Recipe for Love [TG] - Part 3

Oliver has spent his life coasting; sweet talking his way into relationships so that he never had to do more than his fair share. But when he is karmically changed into a woman, things change. He gets a job at a local restaurant and finds himself not only finally learning how to cook and look after himself, but falling in love with the chef as well.

Part 3

Anthony didn't say a word when he got back to the apartment. So neither did Oliver. Their eyes met for a brief moment, Anthony’s mouth threatening to turn into a smile when he spotted the shopping bags and watched Oliver head to the kitchen. 

The next day was the same, they existed like ghosts, haunting one another's presence and yet barely acknowledging one another. At least until Anthony reached over and wordlessly put a bunch of herbs on Oliver’s cutting board when he was making dinner. The two-month time limit Anthony had mentioned came and went. Neither of them said anything about it. 

Anthony did start to teach him how to cook though, slowly at first, like the like with the herbs. Then, slowly, it morphed into full on cooking lessons.

“Aren’t you sick of cooking after working all night?” Oliver asked one night.

“I’m sick of cooking the same thing twenty times.” Anthony shrugged, “Not this.”

There was a pause.

“My mother worked to support me alone. I cooked, to give her time to herself.”

Oliver had never even thought about his mother needing time to herself growing up.

“That was kind.”

“It was necessary, keep feeding somebody; they become dependent. Teach them to cook, they can care for themselves.” 

“Isn’t that saying supposed to be about fishing?”

“...I was trying to make it more relevant to your situation.”

Oliver wanted to bite back that he could take care of himself, but…could he? His way of looking after himself hadn't actually been working much lately. 

“So what, has this strong, silent treatment been your way of looking after me?”

“I’m trying to teach you to look after yourself.”

Oliver put down the knife and shook his head in disbelief.

“But why?”

“Because…” Anthony’s face went pink. You’re a woman. A woman who has clearly been looked after her whole life. Not everybody is like me; men will take advantage of you.”

“And you wanted to stop that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

That stunned Oliver into silence. Not because he hadn't expected it, nothing Anthony did or said really surprised him anymore. But because it was true. It was the right thing to do, and the fact that back when he was a man, it would never have crossed Oliver’s mind made guilt swirl in his gut. 

“Thank you.” He said finally.

“You’re welcome. The idea that you would offer yourself up like a piece of meat just for a place to stay because you didn't think there was another option…it made my skin crawl.”

Oliver had no idea what possessed him to say it, but the words escaped before he could stop them.

“So you would be interested in me, if things were different?”

Anthony didn’t reply, which was as good as a yes. 

~

Oliver had never been the sort to plan for the future. That should be obvious by this point. But after that conversation with Anthony things began to change. He started to wonder what life would be like if he never left. If he stayed here, learning about food and how to actually hold his own weight. 

He was earning enough to pay rent now, would Anthony let him stay if he offered to pay? He could even cook dinner a few times a week. Just thinking it made him smile; him, planning to help and be an equal roommate. The old him would have scoffed at the idea. 

It had been a quiet night at the restaurant. His mind had been free to wander and think on these things as he polished the silver pots and pans till they gleamed. He caught sight of his reflection and found himself transfixed. The woman staring back at him was a stranger. 

She was dressed in an old pair of chef whites Anthony had given him; her hair was in a tight bun with a few stray strands hanging free around her face from a night of hard work. Her cheeks were flushed from the same, and even though he couldn’t see them, he could feel the calluses that were becoming permanent on his fingers. She was Olive. He was Oliver, and he couldn't be sure where one ended and the other began. 

“Hey, babe.”

And there went his good mood.

“What do you want, Simon?”

It was the same chef who’d slapped his ass when he first got this job. Ever since Anthony gave him a talking to, he’d kept his hands to himself but never missed an opportunity to flirt. 

“I was thinking…I know you and Anthony have an arrangement. I was wondering what the exact terms of the deal are.”

“...What do you mean?”

Simon leaned over the bench so that his sweaty face was only inches from Oliver’s.

“I’m saying that I know he’s a grump, probably making you pay your way right? How about I give you something better? Free food, rent, I’ll even give you the Netflix password. All you gotta do is…show me some love after work a couple times a week.”

Oliver was suddenly flung into an alternative universe, where Simon had been the one to catch him that night, sneaking in. In that world, he’d be living the easy life, trading his new sexy body for food and a roof. He wouldn't have calluses on his fingers right now, wouldn’t go home smelling of olive oil, wouldn't even have to work. Seeing how desperate Simon was, he would probably even be able to charm his way into some nice gifts to sell for petty cash. 

In that alternate world, Oliver was still Oliver; the lines between him and the new female persona were not blurred. It was an easy life, the life he’d been wanting for months, and it disgusted him. 

“No way.”

“What? Come on, I bet I am way better in the sack than that stick in the mud.”

“We’re not sleeping together.”

Even as he said it, Oliver couldn't keep a strange sense of longing out of his voice. Longing that Simon picked up on. 

“What? You actually like him? Mr. If it doesn't have exactly three olives, it's done wrong?”

“It’s none of your business!”

Oliver felt a strange lump forming in his throat; no, he couldn’t be…actually developing feelings for Anthony, right? He was an ass half the time, made everything harder than it needed to be, not to mention he was a man! But Simon giving him the easy out he thought he’d wanted gave him no choice but to look inward and face that sense of longing and arousal that had first started weeks ago. Just acknowledging it made his cheeks burn red. As if summoned by her thoughts, Anthony stepped back into the kitchen.

“Hey, are you sick or something? You look like a tomato.”

What a charmer. This was the guy his traitorous body had decided to love?

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed and then flicked to Simon, lingering by the sink.

“Did he do something? I can talk to the manager, we can find another chef to replace him if he’s being a creep.”

There it was, the softness that made Oliver’s heart flutter. 

“It’s nothing really. I am just ready to go home.”

Anthony blinked and cleared his throat.

“Home. Of course.”

It would only be later, after everything had changed, that Oliver realised he’d never called the apartment home before. 

~

Realising you’re in love with somebody changes everything. Being in denial means you have an excuse to be with them without ever doing something about it. Unfortunately, once you are faced with the realisation that you like them more, it's constantly on your mind. Which is why Oliver made a promise to himself. 

Anthony had made him a better woman, and there was nobody he wanted more to truly make a woman out of him. That meant actually seducing him, not for his food and place, but for him. And that scared Oliver shitless. After years of hollow relationships that could be shrugged off, to actually, truly want somebody was…intimidating to say the least. He needed a plan. 

And that plan started by showing Anthony he wasn't taking advantage of a pathetic loser woman who couldn't take care of herself anymore. That started with duct tape. Specifically, duct tape in the fridge. 

“What are you doing?” Anthony asked when he came in to find Oliver putting a line straight down the middle of the shelves.

“Making sure it's clear whose food is on what side, so I don't accidentally use anything I’m not supposed to,” he explained. “Also, I need your bank account details.”

Anthony chuckled a little.

“Why?”

“To pay my half of the rent. I am working on back pay as well. I’m also working on a chore chart. If I cook dinner three nights a week, but wash up five, I think that evens out.” 

“...You made a chore chart.”

“I’m working on it.”

Oliver could feel himself blushing harder as the conversation continued.

“I want to stay here, as your roommate. We work at the same restaurant, so it makes sense. I will hold my own, though. No favours necessary.”

Oliver forced himself to look Anthony in the eye as he said that last part. ‘Please understand,’ he silently begged, ‘Please don’t say no’. After a moment, Anthony stuck out his hand, and Oliver shook it.

“Deal. Roommates.”

“Roommates.”

Oliver could only hope they would be more soon enough. 

~

All it takes is one little action to cross the line between friends and lovers. What happens after can be fast or slow, but that first move? It can be so tiny that neither even notices it's been crossed at all. Something as simple as walking through a kitchen early one Saturday morning, while the light catches a woman’s face just right, and the man notices, then his eyes slide down to a chopping board as he says something he’s said a thousand times. 

“You’re holding the knife wrong.” Anthony said softly, “Here.”

His chest pressed against Oliver’s back, and his arms encircled him. That was the moment, though neither of them realised until later. 

Anthony’s hands gently held Oliver’s own, adjusting his grip on the knife and slowly showing him how to slice. Oliver’s body felt hot all over, he could feel Anthony’s heart beating against his back and it made his new pussy slick. 

The thing about bodies is, sometimes, they want what they want, regardless of the person inhabiting them. So no matter how much Oliver tried to dislike those calloused hands on his own, or the heat from Anthony’s breath on his neck, he just couldn’t. His own body was betraying him, getting wetter and wetter with every slice of the knife. 

“Are you okay?” Anthony asked, his voice husky. “You’re breathing quickly.”

“Yes, I just…I…”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“...No.”

Anthony’s hands pushed the cutting board away and instead moved to Oliver’s front, one moved upwards to brush against the underside of his breast, the month moved toward the aching between his legs. Oliver’s legs spread instinctively, he was still wearing nothing but the robe and Anthony’s hands pressed the silk against his folds, making him shiver. 

Oliver had never done anything like this before. Anthony’s hands were so slow, rubbing over his body so softly it made him ache with desperation. One hand gripped the robe, pulling it up to expose his pussy and ass to the air. Oliver’s eyes stared straight ahead, but he could feel Anthony slipping off his boxers. He felt the fall against the back of his legs and a second later, there was something hot and hard pressing against his entrance. 

Oliver suddenly flashed back to his first time. He’d been drunk at a party and fallen into bed with a woman who tasted like cigarettes. Afterwards, he’d sworn that orgasm was the greatest thing he’d ever experienced; it paled in comparison now as Anthony slowly thrust up and into him. Oliver’s virgin pussy parted for him easily. 

He couldn't even moan, just let out a shaky gasp of pleasure until Anthony was fully sheathed. Kisses tickled his neck. 

“Easy, I’ll be gentle.”

Oliver could only nod; and then Anthony began to move, fucking him slowly, sensually, against the benchtop. Oliver braced himself, hips rolling with every thrust to try and create as much friction as he could. It was too slow, too loving. The pleasure just kept growing, but too slowly to make him cum. Anthony’s hands came up to cup his breasts, squeezing his nipples in time with the slow thrusts. 

“Please…” Oliver whimpered; he wasn't even sure what he was asking for, luckily, Anthony did. 

He picked up the pace, thrusting hard and squeezing Oliver's nipples each time his tip slammed into him. Oliver could feel something building inside him; each stroke felt stronger than the last. It was so overwhelming and yet still not enough. Until finally, all at once, the pleasure overwhelmed him. His head fell back against Anthony’s broad shoulder and he came while the chef massaged his tits. 

The pleasure didn’t end there though, Anthony wasn't done yet and Oliver had no choice but to let the man hold him and continue to thrust into his oversensitive pussy. It felt so good it was almost painful. Oliver felt another orgasm wash over him just as Anthony finally came with a grunt. The sound sent shivers down his spine; finally, the stoic wall of a man had let go. Oddly, it made Oliver feel powerful; he’d done that, finally pushed Anthony over the edge in the best way. 

After bracing themselves against the benchtop for a moment, Anthony slid out, and they were both left breathless. Oliver’s whole body was tingling; cumming as a woman had convinced him if there was a way to turn back, he didn’t want it.

“Was that okay?”  He murmured, kissing slowly down Oliver’s neck.

“More than okay,” he giggled, “The potatoes are going brown though.”

“Should have put them in water.”

“You’re so romantic.”

Anthony chuckled again and held Oliver close.

“If you’re up for it, we can go to the bedroom and see just how romantic I can be. That was just a taster.”

A shiver ran down Oliver’s spine. 

“Sounds like a date.”

~

And that, is how Olive was born. It took a few more months of living with Anthony for her to fully accept her new womanhood, a few months after that to ever come clean to her man. Fortunately, the universe works in mysterious ways, and Anthony was able to accept his girlfriend's strange origin. In time. 

Olive still had a long way to go. Despite what Hallmark movies would tell you, learning the value of hard work takes more than just a few weeks of effort. Fortunately, Olive had her man by her side to help her, sometimes subtly, other times not so subtly. The important lesson is this: tread carefully, dear reader, because you never know when the universe will have another fickle moment. It worked out for Olive, but will it work out for you? 

The End

I liked writing this one, but I didn't LOVE it. I feel like if I had some more time, I could make this into something great, as it stands, it's okay. Will definietly add this to my list of 'to expand/update' one day stories.