Cousin Amy 19

Chapter 19: A Family Affair

Scott gazed at his reflection in the hotel bathroom mirror as a wave of anxiety washed over him. It was the eve of the funeral, and he would be spending the next few hours at the Brooks family estate for a meet and greet that promised to be both emotionally charged and socially challenging. He had driven to Bakerton with Jessica earlier that day - a journey that felt much longer than two hours - and was already mentally drained. The radio had filled the void of silence, a silence that seemed to stretch and deepen with each passing day.

Jessica had been reluctant to come, but Scott had begged, needing her support more than ever. Now, in a room with two single beds - Jessica's idea to maintain appearances - he felt the distance between them more acutely than ever. After checking in and unpacking, Jessica helped Scott position his long blonde hair into an elaborate updo, full of curls and pins, heavy atop his head. She then offered to help with his makeup, however, Scott chose to do it himself, seeking solitude in the bathroom away from the frosty atmosphere that persisted all day.

Scott arranged his makeup products around the bathroom sink. His hands were steady as he layered concealer, foundation, and powder, expertly contouring his face. He then worked on his eyes and lips until they were striking and bold. Aware that he would soon be mingling with Amy’s closest family members, Scott knew there was no room for error. He needed to be flawless - not just to pass but to belong.

Emerging from the bathroom in a pair of his cousin's six-inch heels, he found Jessica by the window, her gaze distant, lost in thoughts he could no longer reach. The click of his heels made her turn, her expression quickly shifting from astonishment to forced composure. "Will you zip me up?" Scott asked, standing before her, his face meticulously made-up, up and his breasts spilling out of a little black peplum dress.

Jessica's gaze moved down to painted toenails - peeking out from towering slingback platforms - before travelling up a pair of shapely, nylon-clad legs that stretched seemingly endlessly upward. Her eyes continued their ascent, gliding past the hem of the low-cut, sleeveless minidress that hugged an unmistakable feminine frame. When her eyes finally met her boyfriend's - dramatically made-up and strikingly beautiful - she bit her bottom lip. "Did you choose that dress?" she asked, her voice distant.

"No, Emily picked it out," Scott replied, recalling the day Emily had come over to help him plan out his outfits for the funeral weekend - a day Jessica had spent away, claiming she needed space.

“It’s… lovely,” Jessica mumbled, looking sad and conflicted while managing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “It looks great on you. I'm just not sure who you are anymore!”

Scott felt a tightness in his chest as the heartbreaking sunk in. "I'm still me!" he insisted, his voice a blend of desperation and assurance. "The man you've always known."

"Really?" Jessica forcefully stated, her frustration boiling over. "You don't look very manly to me right now."

Scott instinctively raised both hands, palms out. "Jess, please. Let's not do this now," he pleaded, trying to calm the approaching storm. "I've got enough to worry about without having this argument again."

(See image 38)

"Sorry, my bad," Jessica replied in a sarcastic tone. "You look lovely, Amy. I love your lip colour. What is it?"

Almost instinctively, replying 'Burgundy Blaze,' Scott sighed as his arms dropped back to his sides. Staring at his girlfriend - her expression cutting him deeper than the torturous heels strapped to his feet - something inside the feminized man snapped. His posture stiffened, and his voice grew sharper. "What do you want from me, Jessica? Do you want me to stumble about? Should I be sitting legs open, scratching my balls? I'm trying my best to survive a crazy situation - one that you started, remember?"

Jessica recoiled slightly, the force of Scott's words seeming to push her physically backwards. "So this is all my fault!" she shot back.

"Yes!" Scott replied angrily, "If you hadn't suggested we go after the money. If you had not guilt-tripped me into going to the attorney's office as Amy - saying I wasn't the man you thought I was if I didn't do it for our future. Well, I did it, and now look at me - not manly enough either way! You're impossible to please, sometimes, Jess. Can't you think about someone other than yourself for one weekend? I can't cope with this on top of everything else."

Silence enveloped the room, dense and suffocating, as a cascade of emotions flickered across Jessica's face. Her features briefly contorted in an internal struggle before settling into a strained smile. "Well, we better zip you up and get you off to your family event,” she said, her voice a forced whisper as she approached Scott. “Have you packed your purse?”

Scott felt a surge of resentment towards her cold demeanour but quelled the urge to retaliate, choosing instead to turn his back to her and preserve a fragile peace. He felt the soft brush of her fingers as she pulled the zipper up, enclosing him in the form-fitting feminine garment he would struggle to remove without help. "Yes," he responded, his voice tinged with sadness.

With a heart burdened by unspoken words and unresolved tensions, Scott clutched his cousin's designer handbag tightly and slipped into her faux fur coat. The fabric felt comforting and warm against his skin, making him feel slightly less exposed. Jessica watched him with eyes clouded by complexity - regret, anger, and perhaps a hint of sympathy mingling within. “Good luck,” she said, her usually sharp tone tempered by the situation. “Thanks,” Scott responded, his voice heavy with fatigue. “I won’t be back late.”

He opened the door and paused, taking a deep breath of the cool hallway air before stepping out. The door closed behind him with a gentle, definitive click. For a brief moment, he felt a surge of relief to be away from Jessica, but this relief quickly dissolved into the daunting realization of what lay ahead. As looked down at his figure-hugging dress, shiny nylon-covered legs, and ligament-straining platform pumps, the weight of the upcoming evening pressed heavily upon him, stirring a knot of anxiety at the thought of being discovered as an imposter. Setting off, every angled step felt heavier as he minced towards the elevator, each breath a little shallower than usual, as he braced himself for the night ahead.

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Two hours into the evening, Scott found himself in the cavernous main hall of the Brooks family manor, a space the real Amy would have known like the back of her perfectly manicured hand. However, as her double, for Scott, the surrounding opulence felt foreign and overwhelming. His poor feet, initially throbbing painfully inside his high heels, had now numbed to an unsettling lack of sensation, mirroring his detachment from the environment and its inhabitants.

Amidst the grandeur of ancestral portraits and impressive chandeliers, one of Amy’s cousins cornered him into a conversation. “So, Patricia is getting married in the spring,” she mentioned casually. “Are you coming up for the wedding?” Clueless as to who Patricia was, Scott forced his glossy lips into a practised smile. “Of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he responded, his voice bright, but internally he felt adrift in a sea of faces he scarcely recognized but was expected to know.

“Oh, wonderful,” the cousin exclaimed, her face lighting up with genuine pleasure. “I wasn’t sure if you would come after you two fell out, but I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to have you there.”

“Water under the bridge,” Scott replied, while catching sight of Amy's mother, Matilda Brooks, approaching. “Excuse me a moment, would you?” he interjected politely, “I just have to powder my nose.”

“Of course,” the cousin nodded, though Scott had already turned to try and hobble away on his aching feet. However, his escape was abruptly halted by the imposing figure of Matilda Brooks blocking his path. “I’m glad to see you've fixed your hair,” she commented sharply. “Still a little too vibrant for such an occasion, but an improvement.”

“Nice to see you, mother,” Scott replied through clenched teeth, the strain of maintaining Amy's persona chipping away at his patience.

“Is it?” Matilda Brooks challenged, her gaze piercing.

Scott forced another smile, feeling a pang of guilt for maintaining an attitude born from the repercussions of someone else’s life. “I was just on my way to the ladies' room. So, if you wouldn't mind, can we talk later?”

“As you wish,” Matilda replied in a tone tinged with frustration.

Grateful for the reprieve, Scott sidestepped Mrs. Brooks and quickly made his way toward the exit without looking back. After escaping the suffocating atmosphere of the gathering, he wandered blindly through the labyrinthine corridors of the manor. Unfamiliar with the layout and unable to ask for directions without raising suspicion, he soon found himself lost.

Spying an antique-looking cushioned chair tucked into a quiet alcove, Scott gratefully lowered himself onto it. As he sat, he felt his restrictive designer dress tighten around his modified body. The luxurious fabric pressed into his breasts and exaggerated his jiggly backside, making it appear much larger than it actually was.

Once seated, he slipped the backs off his slingback platform pumps and released his feet from their stylish confines. A loud moan of relief escaped his lips as he stretched out his feet, running the nylon-clad soles along the soft, hand-stitched Turkish rug beneath the chair. He scrunched his toes repeatedly, revelling in the sensation until the numbness finally faded, leaving only a lingering ache.

Seated in the dimly lit hallway, Scott pressed an acrylic nail, which extended past the tip of his finger, into the smooth expanse of his hairless thigh, encased in gleaming nylon just inches below the hem of his minidress. Shaking his head, weighed down by a mass of blonde curled, a wave of intense introspection crashed over him. "What the hell am I doing here, dressed like this?" He thought, the absurdity of his circumstances engulfing him until the distant sound of piano music snapped him back to reality.

Overtaken by a surge of curiosity that momentarily eclipsed his discomfort, Scott let out a resigned groan as he slipped his swollen feet back into their slingback prisons. Pushing himself up from a seat likely older than himself, he steadied himself against an ageing wall, its wallpaper faded and peeling. Compelled to find the source of the sombre sound drifting through the musty-smelling hallway, he tottered off - his stiletto heels sinking slightly into the dusty carpet while his feminized body jiggled and wiggled from the exertion.

He entered a lavish room where the golden glow of the evening sun poured through large windows, bathing everything in a warm, amber light. The room boasted an impressively high ceiling adorned with intricate mouldings and stucco that spoke of grandeur from a bygone era. In the corner, a man sat at a grand piano, his fingers gliding across the keys with fluid grace, coaxing out a hauntingly beautiful melody.

Eager to avoid detection, Scott was about to leave when the pianist turned his head, revealing his face. Scott's heavy, mascara-laden lashes lifted in the shock of recognition - he knew the man! It was Lewis - Amy’s on-off lover! The man who had kissed him on the street! Desperate to escape, Scott spun on his heels. However, at that moment, the piano music paused between verses, and the loud clicking of his heels echoed sharply across the room.

Lewis quickly spun toward the sound. After scanning Scott from head to heel, a broad grin spread across his face. "Aimes," he called out playfully, "you found me."

Heart racing, Scott stomped across the room with purpose, arms swinging and chest heaving. Lewis rose from his stool to meet Scott, who came to a halt on a lavish blue carpet interwoven with gold designs.

"What are you doing here?" Scott asked, his voice tinged with confusion. "Are you stalking me now or something?"

(See image 39)

Lewis laughed, shaking his head. “The world doesn’t always revolve around you, gorgeous,” he replied. “I’m here for Granny’s funeral, just like you.”

The answer threw Scott off momentarily as he stared at the bearded man. “Granny?” he echoed, his expression baffled.

“Yeah, Granny, Grandma, the boogeywoman. What did you call her?”

“As in my grandma? Are we related?” Scott blurted out, the thought of Amy and Lewis being blood relatives, making him feel uneasy.

“Are you alright, Aimes?” Lewis asked, tilting his head in confusion. “We’re cousins, not by blood though, with me being adopted un all. But you know that."

“Oh yeah, course,” Scott replied, his mind racing with worry at the thought he might have just exposed him as a phoney.

Seeing Lewis' puzzled face, Scott knew he needed to divert attention away - and fast. Stepping forward, he closed the distance between them, placing his juicy, plumped lips inches from Lewis’. Looking up through his thick extended lashes, Scott purred flirtatiously, “So, aren't you going to greet me with a kiss this time?”

Lewis' perplexed look turned to that of desire. "If that's what the lady desires., who am I to refuse?" he replied, lowering his head.

Scott closed his eyes, bracing himself for the kiss. Time seemed to slow as he imagined he was about to kiss Jessica, that he was at home in his sweatpants, with the love of his life who was about to make love to him. It was a comforting fantasy, abruptly shattered when his lips met those of another man's - Lewis' beard tickling his face as strong hands gripped his sides. Instantly regretting his decision but seeing no alternative, Scott surrendered to the kiss, acutely aware that the weekend had just become an even bigger mess.