My flushed face was buried in the pillow and I felt his warm hands rest on my bottom.

“Reach back and spread your cheeks for me Alex,” said Steve. I did so.

The reason I was on my hands and knees on a hotel bed exposing myself to a colleague from work was a really strange story that no one is ever going to believe.

My name is Alexa and I’m a 27 year old mortgage advisor for one of the larger banking groups in England; I started out there straight from school and worked up to junior management and after a few years, a career break to have my son and a few exams I was qualified to advise people on what sort of financial package was best suited to them. My employer was quite family friendly and I was able to work around the child care and then school of my son Nicky.

My Mum had Greek grandparents hence my name and my son’s. Don’t get me wrong, other than my jet black hair, Mediterranean curves and ‘faintly tanned’ looking skin that’s it. I don’t speak the language and never have done, I’ve no objection to Ouzo or some of the other wines that the ‘old country’ produces but I actually dislike Moussaka and baklava. Given the choice I much prefer Italian food when I’m sober, Indian when I’ve had a few drinks.

I’m 5’10” and a 36-26-36 with a D cup, classic Mediterranean curvy I hear you say. I don’t know about that, but all the females on my mother’s side are the same shape with the same dark hair and like them I have been the subject of any amount of lust from men and disgust from jealous females.

All through school I was overweight which included my already large boobs; I was spotty and to increase my adolescent misery I had a squint and suffered from all of the usual jibes and jokes, the most regular was ‘the big fat Greek’ once I had mentioned my Grandparents. From puberty to the end of my exams was misery. I came on for the first time and that was pretty painful and I had a couple of accidents, it couldn’t get much worse.

Mum and Dad were really supportive though and they did have a few trips to the head teacher to ‘sort things out for me’ for which I was eternally grateful. On my return from my last exam though, Mum said that the Doctor was now happy to put me in for surgery to correct my squint.


Where the fuck had that come from? No one had ever told me that this was likely to even be an option! They didn’t want me to get to over excited before the exams she said.

The doctor wanted me to have a week off after all my revising and exam stress, then I went into hospital for the op. I went in the night before, had the surgery at silly O’clock the next morning and late that evening my Darling Daddy came and collected me. Within a fortnight, it was all done and my eyesight was perfect and my squint completely cured and I could stop wearing my thick corrective spectacles.

It was a turning point in my life and I never looked back. My GP put me on the pill to help ease my periods and now free of misery and exam stress my appetite improved. I stopped comfort eating, and with my squint cured I was able to get back into my favourite sport, outdoor netball. I joined a local team and even began to run and swim again to improve my general fitness. Little did I know it but Mum had put me on the same diet she was on some weeks before!

I had bought a ticket for the school prom that was still a month away but hadn’t been looking forward to it and wasn’t going to go, and had already started to drip feed a couple of my mates the story that I was due on.

Mum’s sister, my lovely Aunt Nicki is a dressmaker and happened to call round to see my Mum and Dad and complimented me on my weight loss and my new look.

“Yeah,” said Mum in a tone I now know was calculated to challenge Aunt Nicki, “She’s lost so much weight I bet her prom dress won’t fit now…”

“Go put it on Alex,” she said with self-confident smile, “you leave it to Aunt Nicki.”

With a tape measure and a box of pins she quickly pulled and tugged at my huge dark blue silk dress. She asked my smiling Mum something and promised my dress would be back with us the following Wednesday ready for me to try on and to slip into on the Friday.

On Wednesday night, I was just back from swimming and saw my dress on a hanger and there appeared to be considerably less of it than there was a week ago. Dad was banished to the kitchen where he settled to read the evening paper and drink the tea pot dry.

I quickly nagged out of my tracksuit and the dress slipped over me.

“Take of that bra Alex,” said Aunt Nicki digging through her bag. I was really embarrassed and blushed, and even though Nicki had changed my nappies when I was a baby there hadn’t been anywhere near as much of me then as there was now! “Here,” she said opening a small ‘Triumph’ box and taking out a pretty lacy bra of a matching colour to my dress. I was so taken with how pretty it looked I didn’t notice Mum unsnap my bra clip until I felt the weight of my boobs dropping.

“You were right Di,” said Aunt Nicki to Mum, “They are just about perfect, here Darling, put this on.”

Little did I know it then but my lovely Mum and my ever so cheeky Aunt were about to dress me in the first sexy underwear I’d ever owned. It was my first balcony bra and lifted my normally bulging now full boobs into the most wonderful shape and there was my first ever cleavage!

“Wow Nicks!” said Mum, “you got that bit right – what about Cinderella’s dress?”

The long tube of blue silk was dropped over me and Aunt Nicki turned me around and ‘pulled the dress around me’. It fitted every curve and she zipped me into it.

I stared open mouthed in the mirror at the hot looking girl with the sexy cleavage that had suddenly grown into her curves. The material that had covered my shoulders and bulging tits was now pulled into pleats from my shoulder and every time I moved it seemed to glimmer with a light all of its own.

I did a little twirl looking into our large mirror,

“Fuck but I’m good at this,” said Aunt Nicki.

“She’s all Andros now!” said Mum. Andros had been Maternal Great-grandma’s name and it was how all the females on that side of my family referred to their shape.

“And then some,” said Aunt Nicki.

“Auntie Nix,” I said using the name I’d called her since I could talk, still turning back and forth seeing my long light brown legs through the knee length slash that hadn’t been there last time, “It’s wonderful!”

“I know baby,” she said, “No way will anyone take the piss out of you ever again sugar. You’ll be the hottest girl in the place. Right Darling, you take that off and I’ll be back Friday evening with my makeup box.” I slipped out of the dress and the bra, slightly proud of what my Mum and Aunt now referred to as my perfect bosom and tight arse.

I texted my friends and said that I would be going to the prom and I’d meet them all there. Dad had quite a nice car anyway so he’d drop me at the large country house hotel.

As promised, Aunt Nicki arrived and not only did my make-up, she also did my shoulder length hair and dressed it into a pile on my head in a classical Greek style but with a couple of hanging strands to frame my face. Tonight I had shaped eyebrows, something to add length and thickness to my all already dark eyelashes and just enough eye make-up to bring out the blue of eyes. She did it perfectly, after all it was a classic Andros look and she’d done it hundreds of times on herself and her other female relations.

Finally I had a sliver choker with a hanging chain and a ‘Diana’s owl’ pendant put around my neck and Aunt Nicki told me had been my Great-Grandmother’s and all the Andros girls had worn it at some time or another. I could see why; it contrasted wonderfully with my skin tone and settled just at the top of my cleavage drawing just enough attention to my boobs, as well as making my neck look long and slim.

Still in my towelling gown I was sent upstairs to put my dress on.

“Here,” said Aunt Nicki, “Don’t tell your parents.” She stuffed a small blue bag into my dressing gown pocket and I didn’t dare look at it until I reached my room. It turned out to be the matching string panties that went with my bra. I put them on and was pleased that I’d trimmed my dark pubic hair for my swimming costume. She later admitted that she’d cut the dress quite tight across my bottom because it looked so good, and she didn’t want to shock my Mum and Dad.

I dressed and tiptoed downstairs and slid into my black strappy heels that looked great with the dark blue of my dress. Nicki moved things where they should be, including my boobs, and I was declared ‘perfect’.

There were photographs, and even a glass of prosecco just to ‘drown the butterflies’ as Aunt Nicki had it. Dad was still wearing his suit from work and far from the shocked ‘you aren’t leaving the house dressed like that’ most of the sitcoms I’d ever seen had prepared me for, Dad just had the most wonderful proud smile for me and took my hand and led me out to his Land Rover Discovery he’d had valeted that lunchtime especially.

He was wearing his sunglasses against the summer late evening glare and stopped level to the steps into the hotel. He jumped out to open my door and took my hand as I stepped down from the back of the car. As he did this at least three photographers snapped pictures of me. I was totally unused to the attention but remembered the advice from Aunt Nicki, ‘stand up straight, one hand on the hip you are resting your weight on and smile with your eyes as well as your mouth’. One of the photographers was from the local paper and my beaming smile was on the front page of the ‘full colour Prom special edition’ they produced a week or so later.

Dad pecked me on the cheek, wished me a great evening and said for me to text him when I needed collecting.

I walked slowly into the foyer of the hotel feeling great but really nervous and was handed another glass of prosecco. No one spoke to me for at least two minutes.

Mr Blake was our mad physics teacher and he was the first to approach me.

“Lexa?” he said looking me up and down.

“Yes sir,” I said, unsure of what else I could throw into the conversation.

“Wow!” he grinned, “you look so different without your glasses, and I’m so pleased the surgery went well.”

“Yes,” I smiled back, conscious that the rest of the slowly filling room was suddenly becoming aware of me, “it was the week after the exams finished, it’s great not to have to wear the spec’s anymore.”

“You look so different Lexa,” he said, “And I’m so pleased that you decided to come this evening. Bell of the ball I think.” He whispered to me, “Don’t look now but I think Chantelle and Emma are going mouldy, or is it green with envy? Enjoy it sweetie,” he giggled trying not to smile at the two overly dressed, overly made up girls that had been top of my bully list since halfway through year ten. I looked like a fashion model while they both looked like something out an explosion in a dress factory next door to a bakery; both wore frilly dresses in almost fluorescent colours that put me in mind of those awful knitted toilet roll covers with the Barbie dolly stuck inside. ‘Big Fat Gypsy Wedding’ had nothing on them.

Mr Blake was soon joined by lovely Mrs Kelly (English and Sociology) who came across in her dark blue cocktail dress and held both of my hands while she looked me up and down, and kissed me on the cheek.

“Wow Alexa! Look at you!” she almost screeched, and turned, “Jackie, it is!” she yelled across the room to Miss Allen (PE and sports science) who trotted across looking amazingly hot in her little black dress.

“Wow Lexie!” she said, (all of my teachers used a variety of different variations of Alexa), “and you’ve been working out! Don’t tell me, you’ve taken up netball again haven’t you?”

“Yes Miss!” I said proudly, “I’m in the Hawks first team.” I was quite tall for a girl – my Dad was well into the six foot area, so I was quite popular in that sport.

“I couldn’t get her to play for the school look Karen,” she tried to look cross, “But whatever you are doing it looks fantastic on you.”

They both asked me about the dress and matching clutch bag, and I told them about the family heirloom jewellery currently knocking people dead.

Miss Allen was right, I never did play netball for the school because as soon as I reached puberty something went strange with my system and whenever my heart rate when up, I started to see two balls, and always seemed to try and catch the one that wasn’t there and the bitches would laugh at me. Ah well, they weren’t laughing anymore.

My friends arrived and had walked straight past me, thinking I was another teacher chatting with Mr Blake, Mrs Kelly and Miss Allen.

“LEXA!” came the scream as all four of them descended on me and I was dragged away from the grown-ups. They had taken their complimentary glass of wine and had stood in a huddle looking around for people they knew. A young man with eyes on one of them came over and chatted nervously.

“Have you seen Alexa?” he said simply. They hadn’t – above the normal excitement was me looking shapely, sexy and grown up, without glasses and a squint since any of them had known me.

After a quite mediocre dinner I was declared prom queen and had the first dance with Simon, the prom King, and also the school rugby team captain looking hot in his black dinner jacket, all his muscles bulging in the right place.

During the dance he asked me about my transformation, and I said about the eye surgery, and my taking up sport again. He was amazingly nice and while we slowly danced he plucked up the nerve to ask me out on a date. I agreed, and we went out all that summer and for another year until he got a place at a residential sports college before he headed off to University. My confidence soared and fat frumpy Alexa was never seen again.

I went to college and got my A’ levels, and started work in a local building society as part of their management trainee scheme. I got into a relationship with a guy called Tom who worked at a nearby branch who was on the same training scheme.

Tom wanted desperately to be a high flyer but didn’t have the brains or the balls. He told me that his dream was to work in the investment end of the work in the City of London, and a six figure salary and all the bonuses. He applied for the better paid jobs but was universally turned down for all of them, the feedback being he needed more experience – they were too kind to also mention ‘maturity’.

The HR manager said that his personal profile said he was best suited to branch work. Tom was rather grumpy but kept on applying.

We hit it off, having lots in common. We did the same work, worked the same hours, understood the problems that we both had and soon we were making out, then sleeping together. After some months we got engaged, rented a flat and we were both now assistant managers on quite reasonable salaries. It was going well, right up to the point that I fell pregnant with my son Nicky about a year later.

Tom didn’t mind me being pregnant and seemed genuinely excited about the whole thing, but really didn’t like it when Nicky came along. Much as it sounds dreadful to say my darling baby boy Nicky was in truth an accident and a result of problems with other medication while taking birth control pills. Tom asked if I had considered an abortion but the look on my face he realised that was never going to be an option. He said that this complication could hold back ‘our plans’ but none the less, we would have to carry on.

As my belly swelled Tom didn’t seem to want to make love to me anymore, the worst of it was that being pregnant I became horny as fuck. He went from an every bloody night to once a week kind of guy, instead he just stroked my belly and talked to the bump. His love making was nice but restricted to man on top and the occasional doggie style, and he really was working on the foreplay. I, of course, resorted to that old devil called masturbation.

Once bump became baby and needed feeding and changing and the interruption to his lifestyle began, he changed. We’d had a quite busy social life right up until a month or so before the birth and Tom couldn’t see why having a child should stop this. What he meant was of course, he didn’t see why it should stop him having a busy social life.

He came home early one Friday afternoon which was rare and I was really pleased; I’d been suffering a bout of baby blues and was completely wasted. I hugged him and kissed him and cried a bit of it out of my system and asked if I could have a nap for an hour, just to get me through the rest of the day. He smiled and said of course, and that he was out this evening with his friends.

“Oh,” I said; I’d been planning to cook something really nice for dinner and for us to settle down on the sofa. Nicky was now six weeks old and I wanted to just have a night in and start making love again.

What he didn’t tell me was that he wasn’t away for the evening, he was out for the weekend with some mates, and he woke me to tell me that the taxi was here.

I rolled out of bed and walked him to the front door to wave off him and his friends for their night on the town. It wasn’t until I saw there was a large sports bag by the front door that I guessed.

“Tom,” I said, “where are you going that needs an overnight bag?”

“Oh don’t start nagging me Alexa,” he said, “its Paul’s stag weekend in Prague, and I told you about it weeks ago.”

“No you didn’t,” I said, “I may have baby brain but that I would have remembered.”

“I’m sure I did!” he said, trying hard to adopt the in-control professional voice he’d struggled so hard to master while at college.

We had a diary by the door; both of us were control freaks, what can I say, and everything went in it; birthdays, weddings, social events, doctors, dentists, and I looked down at it. Nothing on the page except for a health visitor check that morning.

Tom sighed and rolled his eyes.

“It’s started hasn’t it,” he said, “You’re starting to turn into your mother.”

“What the fuck has this to do with my mother?” I said, “We have a six week old child that still needs feeding at night, and throughout the day and you’re just fucking off on the piss with your mates like baby Nicky is a puppy that I can leave in his basket.”

Our voices must have raised somewhat as he bunch of mates in the black cab all cheered and cat-called at Tom.

“Well perhaps you should have thought about that before you had him!” he hissed red-faced.

“I had him?” I snarled, “and I suppose you had nothing to do with it?”

The cheering started again, and voice added, “She got you whipped Tom!” and there followed a series of whipping noises.

“We’ll…” he stuttered noisily, “We’ll talk about this when I get back!”

“I’ll have changed the fucking locks!” I shouted at him.

He had just reached the end of our pathway. He turned, smiled the nastiest smile and hissed, “I dare you…”

“Are you DARING me Tom? That is never going to end well…”

He hissed through his teeth again and walked smiling to the black cab shaking his head, his mates cheered.

I put Nicky in his car seat, drove to the DIY superstore and with the advice of one of the staff bought a replacement barrel for the Yale lock. I changed it over at a shade after ten the next morning, and drove to my parent’s house for lunch. As ever they were delighted to see me and more so their first grandchild Nicky.

Mum picked up that something was wrong and I told her. She sent me straight to bed while they changed, top and tailed, fed and played with Nicky. I woke up in my old bed feeling more refreshed than I had since Nicky was born. Such a simple gesture, but it meant more to me than the bunches of flowers, take-out food and bottles of wine that Tom had brought home for me had done.