Tour De Heart - Chapter 2 [TG Lesbian Romance]

Chapter 2

“Rise and shine, darling!”

Ken groaned as light suddenly flooded the bedroom. He rolled away only to wince when his new breasts crushed against the mattress. Groggily, he sat up in bed and rubbed away his sleep before looking down. Boobs were still there. Damn. Another burst of sunlight came as the second set of blinds opened, and once again, he was dazzled. He blinked as the light dazzled his eyes, and a coffee cup materialised before him. Held by a smiling man wearing too much spray tan.

“Louis? What the hell? I am in my nightie!”

“Oh please, darling.” Louis rolled his eyes. “You know I’m as straight as a curly fry that’s been through the wash. That body of yours does nothing for me, fabulous as it is.”

Ken took the mug and looked up at his coach in shock as he opened the rest of the windows. This was still happening. He was supposed to be getting up and packing to catch his flight back to the States. Instead, Ken was still in a strange body with a stranger in his room. He shifted in the mattress, taking in all those subtle changes he was still getting used to; the soft ass pressing against the mattress, the long eyelashes that made his groggy blinks feel even heavier, and of course, the weight against his chest as his breasts hung unsupported under the nightgown he didn’t even remember putting on. Then again, so much of last night was a panicked blur. 

“Darling, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Sorry. I just had a weird dream.” Ken lied. “Louis, could you give me a minute?”

He smiled and nodded.

“I’ll get started on breakfast. Lord knows if I leave it up to you, you’ll just eat a piece of toast and be out on your bike without the proper energy. Carbs! I keep telling you to eat more carbs to burn.”

Louis kept talking, seemingly not bothered if Ken was listening, as he walked back into the apartment toward the kitchen. Ken let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, feeling his chest fall with the motion. Everything about this body was alien. Even something as mindless as breathing felt different. He took a moment to let his eyes flutter close and take stock of his body: he could feel the subtle warmth between his legs, the tickle of hair down his back and the feather-light touch of his nightgown. It was paper thin. He was sure his nipples were showing through it, and his cheeks burned; he really hoped what Louis said about being gay was true. 

Carefully, he lifted the nightgown over his head and let it fall to the floor as he got out of bed. Walking naked to the small ensuite that was now attached to his bedroom. It was smaller than the main bathroom, but he was glad to be able to wash without leaving and running into Louis again. It was so odd to have a person speak so familiarly with him when Ken had no real idea who he was. Sure, he knew Louis was Amelie’s coach, but Ken had no real memories of their relationship. 

Ken hoped a shower would help clear his head, but it did the exact opposite. Rather than his mind going blank as the steam rose, he felt overwhelmed by the new sensations the water elicited. It flowed down the gentle curves of his body, gathering in places he didn’t even know he had. He could feel the stream running down his spine and between the clefts of his tight, peachy ass, and gathering between his legs. His pussy tingled from the tickling sensation, and he quickly switched the water to cold. It felt…wrong to get turned on in this body, like he was violating Amelie’s privacy. He may inhabit it, but this body didn't feel like his yet. He got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist before leaning heavily against the sink.

“Okay,” He told himself as he stared at his new reflection. “Just…go along with this for now, you can’t change anything till you have all the facts. Plus, if you freak out Louis will just send you to an asylum.”

His voice still felt wrong, as did the French, but speaking English was too much effort right now. He’d go about Amelie’s life for a bit, just until he had his footing. Then he could figure out how this happened and more importantly, how to fix it. 

“Just act normal, Ken. uh, Amelie.” 

The scent of pastry began to mx with the steam and Ken took a deep breath and sighed as his stomach rumbled. Breakfast seemed like a good place to start, he’d been so focused on his new body he’d let that coffee go cold. 

“What smells so good?” He asked as he stepped out into the kitchen, Louis had his back to him, frying something on the stove.

“Crossiots, hot chocolate and I am just frying up some eggs, you need your protei-AH!”

He fumbled with the pan, sending half the scrambled eggs to the floor and Ken startled.

“What?”

“I know what I said before, Amelie, but perhaps we are being a bit too informal here. We’re not at the beach, darling.”

Ken blinked, then felt a sense of horror wash over him as he realised the towel was around his hips. Just his hips. He’d never needed to hide his chest before but now, he looked down and saw his full chest on display and embarrassment burn hot. He scrambled, trying to pull the towel up to cover himself; he was so embarrassed the blush wasn't just spreading across his cheeks but his breasts and shoulders too, making them even more noticeable. Louis averted his eyes with a wry smile. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have woken you up. You’re clearly still half asleep.” He teased. 

“Oh God, just ah, just wait here!” 

Ken couldn’t run back to his room fast enough. He slammed the door closed and pressed his back into it. 

“So much for acting fucking normal.” he cursed. “Hour one and you’re already making rookie mistakes.”

A lifetime of male habits couldn’t just be unlearnt overnight. He spent several minutes trying to wrap his long hair up in one of those towel turbans that all women seemed to just know how to do. All women except him. In the end, he dropped the towel in a frustrated huff and went to get dressed. It was a simple job, something he did every day. Surely it couldn’t be that different to do as a woman?

Opening a drawer, he reached for the most basic things: underwear and a bra. A bra. He groaned, holding it up like some kind of foreign object, twisting it in his hands as he tried to make sense of the straps. 

"How do women wear these every day?" he muttered, fumbling with it. He tried to loop his arms through the holes but somehow twisted it around his back instead. He yanked it over his head, but it got stuck, tangled in his hair, the straps tight around his arms as he struggled to free himself.

“For God’s sake!” he growled, tugging at the fabric. After what felt like an eternity of wrestling with it, he managed to get the clasp in place, though it sat awkwardly on his chest. He adjusted it again and again, lifting each of his breasts up into the cups until they fit snugly inside. It felt strange, not bad, just strange, like a constant reminder that his body was no longer his own. 

Ken sighed, glaring at himself in the mirror before shuffling to his closet. Amelie was certainly dedicated; almost everything inside was athletics wear of some sort. He ran his fingers over the soft, stretchy materials on offer until he felt a scratch of paper. Ken pulled out a top and saw a faded number; it looked familiar. After a moment, he realised this was the outfit Amelie had been wearing in those photos online; this was her Tour de France Femme outfit. Realising that made him feel… strangely melancholy. He pushed the emotions aside. He had enough to deal with right now. 

He found a pair of workout leggings and a fitted athletic top. He pulled on the leggings, which clung tightly to his legs and hips in a way that felt both foreign and oddly familiar. The fabric stretched smoothly over his new curves, and he took a moment to examine how they fit. His hands ran over his thighs and hips, feeling the power in his legs, still strong beneath this unfamiliar shape.

“There you are!” Louis sighed when Ken finally emerged. “You’d think you were Cinderella getting ready for the ball or something. What took you so long? You didn’t even do your hair!”
 Ken lifted a hand to the damp strands hanging around his face. A small tub of hair ties was sitting in a bowl by the door, right next to the key rack. He reached in and grabbed one, stretching it between his fingers. He’d seen women do this a thousand times, but his hands stubbornly refused to cooperate. After a few seconds, Louis sighed and got to his feet, taking the hair tie and gently putting Ken’s hair up in the high ponytail Amelie wore in so many photos. 

“You really are out of it today,” Louis said, sounding concerned. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

‘Louis, you don't know the half of it.’ Ken thought ruefully to himself. 

“Just having one of those off days, haha. You know how it is, us girls with our heads in the clouds!”

Ken cringed inwardly while Louis stared at him. He wished the ground would open up and swallow him; what the hell was that? He sounded like a bad actress on a soap opera. But how was he supposed to know how women spoke? 

“How about we just get down to business?” Louis said awkwardly, waving a hand over to the table. “We’ve got eleven months till the next Tour de France Femme, and you’re taking the gold this time.”

Ken eyed the silver medal on the wall and felt his toes twitch. He felt antsy and stiff. All of a sudden, he craved to be outside on his bike again. It was like he’d become addicted to it. 

“Don’t worry, you can ride soon.”

“How did you-?”

“I’ve been your coach for three years, darling. I know you. Now, sit.”

They settled on the coach, and Louis pulled out a thick, well-loved notebook and flipped through the pages. 

“You’ve had your cool down. Now, it’s time to start working up the basics. We must build a strong aerobic base, strengthen your core and enhance your flexibility. Really work on leaning into those corners, but,” And he paused with a serious look on his face. “No more than eight to ten hours of riding a week, you hear me? I don’t want you overworking yourself. The hard months come later. Now is the time to slowly build up strength and endurance, you understand?”

“Uh, yeah!” Ken nodded enthusiastically. He didn't really, but whatever got Louis out of his apartment so he could ride. He just wanted a sense of normalcy; funny how quickly biking had become a comfort. 

Louis continued to talk, going on about statistics and various other things Ken really didn’t care about. Still, he had to admire the other man; he was clearly passionate about helping Amelie become the best cyclist possible. They ate and talked for almost an hour. Ken felt an odd sense of fondness settle over him; if nothing else, at least he had somebody he could rely on in this new life. After what felt like an age, Louis said his goodbyes. 

“Tomorrow, we start training in full, but since you seem a bit out of it, I’ll just let you do your own thing today, alright?”

“Sounds good, thanks, Louis.”

“No problem, rising star! Take it easy, and I will see you at six am sharp tomorrow with my stopwatch in hand!”

“Great.” Ken smiled tightly before letting out a sigh of relief when the door closed. 

As soon as he was alone, Ken reached for one of the many bottles of sports drink and took a deep gulp. It was sweet, refreshing and strangely familiar. This was his favourite sports drink brand, with a perfect balance of flavour and electrolytes. 

“It feels so weird to be learning my own preferences again…”

He bounded down the stairs and jumped on his bike, taking a moment to revel in the rough feel of the handlebars against his palms and how the seat was perfectly shaped to his new ass. It had been a women’s bike all along. He gripped the handlebars and grit his teeth; whatever had done this to him was going to have hell to pay. He’d never been a violent guy but he was absolutely ready to punch the lights out of whoever was responsible. If they thought he was just going to roll over and take this they had another thing coming. 

His anxiety and anger seemed to melt away as soon as his feet touched the peddles though. It was almost as if some sort of spell was cast over him; a sense of peace and rightness settled over him as he rode, making it harder to keep his resolve. He felt his ponytail flying behind him as he rode up and down the hills of the outer city, enjoying the burn in his calves and occasionally reaching down to where his drink was stashed to refresh himself. 

After a while though, he couldn’t help but notice his own body again. Everything was new, even riding his bike. The sports bra kept his chest in tight, but they still moved. He could feel the sway of his hips as he peddled hard and the way high tight shorts spread across his ass cheeks. He even had to stop a few times to stop the fabric shimming up his ass crack.

“Dammit, stupid women’s clothing…”

He’d pulled over to fix it up once again when he spotted somebody familiar. The woman with the dark hair from yesterday, she was standing outside a shop with a stylised bike painted over the doorway. 

“Les Roues d’Or…”

The Golden Wheels. 

A familiar woman was standing outside, with dark hair and red lips; it was the one who had complimented his French and recommended the cheesecake. The woman sipped her coffee and then their eyes met and she smiled. Somehow, her expression was even more open and friendly than it had been yesterday.

“After some new shorts?” She asked, eyes dipping to where Ken’s hands were pulling at the fabric and he blushed.

He didn’t want to buy more women’s clothes, if anything he just wanted to put on a normal pair of jeans but he couldn’t just keep riding like this. The shorts were practically making him indecent! 

“Uh, yeah. I guess”

“Come in, I was just taking a break while it was quiet.”

The shop smelled of polished metal, fresh rubber, and just a hint of oil; surprisingly, Ken found himself breathing it in deeply. The scent was oddly comforting. Bicycles of all shapes and sizes were neatly displayed on racks along the walls, their frames gleaming under the warm light. None were as beautiful as his, though. 

“Welcome to my little piece of paradise.” The woman smiled. “I’m Jean, by the way.”

“Ke-uh, Amelie. Thanks for being so welcoming after the awkwardness yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Jean cocked her head to the side. “You must have me mistaken for somebody else. I know I would remember meeting you.”

Her words took on a slightly husky, flirtatious tone at the end, and Ken blushed. On second thought, he was glad he’d changed enough that she didn’t recognise him. 

“Though you do look familiar…” She mused. “Do you ride often?”

“Pretty often, these days.” 

“Well, let’s get you some new shorts. What’s your usual size?”

Ken felt the heat in his cheeks increase. How was he supposed to know? It’s not like he checked the labels. Jean was looking at him expectantly, and he sighed.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. 

“Ah, been a while since you treated yourself to new gear?” She said sympathetically. “I understand, let’s get you something special, hm?”

Jean led him to a rack of clothes and began thumbing through them. Ken grabbed a pair of bike shorts and felt the soft, stretching material between his fingers. They all looked so small, he blushed imagining how his ass would look in an even smaller size. They’d basically become a second skin. 

“Maybe we should get you something the same colour as your cheek.” Jean teased with a giggle, holding up a pair of hot pink shorts that made Ken blush even harder. 

God, this was so embarrassing. Ken only bought clothes once in a blue moon, and when he did he didn’t pay much attention to it. Jeans, a few shirts, a nice tie for work now and then. He didn't know the first thing about dressing for this body or women’s clothing in general. Especially not sportswear. His fingers brushed against the fabric again, and suddenly, knowledge began to leak into his mind. He wanted something skin tight, for speed but breathable so that he didn't end up too sweaty while cycling. And…he liked light colours…

“Blue brings out my eyes.” 

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and suddenly Jean was leaning in close.

“You do have lovely eyes.” She said softly before blushing herself and stepping back. “How about turquoise? Something richer than the ones you have on now…and a size up.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?”

“No! Just that maybe a bigger size will stop them riding up so much, not that the view is bad.” 

Jean covered her mouth in shock, as if she couldn’t believe she’d just said that, and Ken couldn’t help but laugh. It felt nice not being the most awkward person in the room, at least for a few seconds. The tension he felt seemed to melt away, and he took Jean's turquoise shorts and a matching sports bra and made his way to the change room.

“If you need anything, I’ll be right outside, slowly melting into a puddle of embarrassment!” She called, and Ken giggled.

The giggle made him pause. It was another one of those small changes that seemed to have more impact than he would have expected. Men chuckled, women giggled; and it felt different. Chuckles were restrained, small, they only lasted a moment and were more an acknowledgement that something funny had happened more than enjoying the humour itself. A giggle was lighter, more joyful and open. It filled his chest and for a moment. Ken just enjoyed the unbridled freedom the sensation gave him. It was easier to laugh openly without holding back as a woman. It wasn’t something he’d even realised he’d been doing; years of holding back emotions in the name of appearing more stoic and manly had taken its toll without him even realising. It felt…nice. But then he shook his head and gave both his cheeks a quick slap to bring him back to reality. He wasn’t enjoying this, being a woman was a nightmare. This clothing stop was just a necessity. 

“How do they fit?”

“Uh,” Ken fumbled with the clothes, “Just a second!”

Quickly, he ripped off the too-tight pair and tossed them in the corner, taking a moment to breathe properly. Tiny red marks were where the waistband and elastic had cut into his skin, and he traced a finger over them, feeling the skin stretch out again. He took a breath, enjoying the feeling of his breasts rising and falling free, before he grabbed the new pair and slipped them on. The fabric was still skin tight but not painfully so, and he felt it hugging his thighs as he pulled the shorts into place. 

Ken took a moment to admire himself in the mirror, twisting his spine to look over the delicate curve of his ass. Now that the shorts weren’t riding up, it was much less, for lack of a better word, slutty. Sexy, without being overly revealing. The bra was much the same, still squashing his breasts and showing off a decent amount of cleavage without making him feel like they were about to fall out at any moment. 

The colour was perfect too, his bright blue eyes seemed even more dazzling with the darker blue highlights of the clothes. He tightened his ponytail and stepped out to where Jean was waiting. She gasped with a soft smile on her lips, and Ken couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes raked over his form; if Ken didn’t know any better, he’d assume she was checking him out. 

“You look so stunning!” She squealed. “Utterly beautiful! You have to buy them!”

“Uh oh, I feel like maybe I should have looked at the price tag…” 

“I didn't trick you into buying the most expensive set.” Jean rolled her eyes playfully. “Come on, I will even give you a discount, they were made for you. I can’t just let you walk out of here without them.”

As he approached the counter to pay, Ken realised he’d grabbed his wallet and phone without even thinking. When he opened them, he stared at the credit card that now had Amelie Blanchet’s name on it. He stared for a moment; it felt wrong to use somebody else's credit card, but at the same time, he shifted his thumb and saw a slightly lighter patch of plastic. The card had been somewhat worn away by the owner gripping it in the same spot over and over, the same spot he’d grabbed it from. It was a little detail but somehow it made him feel a little bit better handing it over. 

Jean rang him up and then paused for a second, her eyes widening. Those beautiful red lips fell open, and she turned to stare at Ken.

“Oh my god. You’re Amelie Blanchet.”

Oh great.

“Apparently!” he laughed nervously. 

“Oh my God. I am a massive fan.” Jean breathed. “I had no idea you were in town! Oh my god, and I was fli-uh, being so unprofessional.”

Ken watched as the confident, flirtatious woman he’d met suddenly turned into a star-struck mess. She nervously tugged at her scarf, adjusting it three times in as many seconds out of pure anxiety. What the hell was he supposed to do? He wasn’t a celebrity, and yet, apparently he was. He had no idea how to act. 

“Well, I am in town because I live here,” Ken replied, unsure how to even continue this conversation. It felt wrong for somebody to be so impressed with him. 

“You live here? Amelie Blanchet lives in my town, and I didn't even know!” Jean gasped. “And now she’s in my shop! And…And I am talking to myself like she’s not here and making myself into a fool.”

Ken bit his lip to hold back another giggle, and Jean’s face turned as red as her lipstick.

“...I’m going to give you your bag and just…go out the back before I make this any more awkward. It was so lovely to meet you, Miss Blanchet! I’ll be cheering for you at the next event!”

“Thanks!” Ken smiled awkwardly, he hoped Jean didn't think it was because of her. The truth was he had no idea how a celebrity was supposed to interact with a fan. He didn’t even know how much of a celebrity he was yet! Still, he didn't want to just walk away and make her feel like she’d messed up after she’d been so kind to him. She was looking at him so expectantly though. 

“Um, did you…want an autograph?” He tried, hoping he wasn’t coming off as arrogant.  

“Oh yes, please!” 

Jean fumbled around the register for a pen and paper while Ken felt a cool sweat form on the back of his neck. Why had he said that? He didn’t know what Amelie’s autograph would look like! He’d been on celebrity Wikipedia pages before; they had little examples of their signature. What if he did it wrong? He kept his teeth clenched in panic as Jean passed him the pen and pad, but then, to his shock, his hand seemed to move on its own. The pen glided across the page in perfect cursive, easily signing his new name. Some sort of muscle memory kicked in and before he knew it, he was handing the paper back. 

“Thank you! I’ll get it framed and put on the wall!” Jean grinned. People are sure to flock to the bike shop where Amelie Blanchet shops!”

“Glad I could help.”

Ken felt slightly numb, still reeling from the fact that he knew how to sign Amelie’s name. He said his goodbyes and stepped back outside, feeling the cool air in his hair. He looked around at the French signs all around him and read them without thinking, his mind only pausing at the English translation between one of them. This whole new life felt so different, yet the longer he lived it, the more familiar it became. It was creepy. This new knowledge in his head didn’t feel quite right; there was an impersonal edge to it, like he’d simply read it somewhere not experienced it. That thought only made him more determined to fight this; he couldn’t risk staying here in this life. For now though, all he could do was ride and hope he could discover exactly what had done this to him. Once again, he hopped onto his beloved bike, trying hard not to enjoy the feeling of the new comfortable bike shorts pressing into his skin, and pushed off. His legs moved out of habit, and he returned to his new home.