had to be the ring!

    I grabbed at it and pulled, but it was tight. I became even more frantic, yanking so hard it was painful. I thought it was stuck fast but it shifted and I gasped in relief.

    Then I stopped. I kept my fingers on it, ready to pull, but I raised my head, looking away, thinking. I glanced back to the ring then away out the window.

    I pushed the ring back into place.

    I had to see what this looked like. While it was still happening.

    Apart from the odd glistening in the carved grooves, the ring didn’t look magical in the least and it had started to come off. I could take it off in a minute.

    I suddenly felt very calm.

    There was no hurry. Logic said I would change back to myself when I took it off. I had no intention of putting it back on again once it was off so maybe… I should just take a look in a mirror – see what I looked like.

    A slow grin spread across my lips.

    This was scary as hell but it was also kind of exciting! Me: looking like a man!

    I considered it for a moment longer then went through to the hall, approaching the mirror nervously. And there I was.

    I really was a man! There wasn’t anything feminine about me! And I wasn’t bad looking either. I was at least a few inches over six feet, much taller than I had been, even in heels. My new body was big. Very big. My shoulders were broad, arms thick and muscular, thighs like iron. My chest and torso were huge. The body wasn’t skinny – there was a lot of mass – but it seemed to be mostly muscle; maybe like a heavyweight boxer off-season, just slightly off-prime.

    My hair was short round the sides and back but full of body (and product) on top. I had sideburns!

    I stepped closer to the mirror to see my face better.

    My face.

    My head and neck were as big and masculine as my body. My normally slender eyebrows were now thick. My eyes were squarer, my lips almost skin-coloured. I had strong carved cheekbones and dimple creases.

    I chuckled and grinned at myself. This was incredible! It had really happened!

    I’m a man, I said, surprised again by the voice, so deep that it sounded like it came from the bottom of a well.

    This was absolutely crazy! But I loved it!

    (As long as I could change back – I definitely didn’t want to stay this way)

    I grinned again, picking a name at random. My name’s Geoff. I’m just visiting my sister, Alison. I’ll be in town for a few days at least.

    I just stared at myself in awe. It was simply incredible. I didn’t just look and sound different because I was a man now, there was a slight difference to the way I was talking. The syllables were more precisely edged. It wasn’t the excessively clipped sounds of a private school man but it was leaning a bit more in that direction than I normally did.

    I stepped away from the mirror.

    It was truly amazing but the electrification I was feeling was scratching away at me. I’d had my look now and I was anxious I wouldn’t be able to change back to myself. I’d had enough of this. I wanted to go back.

    I gripped the ring then paused and got one more look at myself in the mirror. The rugged lumberjack looked back at me with incredulity and wonder.

    Just for a second I focused on the ladder and paint through the reflection beyond me. I wondered if… Imagine how much easier it would be to do that as a man…

    But no. I’d had enough. More than enough. This was too weird. I wanted to be myself again. What if it didn’t let me change back? I couldn’t waste any more time.

    I tugged on the ring. It didn’t budge. I pulled again, twisting it, and this time it slid up to the middle bend of my finger.

    The skin there

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