BigCloset Classic

Revision by Greyflank
Date: Sunday, August 18 @ 14:15:22
Topic Big Closet TG Stories


The wizard helps Eric get a little rewrite on his life story.
Revision
by Bill Kieffer
based on a request by Mistress Christine Stephenie Charlemagne
2000 Bill Kieffer
The story behind the story: Mistress CSC approached the TSA-Talk mailing list, looking for someone to swap a Transgendered story with. Having enjoyed other swaps, I leapt at the chance! However,I'd never written a TG story before! I strongly suspected I'd have to do several revisions to get it right... and that formed the very spark of an idea that was going to be my non-cliched ending! But... I got hit with the flu and, as I wrote the story... I forgot where I wanted to go. Silly horsie!

This is the story I wrote and, in my feverish mind, I actually entitled it, NEVER BRING GRAPEJUICE INTO YOUR GIRLFRIEND'S BEDROOM. So this is the first draft of the story that would become Unrevised, as I recalled my first idea after Mistress CSC gave me her comments.

There's a joke in there, somewhere.

Comments are ALWAYS welcome. Oh... and mature readers only, OK?




I stand on the chair, somehow thinking that high heels and ancient chairs were a good idea. I could fall and break my neck, which considering the way things have gone lately, that isn't such a bad idea. My mother fusses with the hems on the gown as I wonder about the tensile strength of the shoulder straps. They are not very strong, one good yank, and I could probably tear them off. I suspect they were designed for just that event. My breasts could probably do the job if I took a flight of stairs too quickly.

Thinking about my breasts is weird. Watching my mother's head bob up and down as the skirt is lowered another inch is also weird. My mother's been dead for six years now. The woman complaining about what I could have possibly been thinking when I put a deposit down on this dress used to be my father. A week ago, she was a he.

A week ago, I was a he, too. My name was Eric Paul LaRue and I've never put a deposit down on a dress in my life. I had put $100 bucks down for a used Harley. The bike shop is now a Bridal store. My whole life has been rewritten, the whole world's gone crazy and nobody knows it but me.

Me and Brenda Rose. Brenda of the short stature and short blonde hair. Brenda of the even shorter temper. If I had only known how attached she was to her stupid teddy bears I never would have gone near the damn things with grape juice. And if I had known, but still managed to spill grape juice on them I never would have thrown them out while she wasn't looking. I would never have tried to replace them before she noticed.

I keep thinking a more understanding woman would have seen I was trying to spare her feelings. They were just stupid toys, after all, easily replaced. It was her I was worried about. Almost any other woman would have thought it was cute, trying to sneak the damn toys past her.

But, no, not only do I get the one girl who can't appreciate what a 11th grade jock went thru emotionally, hitch hiking to the Outlet Mall to spend his hard earned money on plush bears and getting a taxi back -- which wasn't cheap, either I get the one who's a witch to boot.

Sorceress, I guess, as if that makes a difference. I am discovering how stupid little things can make a difference to a woman.

"Next year, I am going with you when you pick out your dress, Ethel," my mother complained. I roll my eyes, not just because I'd never been inside a bridal gown store and not just because this ISN'T the gown I would have picked out... all good reasons for eye-rolling in my book, even if I do look damn good in it. I roll my eyes because of that name, Ethel.

To do this to me and my family and then name me Ethel... oh... I owed Brenda big time for that one alone! My only consolation was that I was so much better looking than Brenda. Sure it was incredibly shallow of me, but I was wrapped in pink fur and strawberry stretch satin which clung like Saran Wrap to my hips and chest.

I had no pride.

"Mom." I whined, surprised at the words coming out of my mouth. "It's satin! Everyone will be able to see that the hem was lowered! I'll be a laughing stock!" Since the transformation, inane phrases like that have been popping out of my mouth instead of things I wanted to say. And then my foot twitched, to my horror.

Good grief, I've becoming a tantrum throwing bimbo! Talk about having no pride!

My mother, who once, as my father, shared my obsession with the Seahawks and painted his chest blue, green and silver on the off chance of getting on TV on our annual trip to Washington state to visit grandpa... still male, by the way, looked up at me with pins in her mouth, forcing me to look away. She was just too pretty to be a 45 year old ex-Marine drill sergeant, but the look hadn't changed and the pins in her mouth didn't diminish it in the slightest.

Instead of the expected speech, her voice gets all sweet and reassuring. "It'll look fine, honey. Really. No one will notice."

I look into my mother's eyes, and I wonder how much of the old man is still in there. Is he stuck in there, like I am in here? Does he remember boot camp? Does he remember what it was like to piss standing up? Or to feel the pressure on the front of his jeans when a pretty girl walked by?

Does he know what happened? If he does, I can't tell. If he does, I can't tell him why. Brenda's the only one I can talk to about the change. It would sound crazy. It would sound insane.

A tear forms in my eye as I realize the man who was my father is lost to me behind copper coloured eye shadow and Maybeline brown eyeliner. My "mother's" eyes bore deeply into my eyes, searching, as I searched hers, when she notices the tears. I can't help myself. I try to tell her everything but all I can do is choke out an apology without meaning.

We clench and she nurtures and I have no idea what I am doing any more.

***

We moved from Seattle to Ocean City, New Jersey when Mom died. My real Mom.

Dad had been out of the service for over two years and he hadn't been having an easy time adjusting to civilian life. He had _thought_ he wanted a family, but, frankly, any idiot could see his children scared the shit out of him. Mom's death, kinda forced the issue and we moved to the East Coast, partly to escape anything that reminded him of Mom. Partly to get a new job with Winnertech as Legacy Technology Consultant, his outdated computer savvy suddenly becoming a hot commodity on the East Coast.

Mary and the older kids gave him a hard time about it. Really, their lives had already been disrupted once when Mom died, moving was just another disruption they didn't need. I couldn't blame them, but on the other hand, who the hell wanted to be rained on 24/7?

I started dating Brenda at the start of the school year. She was smart and witty and it wasn't because she looked a bit like my mother. Maybe if she let her hair grow long and she actually went out in the sun once in awhile, I could say there was some resemblance, but there wasn't.

I really cared for her, but like a lot of girls, she seemed to think boys should automatically know what goes on in a girl's mind. I didn't. My mother had been dead for six years. Mary was my only sister, and despite the fact she was only a year ahead of me, we were never very close. My older brothers knew plenty of tricks for getting women in bed, but they couldn't tell me what a girl thinks.

My Dad, probably the only body builder with a pocket protector in New Jersey, knew less about women than I did. He was more interested in knowing everything about one woman, my mother. He dated, but it always seemed so formal for him, like he did it so we wouldn't worry about him or something. He missed my mother.

I wish I HAD told Brenda I spilled juice on the bears. It bothered me at the time, too, but I couldn't bring myself to face her. It wasn't my fault, after all, it was an accident. I was a coward. I was afraid to face her.

With good reason, apparently.

When the ruse was discovered, I have to admit I got a little defensive. I failed to recall the one bit of advice Dad had given me in regards to women. "It will be your fault. Accept that and just keep apologizing until the cows come home. Eventually, the storm will be over and, after awhile, the woman will admit that it was probably her fault, too. And it may well be, but never, under any circumstances, defend yourself. Especially not with logic!"

I thought he was joking.

I really wished I hadn't said, "Well, how the hell am I supposed to know how women think? I'm not even sure they DO think."

So, Brenda dropped the bomb, she was a Sorceress and she was about to literally cut my balls off.

Some spells need a lot of preparation. Not the sex change spell, apparently. She threw some dust at me and said a few nonsense words and my balls suddenly felt cold. I felt cold all over until Brenda grabbed my hand and dragged me to a mirror.

I went from freezing to burning as my ears caught on fire with embarrassment. I was a high school football player. I was the quarterback, but I was built like a half back. I was tall and I was wide with a face that looked mean, even in my sleep. In a suit, I looked like a Marine career soldier. Nobody carded me for beer.

My hair was a dark brown crew cut, or at least it was before I snapped at Brenda. As I watched, it fell down my face as if it were shaving cream being exuded from a can. My jaw dropped, and, as my mouth hung open, my chin shrank to half its size like someone was letting air out of it. There was an ache in the back of my jaw, as the jawbone pulled painfully at my skull.

My tongue felt too thick, and it pushed out of my mouth as my jaw shrank further. My lips became red and full wherever my tongue touched them. My hand flew up to my mouth in shock, and to check to see if this was really happening.

That was not my jaw, but I could feel it on my face. I moved my hand over my mouth and, everywhere I touched, the fine hairs I wistfully called a beard fell off. I touched my right cheek and it collapsed, disappearing, into the smooth pink flesh of a cheekbone that would have made David Bowie jealous. The left cheek vanished a moment later as it melted away.

My lips were huge and my jaw hurt as my upper jaw began to contract. I saw stars and I fought the urge to pass out. I needed to understand what was happening, but the pain was making it hard to focus. My knees buckled, but Brenda caught me by the back of my Seahawks shirt, and held me upright as best she could, facing the mirror.

I was grateful for that, believe it or not. I couldn't believe, even then, she could be so mad at me as not to try to help me. I THOUGHT she was trying to help me. She just wanted me to watch.

My nose had all but vanished, I noticed, in the second I had almost fallen to the floor. I now had a cute little button nose, instead of the tough crag-like thing that ran in the men of my father's family. My eyes were blue and not brown, and, as my forehead and brow looked more like a plate and less like a shelf, my eyebrows seemed to pluck themselves.

My neck suddenly became half its size. For a moment, my adam's apple stuck out a mile from my neck as it bounced around swallowing in a panic. Brenda simply placed a finger on it and pushed it into my neck until it was all but invisible. The air burned blue as I had trouble breathing for a moment and my shirt felt tight against my chest.

Dizzily, I noticed that I seemed to have breasts. Nice big ones and, as I heaved to catch my breath, so did the puppies in the mirror. I would have been fascinated if I wasn't so close to passing out. At some point, I started holding up my pants as they become incredibly loose.

Brenda grabbed me by the crotch and I gasped as she clutched my manhood with only the jeans between them and her hand. I had been looking forward to the day she did that, but it wasn't supposed to be like this!

What I had planned and dreamed about was the exact opposite of what really happened. They became smaller at her touch and then, sickeningly, I felt them hide inside my body. It was liked being kicked in the balls in slow motion.


I crumbled to the floor, not understanding how or even why Brenda would do this to me. Only that she was responsible. Only that she was smiling as I fell to her floor.

***

I get out of the dress so my "mother" can sew the hem properly. With eight girls in this reality, she's become quite the seamtress. I hope to god that he's not in there railing at what's happening to reality. I'll never know. Could the spell be that good that no one else recalls the way the world should be? Or is the real magic spell a curse that makes me think I remember what it was like to be a boy, to be have a penis?

God, that's a scarey thought.

I get dressed for my date with Bill, another scary thought. Bill is the quarterback on our team. At least he is, now that no one remembers an Eric P. LaRue. I knew Bill and he was a good quarterback, that was for sure. Brenda knew I was very competitive with him, so she brewed up a romance between him and "Ethel," hoping to really piss me off. She screwed up there, big time.

Bill was as gay as a three dollar bill and that was the only reason I was as competitive with him as I was. I wasn't about to let a homo lead the team to victory. If I had to be a woman, Bill was the safest boyfriend I could have. That and I figured I owed him something for getting him thrown off the team in my reality. I could be his beard for awhile and when it was all over, history would revert back the way it was supposed to be.

Besides, we'd been friends once. I had really come to miss him, but how could I trust him knowing what I knew? Having a good time was him was a bit like the old times and another way to give Brenda the finger.

I knew she couldn't keep this up. Sooner or later the energy drain will be too much. Logically, changing reality couldn't be an easy thing to do; otherwise people would do it all the time.

I have no pants in my closet and I should fix that one day if this whole "I'm teaching you a lesson for your own good" thing drags on much longer. I figure she'll wait until the traditional gang bang parking session down by the lake is underway or even over and then offer me a chance for reversion, thinking Bill is going to be forcing himself on me there. I suppose she'll expect me to play the victim and cry my sudden insight of the feminine condition.

Screw that. I'll play her game all right, but I'll be using my own playbook and whip her ass at it.

I pick a nice floral print silk skirt and toss it on the bed. My shoe boxes of football cards had been replaced with shoe boxes of... shoes. I was surprised the first few days that each shoe made me feel differently about myself in different ways. It's hard to explain, even now. As casually as I picked my skirt, I actually find myself plotting different strategies the different shoes will bring to the evening. I narrow my selection down to four, all pumps: one black, one green, one brown, and one made of hemp that doesn't match the color scheme, per se, but they are comfortable and I think I can make the floral theme work with them.

I toss a pair of green, silver and blue Seahawks panties onto the bed. Since the transformation, this is the only pair of underwear I've bought for myself, another way of bringing a bit of the old Eric into this Ethel I've become. A new pair of pantyhose, too.

I can't stop myself from picking out two blouses I want to wear. Neither appeal to me on an emotional level, but they'll both match the skirt and the hemp shoes I want to wear. A half hour later, I've narrowed the blouse down to THREE choices.

I owe Brenda for this, too. Forget the fact that I was born a man, that I like being able to piss without wiping or sitting, or my football scholarship, just God, please make me a man so I can get dressed in under ten minutes! That's all I'm asking for right now, ok? As much as I want to scream this, I can't. Instead, I hum and begin trying on the blouse as if I have all the time in the world.

I have to take off the pantyhose to get completely undressed, and I do, cursing at myself for putting on a few extra pounds today. I feel like a pig, I thought, shoveling four whole Twinkies down my mouth, what was I thinking. The urge to vomit, when I realized what I had done, was incredible! Iron will alone kept me from becoming one of those girls you see on Oprah or Sally Jessie Raphael.

I knew I hadn't gained pounds in the space of 12 hours, but it sure felt like it.

I put on the panties half worried that I might need some protection down there. But I doubted Brenda made me a real woman. I mean, there's something mystical about a woman, isn't there? Something elemental that I doubt a 17 year old witch, no matter how talented, could foist unto somebody. Besides, to my surprise, I seemed to keep tampons and a spare set of panties in my pocketbook for emergencies. Who said woman can't be practical?

I felt sad for my missing parts. The poor Seahawk logo sat flat and smooth on my loins, disturbed only by a patch of kinky hair and a small mound of flesh that was sort of shaped like the plastic butt of a baby doll. Yet, I had to admire myself in the mirror. I didn't look like me, I was beautiful.

I put on the pantyhose, the new support hose, and they scratched my legs fiercely. Pantyhose was so stupid, but my mother insisted and I cursed her for not getting Ethel to buy at least one pair of pants. Bending over, I stop to brush out my long brown hair. When I get back to being a guy, I think I'll let me hair grow. The crew cut thing made me look like a jar head, and I'll say this about women, they are very savvy about appearances. My breasts are firm enough they don't bounce about too much as I right myself, but they are large enough that I can feel the pull of gravity on them.

I stop to wonder about a bra. I really don't need one, but I realize my mother will be more comfortable if she just happens to notice I am wearing a bra. I could tell her Bill is gay, but then I have to explain my reasons for going out with him, whish is something I can't do right now, so I wasn't going to do that. I grabbed the first bra off the top of the pile and struggle it on.

Feeling my breasts cupped by the supportive fabric, I actually feel a bit more confident. Not restricted in anyway, really. Amazing.

I try on a blue and white blouse and fumble with the button holes before remembering that the buttons are reversed in feminine apparel. I don't like it. I try another with a bamboo motif, the one that'll match the hemp shoes, but it's too white. If I spill anything on it, it'll be ruined.

That leaves the yellow blouse which is ok, and I wrap the skirt around my hips. It's ok. I can't believe I spent an hour dressing and all I can come up with is ok. Maybe with the right shoes. I try the hemp shoes on first, they make me feel good about myself, like I'm doing something good for the world. I don't wear them enough for the money I paid for them, either.

The hemp shoes just don't work with the yellow blouse. I try the black shoes and they make me feel less tall and awkward, because the heels are so low to the ground, they don't work with the yellow blouse. Sure, black goes with everything, but this blouse wasn't going anywhere with those shoes. I really wanted to stop, but I was compelled to continue by forces beyond my control.

I tossed the green pumps back in the closet. What the hell was I thinking? I'm so frustrated with myself, I can't think straight. I close my eyes and grit my teeth. I was still a man somewhere inside. I had to take control and make a damn decision.

I wore the hemp pumps with the bamboo motif blouse over the floral skirt, satisfied that, for better or worse, I had taken control of the situation.

I felt pretty, too.

***

I had woken up in my room a few hours after the grapjuice incident, a woman.

I knew it was my room because no one else for a thousand miles in any direction had the walls covered with Seahawks posters. There wasn't an inch of wall space that wasn't dedicated to the team, mostly pictures of Saunders and Kennely in action. Our next trip to Seattle would see them playing in Husky stadium and I was sure I could get their autographs this time. Dad was good at getting that kind of thing for me.

The only picture of girls were from the Sea Gals calendars from 1997 - 2000. These were some of the nicest, prettiest women I had ever seen, but more importantly, they were cheer leaders for a team that was almost always the underdog! They really had to work the crowds and I admired that.

Really... there was a lot to be admired.

The only woman to ever come into my room was Brenda, but now I saw a tall brunette with high cheek bones, full lips, and a rack that couldn't possibly be real for all their perfect firmness.

I knew they couldn't be real because this girl I saw in my room was in my mirror. She was wearing my officially licensed Seahawks jersey with my Levi jeans and staring at me from the mirror as if shocked to see me here. I felt very shocked and when I fell onto my bed, so did she.

I was very confused and feeling my breasts to make sure they were real. They were and I wondered exactly how I could have forgotten that I had breasts. I must have forgotten because guys don't get chewed out by their girls and wake up with breasts. That just doesn't happen.

That was when Brenda let herself into my room. I sat up, not knowing how to explain or even how to ask if it really was happening. I couldn't remember exactly what happened to me, but as I saw her glaring at me, I felt sure she had all the answers. "What did you do?" I asked her, I wanted to sound tough and gruff, it just came out hoarse and a little frightened.

"You said you didn't know how a woman thought," Brenda said, "So, what are you thinking now?"

Several thoughts went through my head. One of them was a bit of sadness because it was obvious she was in a lot of pain. That one thought frightened me and I reacted by going on the defensive. "You can't do this to me!" I cried out, tears burning at my eyes. I was crying like a little girl, god dammit and I was so full of different emotions I couldn't make heads or tails or things.

"Me, me, me," Brenda scolded, "Still thinking about yourself and not others, hmm, Eric? Well, let's see what you think about when Eric no longer exists. What do you say about that, Ethel?"

Suddenly, I felt a breeze hit me and my clothes rippled as the windows snapped open. The silk-screened letters and logo blew off my shirt as if they had been newspapers laying in the street. The blue jersey suddenly got smaller, becoming first a tight tube around my chest and then become a bit stretchy as it become a halter top, hugging my perfect breasts ever so slightly together.

My pants became suddenly snug and then they ballooned out, letting the wind whip their material about until they ripped from my legs, becoming a blue silk dress. The letters and numbers were still being spun about the room when they plastered themselves to my torso and melted in a light white sweater.

Angora! An internal voice gushed with joy.

The wind, having finished with me, began to work on my walls, tearing off the posters, scrubbing the walls free of tape and a lifetime of Seahawks worship, going all the way back to 1985! I made a grab for what I could, but they vanished thru my fingers like ghosts. Within seconds, I was standing alone in a pink room full of French Provencal furniture, all traces of the guy I once was gone.

In shock, I staggered out of my room -- not that it felt like my room anymore -- and wandered my house in a daze.

It wasn't my house. Not any more, and yet it was!

At the top of the stairs, there was a pet stain we'd never been able to get rid of for the last six months. Somebody had given Dad a pot-bellied pig of all things. It looked like Elvis; the stain, not the pig. But while the stain was exactly the same as before, the carpet was now pure white rather than the practical brown Dad favoured.

The portraits going down the stairs were a big shock, too. I recognized only Mary in the photos, and even then there was something distinctly different about her. Oh, then it hit me, she wasn't dressed like a slut in any of them. Mary had always been a tomboy of sorts, and at times, she tended to over compensate by dressing "street." Or was it just what she thought boys found sexy?

In any case, seeing her dressed in what I can only think of as classically feminine, was as baffling a transformation as my own. And almost equally upsetting. I couldn't absorb who the other woman in the pictures were until I saw a picture of four young girls waving Seahawks banners. My first Seahawks game from the 1985 football season. I was only two and I had sat on my father's lap as my mother snapped the picture of us cheering on the 'Hawks.

Only, in this picture, I don't see my Father. I see a good looking, but pregnant woman holding a two year old me. Everyone in the picture is female. Nothing else in this picture has changed. Even the banners are frozen in exactly the same place.

Nothing else. And yet, everything was different.

***

Bill was on time and I hardly made him wait at all.

We went to see a movie at the mall and then we hung out at TGI Friday's for awhile. As always, he was a gentleman. A little hand holding. That was about it, and while I was uncomfortable about possibly leading him on, I found myself flirting with him. I was sending mixed signals, but I knew I was safe.

It was certainly better than sitting home alone wondering when Brenda was going to get around to setting things right. Living well really is the best revenge, anyway.

Out of the corner of my eye, I had caught glimpses of someone trying to be discreet and keeping to the shadows. I might not have noticed except that discovering that not only did magic exist but that it could be wielded by 17 year old hot heads made me a bit more paranoid than usual. The short boy in the big hooded sweatshirt and black sunglasses.

It had to be Brenda, in disguise.

I hope she felt jealous of the attention I was getting from everyone around me. On her best days, she never got this kind of public adoration. As Ethel, I was disgustingly syrupy and feminine. I was what I used to call a flower-and-hearts-dot chick, doting my I's with flowers and hearts on anything from a bank deposit slip to a formal exam. I was disgusted with myself, yet I was as helpless before my sweet heart-dotting as I was about suddenly sounding like Marilyn Monroe.

This would be a real pip if I turned out to be a better woman than she was, Brenda that is. I was already better looking than she was.

Bill distracted me with talk of furniture design. I know nothing about furniture design and yet, I found myself having a very decent conversation with him. A part of me burned with desire to hear how the team was doing, but I couldn't bring myself to ask. It would have ruined my mood.

I hated myself, suddenly, for getting him kicked off the team. He didn't ask to be gay any more than I asked to be a woman. If only...

I can't believe Brenda is wasting all this magical energy on me when there's some real problems in the world. It was outrageous!

I took a sip of my diet soda, a reminder that I got carded yet again. I think they just want an excuse to get my address, I think, as my eyes roam the place for Brenda. I found myself doing things to the straw that even grabbed Bill's attention, and, yet, somehow, I make it all seem very lady-like. I have to wonder how much of what I am doing seems like it's "on purpose."

As a guy, I used to hate the mind games, but now that I'm stuck inside what my dad used to call a bimbo, back in the days when he was my dad, I have to constantly backtrack what I might have possibly done to get THAT look from a guy. Many times, I would end up blushing at the fact that I might have lead some poor guy on. After all, I did know what guys thought, and it made me feel uneasy.

I found myself holding Bill's hand.

***

"So Rick, how many kids you got?"

"I got eight kids. One girl and seven boys."


"Oh, I didn't know you were Catholic."

Well, that's how the joke went. Sometimes my Dad would say, "It's not like we're practicing Catholics." And one of his buddies would say, "Well, after eight kids, it sounds like you don't need to practice much at all!" And they would all laugh. That was back when my mother was alive.

Kids would ask me my religion in school and I would tell them I had seven siblings. Nobody ever laughed. I didn't get it, but then I was never really in any kind of church until my died. I thought religon was some kind of joke. I never thought about God much, and after my mom died, I have to admit, I didn't think much OF God. Dad was of a similar bent.

So imagine my surprise when my dad came prancing out of his bedroom in a sun dress and clapping his hands at me, telling me to get ready for church. Of course, dad was now this sexy 40 something redhead with Pamela Anderson Lee breasts and every bit a woman.

Mary came down, eager for church, and my jaw dropped and I felt incredibly faint. She was wearing the dress my mother, my real mother, had been buried in. If there was a merciful father in heaven, he would have killed me right then and there with lightning. She saw my look and gave me a hug, "I just wanted to wear it on last time, Ethel. OK?"

Just then the twins came trotting out, nearly knocking me out of the hallway and into the bathroom where I THOUGHT I had had the weirdest experience in my life. The twins, half dressed, looked exactly the same as the 13 year old boys, except for the training bras they wore. "Give it back!" one screeched as the other flew into the kitchen.

"That's no way for ladies to behave!" my "mother" scolded from the kitchen and the twins slumped out of the kitchen back to their room to get dressed because they were NOT showing up for church in skirts and training bras.

Suddenly, a flustered 15 year old girl bounced out Doug's room and flounced past me, nearly throwing me down to the floor in her comical rush to get to the bathroom. Mary pounded on the door, forgetting me for the moment. "Dawn! Didn't you see we had a queue!"

"Mom" came out from the kitchen, fixing her earrings. Later, I would learn she kept her gold earrings in the freezer, which is just more weirdness then I really needed to know. "Mary, ladies don't shout. Go to the garage and make sure Babs and Tina are awake, would ya, hun? Ethel, knock on Michele's door and see if she's awake."

Michele? Babs? Tina? I had no idea who these people were. Where were my brothers Michael, Bobby, and Tim down from college for the weekend? What the hell was happening to my little brothers? Why would Mary think I'd want to wear a dress my mother was buried in? What was wrong with the world? Why was god letting this happen to me?

And then I remembered, Oh yeah. God's a lunatic.

Mary noticed the expression on my face and put a kind, sisterly hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong?"

I couldn't answer her. I choked on my words. I felt so vulnerable and scared. I felt like a wuss for not being able to control the attack of sniffles. A dozen emotions vied for my attention and they all seemed so important... I could feel my attention fragmenting towards each one, rather than concentrating on what I really wanted to do. To say. It was all very overwhelming.

Mary could see all this on my face and I was so ashamed at my emotional nakedness. I also felt bad for her for having to deal with a basket case like myself. I felt a dozen other things too with such clarity that I realized that I was crazy, too.

"Ethel," Mary said quietly, "it's not time for your... little friend, is it?"

It took a second to sink in. As soon as I figured out she had asked me if I was having my period, I let out a blood cuddling screech and ran to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. It wasn't very lady-like.

But I did cry like a little girl.

***

I didn't want to examine my growing feelings for Bill. Instead, I concentrated on what I would say to Brenda and how I would laugh in her face. I knew she'd expended a lot of energy getting me involved with Bill. Even magic has to be finite, otherwise she would have just made me into the man she had wanted me to be. I hoped it had sucked her dry, because I was safe with Bill and I could relax around him and be myself... whatever that happened to be at the moment. I was a cheer leader and he was a quarterback, we made the perfect couple to anyone that looked.

I hoped it ate her up from the inside.

As a woman, I think I was beginning to understand how magic worked. There wasn't much linear logic involved but it was all very rational, in a way I never understood before. There was a connectedness to it all and, as Bill and I walked hand in hand thru the closed mall, I found myself thinking about it as the lights dimmed a bit.

"Do you believe in destiny, Bill?" I asked.

That question made him feel uncomfortable. He probably thought I was angling to get serious or maybe even a commitment. I felt bad for him, but I let him struggle thru it on his own. "You mean like having a goal and striding for it? Or do you mean how some people are born to greatness?"

"Yes, to both."

"I think," Bill said easily, "Some people make their destinies. Some people have it made for them."

I nodded and thought about that. "Which one is better, do you think?"

This seemed like an odd thought to Bill. "Better?" He shrugged and went into a cute Gene Wilder impersonation. "Destiny! Destiny! There's no escaping destiny!"

I giggled and leaned on his shoulder. "I love that movie!"

That's when I noticed there was still one store open, a tiny little storefront with an old fashioned sign out front that read, "Spells-R-Us." I had never seen this store before, not in the old reality and not in the current one. I knew instantly that any real answers to my dilemma were in that store. I squeezed Bill's arm and told him I would be right back.

***

The bell over the door rang and I was quite taken with the charm of the place. For a moment I smelled lillies, and then I smelled a dog's odor, and then a light woman's perfume. Call it woman's intuition, but the second I saw the old man behind the counter, I knew this place would have what I needed.

"What can I help you with, Ethel?"

I smiled. "I was hoping for some... protection."

***

The dress came out just fine and Mary looked a little bit jealous. I had to admit, I looked better than she did, but not by far. Everyone in my family could have easily been a Bay Watch actresses, and she was a good sport helping with my make up as I helped her with hers. It felt good bonding with her like this. Eric never got along very well with her, but now she was my role model for everything. The senior prom was a week away, but she'd been asked to both and our boyfriends were splitting the cost of the limo.

I was very excited, but not for the reason Mary was. While "Mom" had run to get the camcorder, Mary pulled me aside. "Mom won't ask, so I will. Do you have protection?"

My jaw dropped. "Er..." I couldn't believe she was asking me THAT. With a smirk, I opened my pink clutch purse and showed her what I had bought at the mall last week.

"Just one?"

I blushed several shades of red. "You... slut," I giggled.

She gave me a frank and amused look. "Bill's spent a lot of money getting the tuxedo and the limo... not every guy makes that effort. You're going to want to reward him... I'm not saying you'll owe him anything, but... well, you know we're from a very giving family."

I could only nod. Where Eric's father and brothers had been introverted and not at all concerned with dating much, Ethel's mother and sisters were pretty active and all in serious relationships. Now that I wasn't so obsessed with my problems, I had only recently noticed that "Mom" was actually spending a lot of time with our neighbor, Mr. Mattos.

With "mom's" gushing squeals of delighted excitement acting as an early warning signal, Mary tossed a handful of condoms into my purse. I laughed hysterically and snapped the purse shut and I was really quite happy with the way of the world.

***

At Shadowbrook, where the prom was being held, things were going well. I even saw Brenda a few times, trying to act like she didn't want me to notice her. She'd been doing that for about two weeks now. I knew instantly that she was expecting me to chase her down, to force her to reverse things back the way they were. Girls like that, they have a script they want everyone to follow. She must be furious by now and tonight she looked especially desperate.

It was time to move into Act III now, otherwise I'd probably end up with a bucket of pig's blood pouring down my head. I was almost looking forward to this. I excused myself from Bill and wandered off to "powder" my nose.

Brenda easily allowed herself to be cornered in the unoccupied wing of the mansion. We found a sitting room, empty, where we could talk. "So, do you understand how a woman thinks, now?" she said, but there was something wrong with her voice. I felt vindicated by what I had planned to do.

"Yes," I said simply, "Yes, I do."

My smiling unnerved her. She looked like she was ready to storm out any minute. That was the last thing I wanted her to do. Luckily, she had a script and she was refusing to budge from it. I was playing on intuition so far and I had been right about just about everything so far. The spell that made me a brunnete bombshell had enhanced all my feminine attributes, including intuitive reasoning. I couldn't balance a check book, but I could outflank Napoleon here.

She was short and grungy. She hadn't been sleeping well and she's probably feeling aggressive. She was afraid of making a mistake and she was highly defensive about it. Everyone was out to get her.

Or him.


Brenda had become a guy, probably right after she cast the spell that arranged Bill and I to get together. Knowing that she had power and control issues, it wasn't hard to figure out that she would want to "break" me. The image of being penetrated by her was probably what she considered the ultimate torture.

I had to admit it wasn't very appealing, but not the act so much as that it would be her.

And like a bad villian from a porno flick, Brenda very crudely put forth what I would have to do to be a man again. I agreed calmly... I had seen this coming, after all. But I opened my clutch purse and dug around a bit for the blue and red condom. "Put this on, please."

Brenda looked at it like she didn't know what it was. "Please," I said reasonably. "We wouldn't want one of us pregnant, would we?"

That convinced her and we began to get undressed. He watched me undress hungrily and I hoped I was right. Brenda's penis was small but uncut... I had always wondered it would be like, having foreskin... then I noticed that Brenda hadn't been big on hygiene these last two weeks. Well, it was only a temporary body to her... why should she care? And if my plan worked, I'd never know what a little extra skin there felt like.

Brenda fumbled with the condom and I felt sorry for her. It was easy for me to feel good about myself as a woman because I was great looking and all my feminine attributes were pumped up. In human society, a guy is measured by his sexual prowess and equiptment. Brenda was lacking in both, but I reminded myself it was her... his own fault.

I controlled my impulse to help and within five minutes, Brenda was the proud owner of a latex encased five inch tall penis. But his pride and his penis began to fail him. "Play with it," I suggested and he looked like he was ready to order me down on him. "While you still have it, you know, you should enjoy it."

He seemed to like this idea and he began pulling at himself, his penis vanishing inside his palm. He glared at me the whole time, but I didn't care. "You have to do a little work you know," I said teasingly and I got down on my knees. With a smile, I blew on the penis.

The results were... impressive. Brenda flopped down to the ground, the orgasm locking every muscle in his body up. His breath came in waves and I started getting dressed. Poor Bill was probably getting worried.

"Your name is Brandon," I said over the dozing male creep. "In this reality, you wanted Bill for your own so you went to a store called Spells-R-Us to get a potion that would swap your mind for mine. When you wake up, you will only know that you failed. Everyone that ever lays eyes on you will know what a failure you are. You'll remember everything about your life as Brenda, but you'll never be able to tell anyone about it. You'll never go to the mall again. Do you understand?"


He nodded, fast asleep. Brandon simply wasn't strong enough to be a woman, anyway.

I left the room once I was fully dressed and wandered back down to the prom.

Bill and I danced to Air Supply and, much to my surprise, we were voted King and Queen of the prom. As we danced check to check, I told Bill I understood that he was gay and all. Bill just laughed and said, quietly, that he was bi-curious... he was an undecided virgin, really. He just wanted to leave his options opened and he liked looking at both.

I felt my ears flush, and in the middle of our victory dance, I leaned forward and offered to help him with some research.

***

We moved from Seattle to Ocean City, New Jersey when Dad died. My real Dad.

Dad had been out of the service for over two years and he hadn't been having an easy time adjusting to civilian life. He had _thought_ he wanted a family, but, frankly, any idiot could see his children scared the shit out of him. His death was unexpected and violent. Mom had been thinking of returning to the work force. Dad's death kinda forced the issue and we moved to the East Coast, partly to escape anything that reminded her of Dad. Partly to get a new job with Winnertech as Legacy Technology Consultant, her outdated computer savvy suddenly becoming a hot commodity on the East Coast.

Mary and the older girls gave her a hard time about it. Really, their lives had already disrupted once when Dad died, moving was just another disruption they didn't need. I couldn't blame them, but on the other hand, who the hell wanted to be rained on 24/7?

I started dated Brandon at the start of the school year. He was smart and witty, but after awhile he began to creep me out. I cared for him, but it was mostly pity. He was a 17 year computer geek with a fetish for stuffed animals. Maybe has was a bit of a loser, but he was happy in his own little way in his own little world.

I can't really say I understand why he insists he's a pink skunk-girl, but to each their own...

I met Bill right after my break up with Brandon. Bill always made me feel safe. I can trust him with anything. We've been exploring each other for about a year now. He says everyone has a bit of the opposite sex in them, and I feel like I've seen life from both sides now.

--END


More of Greyflank's Transformation stories can be found at Fan Fiction Net.
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