Cousin Amy 20

Chapter 20: Echoes of Past Life

Scott sat shaking in the chilly embrace of an ancient stone church, his shivers partly from the cold and partly from the crippling fear of the eulogy he was about to deliver. The surreal experience deepened as the priest began the funeral ceremony for a person Scott had never known.

As the priest's voice echoed throughout the space, Scott's gaze wandered around the interior of the old church. Stone walls, buttressed and solid, framed the large stained glass windows that cast kaleidoscope-like light across the mourners. The centre aisle divided the room, with stiff wooden benches lining either side. An old organ in the corner infused the air with melancholic tones, while at the front, in a coffin surrounded by flowers, lay Grandma Brooks.

To Scott's left, one of Amy's cousins was gently sobbing, her shoulders shaking with quiet emotion as she dabbed at her eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief. To his right, Amy's mother sat rigidly, her lips pressed into a thin line as she maintained her composure despite the palpable grief surrounding her.

Scott, like the two women flanking him, was wearing a black dress, a bizarre situation for any young man and one that he was trying not to dwell on. Both women had their hair elegantly styled into high, elaborate updos. As Scott glanced sideways from beneath his long, fluttering lashes, he could only imagine the time it took them - knowing from Jessica's painstaking efforts on his hair, which was now intricately woven into heavy, tight French braids, that it likely took most of the morning.

The remainder of his preparations focused on ensuring his makeup was suitably subdued, yet convincing enough to maintain the illusion that he was Amy. Dressing for the funeral had been relatively straightforward in comparison, however, once he slipped into his outfit, the nerves truly began to settle in. His transformed body, now resembling that of an Onlyfans model, filled out his cousin's long-sleeved black dress like it had been custom-made for him. The satin fabric, offering little stretch, clung closely to his upper legs before fanning out into pleats and finishing just below the knee in a mermaid-style skirt. This design not only accentuated his already distinct feminine shape but also limited his mobility, requiring him to take each step with deliberate care.

Peering out from beneath his dress hem, his lower legs were encased in sheer black nylon, ending in a pair of dauntingly high platform heels. Though his heels were excessively high and the neckline of his dress daringly low for such an occasion, every detail of his appearance had been carefully planned. Today, it was crucial for Scott to not only embody flawless femininity but to convincingly fool anyone who saw him that he was, without question, Amy.

As the priest concluded his introductions, he invited a man to come forward to deliver his tribute. Scott watched intently as the man spoke eloquently about Grandma Brooks, sharing anecdotes that drew soft laughter and nodding heads from those gathered. As the man continued, Scott’s apprehension began to mount. The thought of speaking before the crowd filled him with utter dread, not just at being seen at such a sacred event crossdressed, but for the fear of saying something wrong, something that might reveal him as an imposter.

As he sat there, twiddling his long acrylic nails. The sturdy fabric of his dress seemed to tighten around him, reminding him with every subtle shift in his seat of the lengths he had gone to maintain this ridiculous ruse. His feet inside his soaring heels throbbed, making him wonder if his weary legs would carry him to the front of the church without faltering.

Finally, the man’s words dwindled to a heartfelt close, leaving behind a room filled with tears and soft sniffles. It was now Scott’s turn. As Amy's name was called, a hush fell over the room, and every head turned to watch him rise. His dress dictated his movements, forcing him to take tiny, mincing steps that seemed to prolong his cringe-inducing journey. Each click of his heels echoed off the stone walls, a sharp, intrusive sound that only heightened his sense of humiliation.

The approach felt like an eternity. With every step, Scott felt the gaze of the grievers on him, their eyes curious and expectant. As he reached the old carpet at the front, his stiletto heels finally quieted, the soft fabric muffling their clatter.

Scott approached the podium and placed his notes down before gripping the edges firmly, grounding himself as he took several deep breaths. His gaze momentarily caught on the striking, gleaming acrylic extensions that dramatically lengthened his thumbnails. Raising his head, he looked out from beneath his sweeping dark lashes and glossy red lips, meeting the sea of expectant faces before him. Clearing his throat, his voice wavered slightly, betraying his nerves as he began, "Today, we are all here to remember and celebrate the life of a remarkable woman - my grandma."

Taking a few wobbly steps back, Scott continued. "As a child, I remember spending countless sunny afternoons in the garden with Granny, tending to the roses she cherished so dearly. One vibrant afternoon, I asked her why she dedicated so much time to them, something that demanded so much of her care and attention. She smiled warmly, clipped off a budding rose, and handed it to me, explaining, 'Life, like this garden, is about nurturing the good and learning to endure the thorns. We each have the opportunity to make something beautiful of our circumstances, no matter how prickly they might seem at first glance.'"

(See image 40)

Scott's narrative - made up from an old photograph he found in his cousin's bedroom, seemed to resonate - drawing nods and soft murmurs of agreement from the crowd. "She taught me that with patience and care, any challenge could be turned into an opportunity for growth - a lesson that I carry with me every day."

As Scott concluded the eulogy - having changed most of the gloomy faces into smiling ones - his nerves eased slightly. "We will all miss her. The world is a little dimmer today in her absence," he said before tottering away from the podium, his transformed body gracefully swishing and swaying as he clicked back to his seat. The church responded with soft applause, a stark contrast to the silence that had greeted his approach. As he sat down, carefully smoothing the skirt of his dress, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief, feeling a weight lift for having managed to deliver a touching tribute while realizing the words also subtly echoed the personal transformation he was experiencing himself.

Amy's mother turned to Scott, her expression softening into a warm smile. "That was beautiful," she murmured, taking Scott's hand in hers. "You never told me that story before," she added, a note of surprise in her voice. Scott accepted her hand, offering a small, tentative shrug. "I guess I had forgotten about it," he replied with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "She'll be missed." "She will," Matilda agreed, giving Scott's manicured hand a loving squeeze.

As the ceremony continued, a few more rose to speak, each adding layers of memory and tribute to the air already thick with nostalgia and sorrow. Eventually, the coffin bearers assembled to carry Grandma Brooks outside. There, under the grey expanse of the sky, the priest spoke a few final words before the coffin was gently lowered into the earth. It was a dignified service, but for Scott, it couldn't end soon enough. However, with all the guests preparing to return to the Brooks mansion for the funeral reception, he knew he had to brace himself for a few more hours in character.

Waiting for the cars to arrive, Scott seized the moment to duck around the side of the church, craving a brief escape from the constant attention. As Amy, everyone seemed eager to chat with him, asking probing questions about her life - on top of everything else, it had been exhausting. Rounding the corner while contemplating the idea of slipping off his heels for a few minutes of relief, Scott's heart sank as he saw the one person he hoped to avoid - Lewis. The smartly dressed man was casually leaning against the church wall, smoking a cigarette.

Scott considered retreating, but it was too late; Lewis had already spotted him. Knowing he needed to maintain his guise, he approached with a frown. "I’m not sure smoking is allowed back here," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and fatigue as he shambled forward.

Lewis took a deep inhale of smoke and exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting up and down Scott's feminized form. "I don’t think anyone’s going to care," he replied with a smirk, nodding subtly towards the gravestones dotting the landscape. "Their days of complaining are behind them."

"And what if I don’t like it?" Scott challenged, stopping a few feet away from Lewis.

Lewis tilted his head, a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes before he flicked the cigarette butt away. "Then, that’s different," he responded, his tone dropping an octave. "There. Gone." He then stepped forward, closing the small gap between them, and said in a gentler voice, "Your eulogy was beautiful, Amy. It really touched me."

Taken aback by the sudden change of tone, Scott awkwardly shifted his footing and stumbled on his heels. Lewis reached out swiftly, steadying him with a firm grasp. The unexpected physical contact and his teetering balance combined to ignite a rush of frustration in Scott. "I hate these fucking shoes!" he cried out, his voice angry and emotional. "Why does everything have to be so difficult!"

Lewis, misinterpreting his outburst as grief, drew the crossdressed man in close for a comforting embrace. Scott, lonely and adrift in his meticulously crafted persona, leaned into the comfort on offer, even if it was from an unusual source.

Lewis, sensing Scott's need for reassurance, began to reminisce. "Do you remember that stormy night? When we got stranded at the cottage?" He paused, giving Scott a moment to absorb what he was saying. "We sat there all night talking about our fears and dreams. We promised that night to be there for each other, through everything life threw at us."

Lewis's gaze intensified, earnest and full of emotion, as he continued, "I'm still here for you, Aimes. You are the most beautiful, wonderful person I've ever met. I truly mean that." He took a slight breath, his words hanging in the air between them.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, Scott fell silent, unsure of how to respond. Lewis reached out, taking Scott's hand, and placed his other hand gently behind Scott’s neck, his fingers softly tracing the nape. He gazed into Scott's heavily made-up eyes, searching for any trace of the person he once knew. "I miss you, Aimes. I'll always love you, no matter what," Lewis declared firmly. Then, he paused, their lips just inches apart.

(See image 41)

"Slowly, deliberately, Lewis leaned in for a kiss - one that Scott accepted. He would later rationalize that he was caught off guard by the overwhelming emotion, but in truth, at that moment, he desperately needed someone - anyone - to show him some affection."

The kiss was tender and loving, their lips moving together in a gentle rhythm. It began hesitantly, the soft pressure of Scott's plump red lips against Lewis'. As the kiss deepened, Scott felt a surprising rush of warmth spreading through him, a feeling of being seen and held in a way he hadn't realized he craved. Time seemed to slow, the world around him fading as the kiss vanquished all rational thought.

When it ended, Scott looked up at Lewis, his breath unsteady, his body trembling. "You can put me down now," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis smiled, a mixture of understanding and amusement dancing in his eyes. "Okay," he replied gently, carefully releasing his grasp and stepping back to give Scott space.

Scott straightened himself, smoothing out his dress with shaking hands, the satin cool and slippery beneath his fingers. He took a deep breath, trying to steady the tumult of emotions swirling within him. "I'll... erm... see you at the reception," he managed to say, his voice tinged with uncertainty and vulnerability.

"You will," Lewis responded with a nod, his eyes lingering on Scott with a blend of affection and something unspoken.

With a tentative nod, Scott minced away across the uneven ground, carefully placing each foot, determined not to trip again. The sensation of the kiss lingered, a confusing mix of comfort and repulsion swirling in his mind. Part of him had liked the feeling of being kissed rather than being the one doing the kissing, as it always felt with Jessica. As disturbing as the thought of what he had just done was, being wanted felt nice.

However, he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on the confusing thoughts. He still had a whole evening to navigate in his restrictive dress and torturous heels while maintaining the illusion that he was his girly-girl cousin.

But he could do it; he had come this far and endured worse. And with Grandma Brook's will scheduled to be read the following afternoon, the end was in sight. He clung to that hope, knowing that after this final hurdle, he could start rebuilding his life. The prospect of never having to adopt this feminine disguise again filled him with a sense of determined relief. He would soon shed this identity, leaving behind the revealing clothing and uncomfortable footwear to reclaim his true self. For now, he just needed to make it through one more night.