"WOT? AH DINNAE CATCH THAT...!"
Celebrity Chef Jordan Randalls yelled at the top of his lungs, after the 3rd attempt of the hardcore lesbian Anita Winnie attempts to get him to respond, with a cellphone flick and a camera facing the inconsiderate chef whose clearly ignoring her.
"I said they were being homoph.."
"AH DINNAE HAVE TIME FOR THE HOMOS. DON'T YE SEE I GOT A KITCHEN TA RUN, WOMAN."
"But..."
“GET OUTTA ERE’!”
PUSH!
Shoving Anita out of his way as he turned back towards his kitchen, while pleasant that an influx wealthy and elite are pleased to dine at his establishment, he was already pissed at the fact that a large multitude of his staff vanishing over night-not including the ones he fired.
Flaring his nostrils in contempt with all these bloody faggots and dykes attempting to sabotage his five star restaurant. So many critics...so many messes...He wished his wife were here, someone who could steer this mess in the right direction.
Little does he know, she is already next door.
———
The lesbian fell back through the door into the ladies' restroom. The push from the ex-marine...slash...navy man really hit her hard as she clutched on her right arm with the left. More determined than ever to expose him to the press.
Taking deep breaths to steady herself, she thought of her wife Carrie....how she’s always by her side even doing these troubled times-the determination, intelligence and strength from her Latino babe was always what kept her going and caused her to start standing up for their rights! No way were homophobes going to bring them down!
As she flicked open her smartphone, intending to message her beloved brown sugar, the video of the recorded Chef played-stopping at the bit where Randalls pushed Ms Winnie backwards-stopped at a firm shot at his buttocks pressing against his tight chef’s uniform.
The lesbian could hardly resist the blush rising to her cheeks.
‘The tele likes to zoom in on his incredible arse...cheeky aren’t they?’
“WHOSE THERE?!”
Almost like a replica of a future scene, she turned around briefly-noting the emptiness of the high class polished doors-with ships and anchors decorated on the top- before turning back to her reflection, its lips slightly curling at the side-involuntarily smirking back at her, raising those fingers as her left index finger and thumb gripped onto-
TWIST!
“MY RING!”
‘Oh you’ll have a better one soon my dear’
Almost instantaneously with that womanly seductive...yet somewhat intimidating remark, the watch Anita wore on the right unstrapped itself as it slid onto the palms of her left hand, circling around her ring finger as it POPPED! Into an expensive, yet suitable platinum. A red garnet surrounded by a boat steering wheel was etched in the top, with an insignia of an anchor engraved at the bottom.
‘Right about now’
With that notion of the ring, her once-smooth pale fingers started to take on a modest tan as they cracked and popped larger than before. Having a mind on its own as slight wrinkles appeared on both hands as they lost sight of any nail polish since the 80s.
‘After all, the enemy homosexual blokes are approaching, we cannot let them infiltrate this ship!’
Anita starred in disbelief. Her mind under the influence of shock, and anger at what...whatever is doing this to her. Being forced to grip her cellphone-only to watch it shift to a completely different brand... something retro like one that those homophobic companies sold.
Without hesitation, those middle aged fingers slid backwards to a shot where Jordan’s strong, masculine hands were in display. Zooming and focusing onto the red garnet ring he is wearing.
‘Isn’t it charming? Now you’ll get to be with him-‘
‘No I-!’
The rebuttal from Anita stopped, as the tan began growing her arms decently as though she was always one of the more sporty types-even back in school in Britain...Britain?
With confused thoughts, her new thumbprint pressed play once more as her arms grew leaner and stronger with muscle. Beneath her attire was the faint outline of a modest bicep as evident that she worked out daily...just not as extreme as those-
‘HOMOS!’
“HOMOS...Oh bloody...shit!”
Pressing her womanly fingers onto her forehead, experiencing the wear and tear of motherhood pressing against her temples, like the waves of the ocean rubbing away rubble.
‘That’s right love, let the ship take you to your destination’
With each passing second, Ms Anita felt like she has underwent a whole new lifetime of discipline, schooling and moral standards. Barely resisting the fight, as the sounds of the navy captain assured her everything was as it should be.
Including her newfound attraction to men.
‘Listen!’
The commanding bark pressed play once more, her shoulders straightened back into perfect posture with that command, hands now to the side-like it was drilled onto her both in school life and the navy. Book balancing and strong will power was essential to show whose in command here.
Her back, formerly thin and small, now stretched the grey office jacket tightly as though the suit was a size smaller than her. Rising up as her spine pushed her up an inch, tan basking over her slightly wider shoulders and back, giving her the physical confidence that she needed.
"WOT? AH DINNAE CATCH THAT...!"
As sound as she heard that voice, her nipples became erect. Pushing forward against the lace were the now esteemed D-cups. Tan leaking all over them as the laciness shifted into a combat fit pink-just to show that she is definitely a woman behind that dominance and not one of those immature girls who
‘Don’t know a thing about natural love!’
"I said they were being homoph.."
Her abdominals clenched in rage, cobblestones basked in sunlight as the great tan his em’. Bubbling out harder than Jordan’s ever did, specially if her children ever listened to that garbage online! Rising into a solid six pack that showed whose the matriarch here.
With that notion, the grayness of her jacket leaped forward, separated and cocooned those motherly fingers of hers in white rubber, stretching into gloves to keep fingerprints off conversion business...specially when it comes down to a new recruit.
Alongside her wider back, her inner short grey undershirt decided to crawl upward, shifting to soft cotton and bleaching white in the process as it rested around her neck, a popped down collar round’ it as the tan lines continued to creep upward.
*Cough*
Was the response, as the jewelry hanging from the neck coiled around and solidified into black fabric, simplifying into a uniformed but proud Windsor’s knot as the black tied rested on top of her much larger breasts. Her voice croaked a little, before a tight knock was administered onto her chest by her gloved wrist, leaving a British-formal, middle aged lady that stands for no-nonsense...except occasions where it is necessary to use her motherly...and womanly charm.
"AH DINNAE HAVE TIME FOR THE HOMOS. DON'T YE SEE I GOT A KITCHEN TA RUN, WOMAN."
“Ah Jordan, as conservative and angry as ever aren’t cha love?”
She spoke, from hatred to admiration as the tan infiltrated her prideful womanhood like it was nothing, aging her blood and organs like fine wine, her maturity kicking in so that the ship captain receives the optimal conditions for a certain someone’s missile to launch into.
“Just like me.”
The grey jacket of hers was no exception, rubbing against the sleeves of her newly crisp-ironed dress shirt was navy blue. Separated from those gloves were a multitude of lines at the wrists, hanging strongly as the suit grew sizes larger to accommodate her somewhat fitter frame.
With that being said, pinned up were the numerous shiny buttons of her uniform, in a fashion so similar to the current owner of this cuisine ship. A couple of pins snd insignias over at her shoulders and sides, focusing primarily at the multitude of medals polishing and glistening over at her left breast, reminding her of her many accomplishments at the navy.
With that truth, her buttocks tightened up, definitely no monkey’s business as they were wide as a momma, but firm as an alpha. With little to no tolerance towards homosexuality, her thighs stood tall as her height was pushed up, up to an inch shorter than Jordan.
"But..."
STOMP!
Putting her feet down, definitely on Jordan’s as that woman...dyke...whoever she was clearly does not understand their ways. As her legs grew leaner, her pants became shorter-
And shorter were they, slowly fusing into the other and forming a hollow gap in the middle for some womanly’s space and a breather, the fresh air shifting her underwear into a pair of pure white bloomers. Thick comfy protection while preventing enemies from spying below-specially dykes.
Basking her legs and feet was her tan, her waist slimmed slightly-donning that navy blue long skirt that hung just below her knees, authoritatively speaking that she was no het to be messed with, as her loafers opened up and raised a hill at the back, complementing her strict , authoritative regime was a pair of heels, yes-matching colors as well with a size larger for her slightly larger-more wrinkled feet-one that prefers workouts to pedicures-save that for the civilians!
As for heels, they are always deadlier to crush and kick someone with than an average shoe. Besides-its a great foot workout! Trains your endurance as those feet were rough and wrinkled as heck! Sorta also due to the seawater.
Her eyes narrowed in judgement, giving her own face the death stare as her blonde hair began piling up against one another at the back. The blonde melting away to brown as it was held and pulled firmly at the back of her head into a bun.
Her jaw squaring at the bottom, as opposed to her round. Earlobes sealed up as her earnings rested at the very top of her noggin, before merging and reshaping into a tough captains hat at the top with a dark blue under, a white top, and a logo of her navy ship at the top.
Almost arriving at her destination, her nose lifted up-obtaining an era of elegance despite her brutality as her entire face was soaked in a battler. Skin sizzling with slight wrinkles with womanly charm as her glorious tan shone in daylight.
A smile creeping onto her faint-pink glossed lips, flashing those pearly whites as her tongue surged and scouted for her hubby’s delicious food next door. Cheekbones rising as her eyebrows arched elegantly with a blink-
“GET OUTTA ERE’!”
PUSH!
Anne Randalls blinked her brand new blue eyes into existence, crystal clear as the sea as she stepped into dock of the ‘S.S. Hetero’, with her husband just right around the corner-awaiting her visit.
After all, Mr Jordan Randalls needs someone to take hold of the wheel and steer every staff member straight.