Chapter 5: The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl 5 [Flush With Pride Arc]

This branches into two storylines, with the upcoming alternate one marked with an A
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The Tall and Short Problems of a Cute Gamer Girl

[5]
[5a] (Alternate, coming soon)

Rachel told herself several times she was going to wake up her husband/wife and spill the beans about everything. The seat is screwed up. And her parents now thought that she was always Giselle. But she knew that would be a lousy thing to wake her up with. At the same time, she knew she would be desperately disappointed if she slept through not only the early afternoon but until dinner. All those lost opportunities for work. Of course, any person would understand with what she had gone through in less than a day.

Peeking through the doorway into the hallway at the couch, she saw Herschel and Giselle both curled up and snoozing. She would definitely tell her. But not yet. She had that video to edit to release on the weekend and she had to take a ton of presentation pics and upload them, and they still had the website work commission to finish with new graphical elements. She could get a jump on designing those because she had no idea when Giselle would be up for returning to drawing and sketching.

The minutes slipped by until Giselle realized how sweaty she was under the toasty cat. She covered her cough and turned slightly. Groggily and begrudgingly, Herschel moved over to the cushion right next to her. As her awareness gradually returned, Giselle realized she really needed to go, and holding it felt like an inexact science, more like one balanced on the edge of a mountain cliff about ready to tumble off. She whimpered quietly and crouch-walked over to the master bathroom.

Only once she was in the doorway did she realize and remember that they were going to be swapping the seats. She had no idea if Rachel had already done that, but she had precious few moments to decide whether to go for the nearest toilet or risk bounding up the stairs to the kinda broken one adjoining her office and currently mostly used for cat stuff and storage. Sprinting across the house to the far one just was not going to work.

Awkwardly walking as though her legs were bound together through the master bedroom to the door, she could see that it looked like the same seat was in place with some equipment scattered around. All she could process and all she needed to know was that it was on, and she could go and it wouldn’t hurt her. Seemed fine.

She almost got tangled up in her clothes, but made it without an embarrassing accident. Finally breathing, she adjusted herself and looked down at the tangle of her clothes. Rachel had been responsible for getting her underwear in the right size. That was the stuff she didn’t even want to begin to think about, she let Rachel deal with it and put it in the bag at the counter. Unlike the scrambled letters of the bras, at least she didn’t need to try it on and, once it was on, it could be hidden behind everything else.

She felt fresh flush embarrassment recalling her dismissal of putting seats down. Yes, she had apologized, and Rachel assured her it was fine. But being in that moment of frantic fear and finding relief dug deeper into her brain than anything had. If she rushed over and things weren’t ready…

Giselle shut her eyes and pressed her hands against her soft thighs. When she got everything back and as long as she had strength, she solemnly promised that she would remember this moment of fear and helplessness and do whatever kindness she could to help.

As well, she resolved that no measure of having enough space and not having to worry about legs that went on forever and extra dangling bits were anywhere close to a fair trade. It still felt like she was just ‘going’ all over herself. Swiftly and diligently, she cleaned up how Rachel taught her. Lord, no way did she want one of Rachel‘s bad UTIs like this.

Trembling still on the seat, she focused all her positive thoughts as she rose. Once her clothes were back on and she felt reasonable comfort and close to human again, she heard Rachel call through the doorway urgently, “Be careful. Shoot. You okay?”

Giselle bit her lips and raised her head before giving a quick nod. “Yeah. I know. I’m okay now. What’s up?”

Rachel guided her away from the seat and explained, “I couldn’t remove the thing. I tried, but it’s actually missing a part that is like a security module that allows you to safely take it off. If anyone tries to hit or rip it off then I’m not entirely sure what it would do, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be good.” Giselle took a further step away from the seat for good measure.

In the doorway, Herschel peeked through, apparently gathering that something interesting was up and he wanted to be a part of it. That interest swiftly deflated as he shot out of there so quickly that he practically left behind an animated character’s dust cloud. Giselle couldn’t fault him for being astute and cautious in this instance.

Although he tended to be a relatively fun-loving, simple kitty, he got scared easily. Giselle couldn’t tell if what spooked him was a preternatural awareness that the toilet seat was out for what was left of his feline male genitals or just the way the shower curtain for the bath was positioned.

He wildly shifted between being adventurous and seemingly terrified that his water fixture bowl was haunted by a bubble ghost. After finishing, they discovered Herschel was a few steps up the stairs and threatening to advance higher if whatever bothered him tried something. Rachel was eventually able to coax him to relax with a skinny meat push pop.

Out loud, Giselle considered warming up her breakfast as a snack. Rachel jerked her head, which alarmed Herschel, but she gave him a reassuring pat. “Your parents texted me and said they might have an option for supper. Maybe I can pop over, pick it up, and bring it back?”

The prospect of being treated as a stranger by her mom and dad sent a quick, nagging shudder through Giselle‘s body. Although, she expected that both of them would warm to her as much as they did to any of Jeremy‘s and Rachel‘s friends. It was just the wrongness she couldn’t shake.

“I suppose”, was about the best that she could manage to that. Soon after, she had her cell phone out for regular filming. She used to film with a plethora of cameras mounted with shotgun mics and dead cat windscreens. It got to be a little ridiculous, as it felt like she hauling half a film crew. Jeremy still saved that for special occasions but some of the most recent phones actually had better video fidelity. And the bonus was no one gave a crap if you pulled out your phone to film something versus a random boxy, furry mass on a giant stick.

Sliding onto the couch, she frowned at the screen a moment when checking something. Rachel, who had Herschel scouring her fingers with licks for every last trace of meat flavor, glanced up and noticed Giselle‘s concern. Turning her phone a few times, Giselle quickly explained, “It’s the Face ID. Before, I was using the freaking passcode and my thumbs actually still worked even though it was a little confused with the other fingers. But I didn’t even try Face ID. This time, it just popped up. Weird, but I ain’t gonna look a gift horse. Anything for less headaches.”

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Rachel simply nodded and sighed as Giselle filmed a few general shots and grabbed a popsicle out of the freezer to demonstrate what they had earlier. Once she had the B-roll to add voice-over later once this all was done, she gazed up the stairs towards her office. Everything was scheduled for one more day, but she really wanted to release a version of the stream earlier with highlights. She made progress, but it wasn’t quite ready.

Before she could make her way up the steps, Rachel cleared her throat and proposed, “Let’s go for a walk. It’s cooler right now and it’s going to be too dark for it in a little while. Just get out of here for a few minutes, head around the block, and take it easy.”

Giselle honestly felt like they had had enough physical activity for one day along with all the things she still needed to work on. But that was mostly her gamer heart speaking. Along with not wanting to be out like this any more than she absolutely had to. But she eventually acquiesced.

Despite the grip of the heat relaxing, it was still ungodly humid. It was so close out there that it felt like the sun was just spurning the clouds to violence, drifting down as an invisible army squeezing your vital juices out of your pores and stealing the ability to breathe. So, basically a normal Southern summer. The only difference was at this hour, it felt like that army was tiring and ready to call in their retreat till tomorrow.

The worst of it was the way Giselle‘s long hair trapped a pressure cooker of heat with a fountain of sweat. Ironically, it hadn’t been quite so humid at the peak of the day. She had heard of boob sweats in passing, mostly from Chel. Jeremy had a few funny riffs on it, but Giselle already felt tired of dealing with the reality a few minutes in. They commiserated with one another faintly as it dawned on Giselle that she was having some sort of girl talk with her wife. She knew that was a belabored cliché, but it was still where her head went. Crotch sweats were even worse.

Her wife actually enjoyed some fancy and vaguely alluring outfits ranging from princess gowns, to poodle skirts, to a playful bikini during one of their short-lived jobs working at the beach. Giselle didn’t want any of her own business before or now front and center. And she still held the prospect in the back of her mind that the unassuming cleft between her legs had a foreboding destiny, if she hung around too long, of retching blood and other substances just because she decided not to use it as intended. She wasn’t keen on any of the doctors once relevant to Jeremy. Finding some new ones for Giselle ran a nervous gamut of tempting their ruthless health insurance company with the confusion of why a 33-year-old man visited a gynecologist, never mind the nitty-gritty involved.

Better to just avoid all risks of an extended stay that would require such bodily maintenance. Giselle adjusted her shorts despite knowing from the changing room mirror that it would still cup too much of her rear.

A little ways into their walk, Giselle noticed she was falling behind. Usually, she led the two of them since she was the big guy and she was there to make sure Chel was safe. The protector, despite the fact Jeremy hadn’t even imagined throwing a punch since a disgusting handful, hateful slice of the Internet berated Chel in relentless private messages, hunted for her bare leg photos, and tried to dox her. The ringleader threatened to come to a convention but chickened out. Reporting them to their ISP and getting the local police involved finally did the trick. But the memory made Giselle tighten her fists and clench her teeth that she couldn’t protect the woman she loved with that same presence.

Struggling ahead on her little legs, Giselle begged Chel to hold up. She hadn’t even realized she was moving so fast as she noted, “I usually have to take this many steps just to keep up with your usual pace. Oops. Sorry!”

Giselle caught her breath and fanned a wave. They adjusted to a more relaxed stride together, but Chel still took the lead. It dawned on Giselle, when they passed the end of the block, that Chel was HER protector for this walk.

She felt moments of submission starting with getting dunked, to her wife playing all the sensitive nuances of her new body in bed. To getting up when she wanted her to get up. To waiting while she explained the situation to their friends. To being the display offering for clothes. To feeling like this.

Jeremy didn’t consider himself macho, but he also understood their partnership and friendship included certain roles for each of them. He was the funny guy who made her laugh, often cooked, forgot a lot of things, worked until he hurt everywhere, and made sure she had everything she needed. She completed all the stuff he was missing and made them work. But now, he felt like he was missing a lot more and that burden would fall on the one person he loved most. Giselle sulked quietly as they looped around back home.

Rachel noticed her mood, but she had a lot of nagging things on her mind. So, she encouraged Giselle with a gentle rub on the back. That was just buying time until she could find the resolve to say, “Your parents texted me while I was working, and you were sleeping.” Giselle gave a quick smirk and teased her, “Yeah, you told me already. Stop by and bring the food back, you figured. How’s your memory?”

They both laughed, but Rachel had to amend, “ Yeah, yeah but see the thing is… Your mom wrote that she wanted to know if ‘you girls’ wanted cheesecake. Meaning us.”

The point briefly sailing over her head, Giselle adopted a faintly sad tone and emphasized, “Well, I actually do kind of want cheesecake.”

Rachel showed her the actual exchange, including her mention of the names. It took another lingering moment for everything to connect for Giselle, after which point she fumed, “Oh, piss… how? Wait, what? Does she think… did my mom get brainwashed by a frickin’ toilet seat?”

No easy or straightforward explanations for how this involved them occurred to Rachel, but she did reflect on the fact that Giselle had an altered dream, and this was a clear escalation. Giselle stomped around in place as much as she could and as much as she could tolerate with the jiggles that resulted.

After a deep breath, she looked her wife in the eye and asked with confusion, frustration, and uncertainty, but also the faintest traces of hope that she had the answer, “What do we do now?”

[Since this is meant to be interactive, feel free to suggest ideas and prompts for future/alternate branch storylines. Some branches are already written but this will allow me to best pick new/alternate ones. I'm currently just rolling dice.]

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