Cassie Diamond, a fading Hollywood starlet, has been given a chance to reprise her most famous role: an Ogre princess. But after an ill-fated encounter with Bruce, a thief who stole an enchanted artifact, Cassie finds herself transforming into an Ogre for real. She finds herself becoming bigger, stronger, taller, fatter. Even her personality is becoming more monstrous, aggressive, and dominant. Will she and Bruce find a way to return to normal, or will she embrace her new dark side? From Actress to Ogress is a steamy monster transformation erotica story, 14,000 words long.
In Transformation Park, every ride and concession stand can transform reality. Get fattened up on the Hansel and Gretel Ride, attend a gender-bending ball, or watch your crush steal your muscles in the "Test Your Strength" booth. Over a dozen erotic transformation tales of all kinds await you inside...
You can read the first section of the book, "Hansel and Gretel," free on this site. Hansel and Gretel (spoiler alert!) contains weight gain, age progression, and gender change.
© 2016 by T. F. Wright. This is a work of fiction. All brand names are properties of their respective owners. Modeling by Angel Earl. Photography by Lindsey Gray at ShutterShock Photography.
“He was safe! Safe! Goddamn safe!” shouted Brian as he slammed his beer down on the end table.
“Honey, please, the language,” said Victoria, raising her palms close to her face defensively. Raven-haired with sparkling, eye-shadowed emerald eyes, Victoria’s femininity was only outdone by her retrained sensibilities.
“Sorry,” Brian began begrudgingly, “but that ump’s gotta be goddamn blind!”
“If he’s blind, then why are they letting him play?” asked Victoria. “Shouldn’t they have, you know, one of those ‘special’ leagues for disabled people?”
“I didn’t mean…and besides, the ump doesn’t…argh,” he groaned. “Didn’t they have any baseball in London?”
“Of course not—they have cricket. But I’m not much for that, either…just not a fan of sport, generally. So slow, so repetitive. No sense of drama, you know? Now if you were willing to give the theater another go, we could…”
“Get me another beer!” he grunted in disappointment. His beloved Cleveland Indians had just let St. Louis get a Grand Slam.
“Sure—I’ll get a coaster for you this time, then I’ll check the fridge,” she said, gingerly tip-toeing over there.
Brian rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he said, dismissively. She set the coaster down for him. He tried to reach out and grope her slender little butt, but Victoria just swatted his hand away and let out an exasperated-sounding, high-pitched chuckle.
“Microwave that sausage in the fridge, would ya?” he asked. “But smell it first, make sure it’s still good.”
Victoria wrinkled her nose up a little at the thought of smelling something unusual, and then crinkled her eyes at the thought of sausage.
“Did you see that CDC report I sent you on the dangers of red meat and colon cancer?” she asked.
“Yeah, I saw it. They’ll pry the sausage out of my cold, dead fingers!”
“That’s precisely what I’m afraid of,” she replied, and she left the sausage right where it was. “I’m enjoying some celery. I’m happy to share, if you’d like.”
“No way,” Brian said brusquely. Victoria’s vegan raw-food diet kept her exceedingly thin, without many curves to speak of. He’d heard that many women, upon getting married, stop dieting as strictly. But much to Brian’s dismay, Victoria hadn’t budged an inch, and neither had her curves.
“Does beer cause colon cancer, too? When’s that gettin’ here?”
“Brian, looks like you drank the last one. If you’d like, you can try a glass of this Petit Bordeaux I picked out yesterday…”
Brian shook his head as he extricated himself from his favorite easy chair. “I’m going out!”
~
“I watched the first half of this game at home,” Brian, unprompted, explained to the bartender. “But my wife, well…doesn’t care for it. Probably because she’s English.”
“Well, it might not be just that. There are plenty of American women who don’t consider themselves baseball aficionados…” asked the bartender. He had a shock of frizzy, silver hair, with a distinctive glint in his otherwise faded grey eyes.
“She says she prefers plays and such,” Brian interrupted. “She dragged me to ‘My Fair Lady’ last week. Can you believe that?”
“A real snooze-fest, I take it?”
“Oh yeah— but there was one song that stuck with me. ‘Why can’t a woman be more like a man?’ Well, why not, you know?” Brian asked.
“Not quite sure what you’re getting at…”
“We say men and women are meant for each other—but you know, men are from Mars and women are from Venus. Take my wife and me. We don’t have the same taste in food, in entertainment, in manners, in anything!”
“So you’d want a woman who’s more like a man, then?” the bartender asked. The question was unusual enough for a few heads to turn in Brian’s direction.
“Hey, listen, I’m not gay or anything,” Brian asserted. “I just, you know, wish we were more on the same page. You feel me, right?”
“Of course, of course,” said the bartender. “That can be arranged,” he added in a low voice, a little grin on his face.
“Huh?” asked Brian.
“I said, would you like another beer? On the house, on account of your troubles, my friend.”
“Yeah, sure, thanks.” Brian said. It certainly wasn’t what he’d heard the first time, but he wasn’t going to say no to a free beer. He put it out of his mind, and didn’t give the conversation further thought.
~
“Alright, Victoria, going out,” Brian said, putting on his jacket. After the debacle last night, he certainly wasn’t going to risk watching even part of a game with Victoria around.
“Out? Where?”
“Not to the store, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Brian snapped.
“No, just curious,” she called out.
“Well, if you must know, to watch the game at the bar,” he said. “Figured since you’ve got such a problem with baseball…”
“Brian, just because we don’t share the same interests doesn’t mean I have a problem with baseball,” she countered.
Brian begged to differ. His adulation of the game made any differing opinion a sign of disrespect. “Well…I like the bar food,” he threw in. “We don’t have any good snacks here.”
“Really? I got some Polish sausage at the market today…”
“You serious?” Brian, said, practically throwing off the jacket and heading towards his favorite chair. “Why the change of heart?”
“I know you left in a huff last week, and I just wanted to try to make it up to you,” said Victoria.
~
“Cleveland’s crushing it!” said Brian. “You’re my good luck charm, sweetheart!”
“Awww, much obliged,” Victoria said. But when Brian turned around in his chair to glance at her, he noticed she wasn’t looking at him, or at the TV screen, but instead at his plate, which had just a single bite of sausage left. She had a bowl of celery sticks in front of her, her usual snack, but she hadn’t touched them.
“You still hungry?” Brian asked. “Wanna try a bite?” He knew full well his vegan wife would refuse.
“Well, if it’s going to go to waste otherwise, alright,” she rationalized, heading over and grabbing the last little morsel. Brian’s jaw dropped—was she really going to try meat?
“Oh, wow! That’s…that’s…bloody brilliant! I know why you were so out of sorts when I forgot to pick them up!”
“Heh, you like ‘em, eh?” said Brian, smirking with satisfaction.
“Hell yes! Let me go heat up another!” she said, hopping up to her feet. Brian’s gaze followed her as she made her way to the microwave. Her walk seemed a little different, like she had a little extra oomph to her hips.
“So…” Victoria said, as she waited for the microwave. “How exactly does this game work?”
~
“Oh, let’s get some of these loaded potato skins! And some chips, salsa, bean dip, sour cream, guacamole…this is gonna be a great game day!” said Victory excitedly. “Hey, Brian, what kind of wine do you think goes with chips and dip?”
Brian was a little perplexed at how eager she was to join in his love of sports and of decent food. But why the sudden change of heart?
“Beer is usually the preferred drink of fans,” Brian said, trying to mimic her affected English accent.
“Haha, that’s pretty good!” Both the hearty sound of her laugh and the fact that she appreciated his joke were also totally out of character for Victoria.
As she bent over to pick up some jalapeños, Brian could see that her ass was a little rounder and fuller than usual. He recognized that she was wearing her “fat jeans,” an oversized pair which Victoria only wore when she was feeling bloated, but now they looked tight on her, showing off her improved caboose.
Brian moved next to her to get a closer look, and when she stood up, he caught her reflection off the mirrored lenses of the little tray of sunglasses at the end of the aisle.
“Hey, Victoria, you wearing a new shade of lipstick today?” Brian asked. Normally Brian didn’t pay this much attention to his wife’s fashion choices, but the bizarreness of recent events kept him on especially high alert.
“Nah, going all-natural for a change,” she explained. So that’s why her lips looked different. Victoria—or, at least, the Victoria he was used to— always wore makeup, even to bed. She had a plastic cover on her pillowcase to prevent smudges. Going ‘all natural’ was just so…not her!
~
“Want me to help in the kitchen?” said Brian, once they got home.
“No, no, no, you just sit on the sofa and relax,” she said. “The game’s almost on, and I don’t want you to miss a second of it!”
“Great, thanks!” said Brian.
By the time Victoria sat down, it was already the bottom of the third inning. Cleveland was down one against Boston. But the moment she took a seat, Cleveland hit a double.
“So, that’s good, right?” Victoria asked.
“Yeah, that’s good!” Brian said, before doing a double take. When had she found the time to change into a Cleveland Indians tee shirt? Did she even own a Cleveland Indians tee shirt?
“Open wide…” said Victoria, interrupting his train of thought with a loaded potato skin.
“Wow, these are fantastic!” said Brian. “Homer! Yes!”
“I’ll get us some beers to celebrate!” she said, running back into the kitchen.
“Let’s chug!” Brian said as soon as the cans were opened.
“Chug?” Victoria asked.
“You know…drink the beer real fast all at once,” Brian explained, rolling his eyes.
“Oh…right…” Victoria said. “Chug, chug, chug!”
They both tilted their head backwards using the exact same motion and started gulping the stuff down.
“Done!” Brian said, smashing the empty can on the end table before letting out a loud, proud belch. A moment later, he glanced back at his wife nervously. She’d been so nice to him today, perhaps, Brian thought, he shouldn’t push things too far.
“Sorry about that,” Brian said sheepishly.
“Quite all ri—” Victoria began, before letting out a loud burp of her own.
“Woah there,” Brian teased. “Better out than in, right?”
The moment of embarrassment lasted only a moment before the TV intervened again.
“Another home run! Woo!” Brian said, jumping up and throwing his arms in the air.
“Woo!” Victoria said, hopping up out of her seat, too. As she raised her arms, her T-shirt rode up on her just slightly. Brian could see a tiny little roll of fat sticking out over her jeans. Beer bellies didn’t happen that fast, did they?
The euphoria of the game—and the unique pleasure of finally getting to actually enjoy it with his wife—pushed the uncomfortable questions out of Brian’s mind, at least for the moment.
“What else did you make?” said Brian, as he finished off the second-to-last potato skin.
“We’ve got…” Victoria started, before she deftly scooped up the last potato skin herself and then shoved the whole thing down in one big bite. It left a little smear of melted cheese on her chin. “…burritos!”
“Great!” said Brian. “You’ve got a little cheese there,” he said, pointing to her chin.
“Oh, where?” she said, dabbing the wrong side.
“I’ll get it,” he said. Brian leaned in and licked it off. Her chin felt a little softer than he remembered. But he certainly didn’t mind the feeling of soft, warm flesh against his lips. Victoria leaned down and gave him a little smooch on the lips.
“I’ll go get the main course,” she said afterwards.
Brian had expected her to walk back with a tray of individual toppings and tortillas so that both of them could make their own. That would allow for customization, but it might be distracting and could cause them to miss a moment of the game if they were glancing downwards…
Victoria had the tray, but instead the tray contained two colossal burritos, each as large and as long as his arm, wrapped using multiple tortillas.
“Damn, girl, good job,” Brian said. “This is like…a Brontosaur's leg or something!”
“Glad you approve,” said Victoria.
Brian lifted the mammoth burrito and took a huge bite. Tears welled up in his eyes from the spiciness of the peppers inside.
“Another beer,” Brian gasped.
“Take one from the cooler,” Victoria said, pulling it closer. Cooler? When did they have a cooler? He didn’t remember buying it at the store with her…
Brian’s desperate longing for more beer to soothe his scorched tongue meant he was drinking that beer before asking where it came from.
Despite its spiciness, though, the burrito was heaven in a tortilla. Brian kept on eating. But before he’d even finished half of it, Brian started to feel full. Did Victoria really think he could finish two of these massive things?
“You gonna eat that?” Victoria said with her mouth full as she pointed towards the other half of his burrito.
“You…you finished the whole thing already?” Brian said, his jaw slack with shock.
“Yeah, and?” Victoria said, shrugging her shoulders a little. In doing so, Brian could see the indentations of modest breasts against her shirt. But Victoria was always flat chested. Was this beer goggles in overdrive, Brian wondered? Or was she really changing?
“Ok, we’ve got one on third,” said Victoria. “What should they do?”
“Hoping they go for a squeeze play,” said Brian.
“Oh, sounds fun, what’s that?”
“It’s where the batter hits a short bunt, probably gets out, but gives the runner on third a chance to run home,” he explained.
“Hmm…so sacrifice one thing for the sake of something better?” asked Victoria. Even in his tipsy state, Brian could recognize something about those words that sounded symbolic.
Brian looked at Victoria. What was she losing? Her makeup, her fashion sense, her femininity, her slender figure…
And what was she gaining? A love of baseball. Better taste in food. Some sexy curves. And, of course, a closer relationship with her husband. Everything he’d wanted, right?
A fantastic trade, in Brian’s book.
“Woah, they did it! Just like you said!” exclaimed Victoria, pointing at the screen.
“A squeeze play, nice!” said Brian.
“Wanna squeeze play with me?” Victoria asked. Just in case he didn’t grasp the meaning, she got up, sauntered over to Brian and placed his hands on her growing breasts. It was obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Victoria usually declined any of his advances outside the bedroom, and was a cold fish even then, so this was a real treat!
Not many things could distract such an ardent fan like Brian from a baseball game, but this was one of them. He squeezed both of her breasts eagerly for a moment, enjoying their soft, spongy texture. He hadn’t bothered to wipe off his hands before he lustily fondled her. As a result, her shirt was now smeared with the wet slurry that issued forth from the bottom of his overstuffed burrito.
But his wife, who’d been an OCD neatnik just a few days ago, merely giggled. Then she lay down across Brian’s lap. Brian was surprised at how heavy she felt. She leaned across him to grab what remained of his burrito and started stuffing herself.
“Mmph,” she said, as she struggled to undo the button on her jeans with just one hand.
“I got it,” said Brian, helping her poor, beleaguered tummy break free. Watching it jump out was a sight to behold—a little, white, proud dome suddenly leaping to attention. And with each bite of the burrito, her tummy grew larger and larger.
Brian had always liked a girl with a little meat on her bones. Watching her hedonistic gorging cause her doughy belly rise like bread in the oven was deliciously erotic.
The chair groaned a little as Victoria’s weight increased. As her arms strained to pick up the last few sautéed onions that had fallen out of the burrito, Brian could see them growing thicker and huskier. When she licked and smacked her lips after slucking them down, Brian could see her lips growing thicker and her cheeks getting rounder.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Victoria asked Brian. “You’re barely paying attention to the game.”
“I’m just…admiring how beautiful you are,” said Brian, thankful that he could evade the true intent of the question without having to actually lie to her.
“Aww, you’re such a sweetie,” she said. She put her arm around the back of his neck and grunted a little as she struggled to pull herself up again. The posture bent her body forwards and accentuated her tummy, making it look even larger than it was.
“You feeling a little randy, Brian?” she said, obviously feeling his erection digging into her plumper thigh.
“Maybe a little,” he confessed.
“Is that a common thing? Men getting aroused by baseball, that is?” Victoria teased.
“It’s only common when you’re around,” said Brian.
“I’d say let’s take this to the bedroom,” said Victoria, “But I don’t want you to miss any of the game.”
“Well, I mean…I love baseball, but I don’t think I love it—” Brian began, but Victoria silenced him by putting her finger across his lips.
“Shh…just listen to yourself, Brian. I don’t want to make you choose between two things you love,” she cooed. Slowly, she pulled off her tee shirt. She didn’t do it slowly just to be sexy—Victoria was having a hard time getting her too-big body through the arm sleeves and neck hole—but the unintentional snail’s pace of it all made her disrobing more tantalizing than the most perfectly practiced striptease.
She threw the tee shirt behind her and it landed on the windowsill behind the TV. The image of the Cleveland Indians was visible, but so were the stains she’d racked up with her messy meal.
Next, she stood up and shimmied her legs, trying to escape her jeans. Easier said than done, of course—after the amount of weight she’d put on tonight, her fat pants looked like skinny jeans. Finally, with a series of determined tugs, she managed to get them off, revealing the beautiful, wide flare of her new hips.
“That was an ordeal,” she said with a sigh. “Now, where were we? Oh…I remember,” she added slyly, straddling him on the sofa, before helping him out of his own jeans.
Victoria’s softer, creamy thighs gently rubbed against his while they slowly ground together. With each motion forwards, Brian could feel his wife’s bust rubbing against his nose. Meanwhile, in the background, Cleveland just kept hitting run after run. Brian hooted and hollered in approval.
~
“Morning, baby,” said Brian when he woke up the next day. “I had the craziest dream last night…”
“What was that, dear?” said Victoria as she pulled herself up out of bed.
“Oh, fuck!” Brian said, as he looked up at her. It was real! Somehow, his wife had put on tons of weight in just a day. And she wasn’t wearing any makeup at all!
“What’s wrong?” she asked, stroking his face affectionately. Even her eyes looked different—were they brown instead of green now?
“I…it’s…I dunno,” Brian sputtered, his groggy mind struggling to explain what was going on without sounding like he was going crazy. “Something weird has been going on, that’s all.”
“Weird? What’s weird?” she asked, before yawning absentmindedly and scratching under her chin and her underarm.
“Well, you enjoyed a baseball game with me last night, right?”
“Sure,” she said with a little shrug. “What of it?”
“Well…I thought you hated baseball,” Brian deadpanned.
“So? I’m trying new things. Didn’t you want me to give baseball another go?” she asked.
“Well, yeah,” Brian said. He hadn’t expected such an ordinary explanation for such a sudden, dramatic, and inexplicable change. “What about eating meat?”
“I tried a bite and I was hooked. You eat meat every day, so you must know what I’m talking about,” she deflected.
“Huh…” Brian said. That seemed perfectly logical, too! The only thing that she couldn’t explain away was her sudden weight gain, but knew bringing that up was asking for trouble.
“Do you…you know…” he began slowly. “Do you think you look any different than usual?”
“Hmm…” Victoria said, glancing down at her plump little belly and giving it a good shake. “Maybe I put on a pound or two recently. But I didn’t hear you complaining about it last night!”
That was true. Brian was more attracted to her now than he’d ever been.
“There’s one downside, though,” said Victoria as she struggled mightily to pull on a frilly white blouse. “None of these clothes fit right!”
She sucked her stomach in and then yanked it on, but as soon as she exhaled, her belly flopped out of the bottom and her breasts managed to cause a seam to tear near the top.
“Then we’ll get you some new clothes! We could go to Bryant Avenue or Dress Emporium, or—” Brian began.
“Nah,” she said quickly, “I can just pick up some more tee shirts and sweats at Wal-Mart. I heard they’re having a sale on chicken pot pies, so we'll get some of those while we’re there. I’ll borrow your clothes while we’re out, if that’s ok,” she said. She then reached into his side of the closet without waiting for a reply, and put on one of Brian’s shirts and a pair of his jeans. He was surprised to find they fit perfectly. That didn’t make sense; he was at least 6 inches taller than her, wasn’t he?
“Hey, pretty comfy,” she said, walking up to him. Brian stood up and realized he and his wife were suddenly at eye level.
She leaned in and gave him a little peck on the cheek, before reaching behind him and giving his ass a little playful squeeze. “Alright, hun, let’s go to Wal-Mart,” she said.
“Alright,” Brian said with a shrug, surprised that she didn’t jump at the chance to go get some expensive, designer clothes. At least they’d save on some cash, right?
~
Brian couldn’t have been more wrong. Sure, Victoria had saved some cash by buying oversized, plaid, blue-and-red flannel shirts, stretchy blue-and-red yoga pants and sweat pants, and a sensible pair of boots now that her tiny sandals were no match for her growing feet. She also bought an 8 pack of Cleveland Indians baseball caps, “just in case,” whatever that meant. But the savings from the clothes was more than wiped out by the snacks that they got.
Pot pies turned out to be just the tip of the iceberg. Victoria had splurged, adding in stuff that she would have scolded him for buying until just recently: pork rinds, honey roasted peanuts, cheese-stuffed pretzels, spicy pickles, and nearly a dozen bear claws.
“Don’t worry, I’ll save you one,” she said, pointing to the bear claws. Then she let out a big, belly-shaking guffaw.
“Anything else you wanna eat?” Brian asked.
“Let’s stop by the soaps and deodorants,” she said. “Ugh…I hate the fact that it’s all pink and princess-y. Like they think every woman is stuck being a six year old,” she said, surveying the options, which had names like ‘Sweetly Soft,’ and ‘Delicate Delight.’
“Isn’t this what you buy?” Brian said, pointing to a pink tube labelled ‘Flower Power.’
“I…I guess…” said Victoria, struggling to square her memory of buying it with her current aversion to everything it stood for. “Maybe it’s time to switch it up, though, right? Let’s see what they have on the other side,” she said, turning towards the men’s section. “Primal, Dragon’s Claw, Elder Spice…oh, wait! Brian, you gotta smell this!”
With one hand, she reached around Brian’s face and covered his eyes. With the other, she pressed the stick under his nose.
“That smells kinda like…the aftershave I wore in college,” Brian said.
“Glad you like it! Wolf’s Bite it is!” she said, tossing it into the cart. Brian opened his mouth to object, but he didn’t know what to say. The smell wasn’t bad, per se—actually, it was pretty pleasant and brought back some good memories. But there was something about his wife smelling like his old aftershave that just felt…unorthodox, to say the least.
Brian’s shoulders slumped forwards a little as he continued to struggle with the dilemma.
“Getting tired? Let me push the cart for ya,” said Victoria.
“No, I’m…” Brian began, but when he wouldn’t budge, she gave him what she intended to be a gentle shove out of the way. Brian was caught off guard by the force of her impact and had to steady himself to avoid falling backwards against the shelves.
“Ready to go, Victoria?” he asked.
“Could you not call me that?” Victoria asked, narrowing her eyes as she frowned. “Sounds so frumpy and old, ya know?”
“What do you want to be called?” Brian asked, fearful of what the answer might be.
“How about…Vicky?” she asked.
“Sure,” Brian grumbled. Was anything else going to change today, he wondered?
~
“I have a good feeling about playing the Cubs today,” said Brian. “After the last one, I think this has gotta be a walk in the park! No pun intended,” he added with a sly wink.
“They’re much better than Boston, by any metric. So we’re the underdogs, no question about it,” said Vicky.
“Wha, really?” Brian asked, scratching his head. How could his wife really challenge his baseball intuition, especially since just a few weeks ago, she knew next to nothing about the game?
“Yeah, but that’s just your opinion,” Brian countered, feeling a little smug.
“It’s not just mine, it’s Nate Silver’s,” said Vicky. “I read on his blog that Cleveland’s got the ninth best Elo rating. Cubs are third, Boston is 16th.” Vicky said.
Brian’s jaw dropped. It wasn’t just her opinion! It was a well-informed opinion! Hearing that she could back up her claim with a qualified authority only made Brian angrier: it meant he really had been wrong. And, of course, it meant that Cleveland would have a substantially tougher time this time around.
“Nate Silver is the guy who created the…” Vicky began.
“I know who Nate Silver is!” Brian said, feeling condescended to. “Let’s just…get ready to watch the game, okay?”
“Sure,” said Vicky, walking over to his favorite chair and flopping her fat ass into it.
“Hey, is that a joke?” Brian said, trying to contain the frustration in his voice.
“Is what a joke?” Vicky said, stretching her flabby limbs a little and adjusting the reclining gear of the chair so she could lean further back.
“That’s…my chair!” Brian whined.
“Hey, you snooze you lose,” Vicky said nonchalantly. “Hey, while you’re up, think you could get some beers chilled, get the pretzels from the pantry, and heat up a few bear claws in the toaster oven?”
“But…but…” Brian blubbered.
“Hey, I made the snacks last time. Get to it or you’ll miss the first pitch,” she said, snapping her fingers. Of course, Brian knew there was no reason for him to feel angry—he shouldn’t have a monopoly on the good chair, or on not making snacks. But once again, the salience of her point only made his situation more difficult to endure. Not only did his pride and manhood feel as if they were under siege, he also knew he had no grounds to complain about it.
~
“Booooooo!” Vicky shouted when the Cubs got another run. “Fuck this!” she complained, reaching her fist into the jar of pickles. Her wrist had grown wider as her arms grew thicker and fatter, and it got stuck as she tried to extricate herself from the jar. She had to shake her hand back and forth to finally get free, which had the effect of spraying the carpet with spicy pickle juice.
“Hey, watch it!” Brian said.
“Pff, whatever,” she said, noisily chomping on the pickle before letting out a belch. Is this how Victoria felt, Brian wondered, whenever he didn’t use a coaster?
Brian watched with a worried fascination as Vicky gorged her way through the mountain of snacks they’d bought. With each bite, she became larger and messier in some way. When she ate the cheese pretzels, the definition between her chin and her neck melted a little, and her lips and mouth gained a few orange smears, as though they were a kind of replacement for the makeup she no longer wore.
When she dipped into the big carton of honey roasted peanuts with her wet fingers, some of the sugar melted, leaving her increasingly bloated, stubby fingers sticky. The pork rinds caused her ass to bloat, stretching the seams of the oversized yoga pants she’d just bought, as well as causing a little trail of crumbs to fall down her neck and land around her flannel shirt. A few fell onto the fabric and into the pockets, but most fell into her increasingly prominent cleavage.
Bear claw after bear claw went down the hatch, and as she devoured each one in a flurry of big bites and lip smacking, Vicky’s big tummy grew larger and larger. The tiny potbelly which Brian had adored had now swollen into a vast gut, much bigger even than his own stomach. It pushed outside the confines of her shirt, sitting proudly and widely across her waist, which was itself awash in thick, heavy love handles.
“I couldn’t have another bite…” Vicky began. Brian wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or disappointed. “So…I’ll just have one more beer,” she concluded with a drunken grin.
When she finished the last can of beer, she smashed it against her forehead. The motion caused a few more buttons to pop off, landing noisily around the room. Now she only had a single button left – it was between her big belly and her massively buxom breasts.
“Hey, we’re fighting back from behind!” Vicky said, when Cleveland finally got their first run, at the bottom of the ninth. “This ball game ain’t over yet!”
“Great!” said Brian, reaching down from his position behind the chair and fondling her breasts. They felt very warm and much softer than he expected in his hands.
“That’s nice,” she said, a wide grin breaking out across her chubby, snack-stained cheeks.
She wasn’t wearing a bra, so it was easy for Brian to gain access to her nipples and start playfully flicking at them. “Yes, yes, yes!” she shouted as Cleveland made another run and Brian twisted and pulled at a nipple at the same time.
“Strike three! That’s the game, folks!” said the announcer.
“Ah, no, no, no!” she screamed, stomping her foot and seemingly causing the entire house to shake. A little picture frame toppled from the mantle and shattered as it hit the floor.
Brian ran over to clean up the broken class. He examined the picture as he did so – it was one taken of Brian and Victoria, on the day they’d met. The two were as different as night and day back then, but opposites attract, right?
“Sorry about the game,” Brian said, as he sauntered back towards his wife. “But, hey, doesn’t mean the rest of the night has to be a bust…” he said, reaching back towards her breasts.
“Sorry, Brian, not in the mood anymore,” she said glumly as she crossed her arms.
“Because of the game?” he asked.
“They were one run away from extra innings! Maybe you didn’t notice, but I did!” she said angrily. “I almost smashed my head against the wall! There’s just no justice in the world to bring hope into the hearts of millions of fans in Cleveland and then snatch it away like that! Did you know that no sports team in Cleveland has won a national championship of any kind in fifty years? We’re due for some wins!” she ranted, her words slurred from the beer.
“We’re overdue?” Brian asked. “Come on, Victoria, er…Vicky. You’re a transplant!”
“So!? Weren’t you the one that wanted me to get more into baseball?” she replied.
That was true. He just never expected her to really do it.
~
“Was gonna watch this game at home, but can’t really watch baseball in front of my wife,” Brian said to the bartender.
“Really?” the bartender asked, looking surprised. “What’s the problem now?”
“She’s just…not been herself lately, hard to explain,” Brian said. He hadn’t had much luck explaining what had happened when he’d broached the subject with his wife, so Brian certainly wasn’t expecting to have much luck conversing about it with a virtual stranger.
“Try me,” said the bartender. “This one’s on the house,” he said, sliding him another beer.
“Alright,” Brian budged. “She’s just been acting really strange. She used to spend hours getting ready, always trying to look dolled up. Now, she just wears whatever, and her diet's gone to hell.”
“Ah, so your wife got fat on ya, huh?” the bartender asked. “And I take it larger ladies aren’t exactly on your menu?”
“Well, actually…” Brian began, but then trailed off. How was he supposed to admit that he actually enjoyed that part of the change?
“Watching the games when Cleveland wins is fun, but during the last game…” Brian started, hoping to change the subject.
“Ugh, that was a terrible game!” agreed the bartender. “I nearly smashed my head against the wall at that almost-comeback!”
“That’s what she did!” Brian exclaimed. “She just got so angry…and she’d been drinking, so that accentuated it…”
“I’m not sure why you’re so concerned, isn’t all of this what you wanted?” asked the bartender.
“What I wanted? I’m not even the man of my own house anymore! Let alone going to a bar with her. It’d be downright embarrassing, being shown up by her. Why on Earth would you think I wanted this to happen to her?”
“Weren’t you the one who said ‘why can’t a woman be more like a man?” the bartender reminded Brian. “You told me you wanted your wife and you to have more in common, so…”
“So…you did something?” Brian asked. “You messed with my wife!?”
“Speak of the Devil,” said the bartender, pointing towards the door, as Vicky walked in. Brian wanted to continue his conversation with the bartender, but he couldn’t say anything while she was around…
“Brian, that you?” said Vicky. “Thank God I found you, we almost missed the game! Against the Yankees, no less! Can’t miss that!”
“I’m gonna watch the game here,” Brian said. “This is a sports bar,” he explained. “I’ll see you at…”
“Sure, we could watch here,” said Vicky. “But first we gotta play this cute little game over here!” she said pointing towards a grip test machine.
'Will you be a famous baseball player?' the machine said, in brightly-lit letters.
“Oh, brother,” Brian groaned.
“Come on, it looks fun!” she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a few quarters. Why was she keeping money in her pocket, Brian wondered – where was her purse?
If he was going to do something, Brian thought, he’d do it right. He grabbed the grip machine and squeezed with all of his might, trying to channel some of his frustration with what had happened to his marriage into the machine.
'Cold Fish!' the machine read—the lowest possible level—before making a “Wah-ah-ah,” noise.
“Cold Fish!?” Brian exclaimed. “That doesn’t even make any sense!”
“Move over and let me try,” she said, shoving another quarter in and biting her thick lip as she gripped the machine.
The lights shot all the way up. “Babe Ruth!” it read, and then played a MIDI version of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”
“Alright, you’ve had your fun, let’s go…” Brian said meekly. If she could leave quickly, maybe they could avoid an incident…
“Woo-hoo! This place rocks!” she shouted, pulling up a barstool between Brian’s seat and the three other patrons at the bar. Her big butt didn’t quite fit on the stool, and a little lip of excess fat hung over the edge.
“Vicky,” Brian began, “I don’t think that you heard—”
“Play ball!” she shouted up at the screen, as the game began. “Oh, come on, that was a strike! That ump’s blind!” she shouted, and the guys seated at the bar nodded in agreement.
Brian rolled his eyes a little and quietly sipped at his beer. Of course, he agreed with Vicky, but he was too proud to say so out loud. Would she notice if he crept out of the bar and tried to find another one, Brian wondered?
As Brian started to head for the exit, the bar doors creaked, and in walked a man with slicked back hair and thick black sunglasses.
“Hey, get me a Whiskey Sour,” he said. “With a yuuuge amount of sour,” he said. From the sound of his accent, he was obviously a New Yorker.
“Yeah, yeah, good one!” he shouted while clapping, when the Yankee pitcher struck out Cleveland’s first batter. “Let’s teach these mooks a lesson!”
“Hey, buddy…” the bartender began in a soft voice. “In case you forgot which city you’re in, this happens to be…”
“Pathetic, pathetic!” the man from New York interrupted—the next batter got a strike.
Brian was about to make a second attempt at escaping from the bar, but then his wife stood up. “Hey, buddy, we don’t take kindly to disrespecting the Cleveland Indians around here.”
“You’ve got a lousy team with a racist mascot,” he said, turning away from her and sucking down his drink. The pinched features on his face grew even more twisted and ugly in the process.
In a split second, Vicky wound up her arm for a punch and then flattened the guy. He tumbled from his barstool and fell to the floor.
“You…you hit me! I’m calling the cops!” he said, touching the little trickle of blood coming from his nose.
“Yeah, and if you do, I’ll say you grabbed my tits. I got some witnesses that’ll back up my story,” said Vicky. All the other guys at the bar raised their hands in the affirmative.
“You crazy bitch! I’m outta here,” he said, hobbling away. As soon as he left, the entire bar burst into raucous cheering and applause.
“Alright, I gotta piss like a racehorse,” she said, strutting her way towards the restroom.
“Is that the wife you’re always in here complaining about?” said one of the guys, as soon as she left.
“She’s a knockout – literally!”
“She’s a keeper in my book!”
“Are those tits real?”
“I…uh…thanks?” Brian asked, feeling a little stunned. He thought he’d have to feel ashamed of being with a woman like her. He never expected the guys at the bar to actually approve of the new Vicky.
“What is it, exactly, that’s got you so upset about her, anyway?” asked the bartender.
“I…um…I don’t know,” Brian said sheepishly. He couldn’t think of a single thing.
~
Cleveland dominated the game against the Yankees, winning by five runs. Neither Vicky nor Brian paid for their drinks all night, as the rest of the patrons bought their rounds on account of Vicky having provided ‘good luck’ for the Indians.
In the meantime, they’d both loaded up on bar food. Vicky consumed basket after basket of crispy onion rings, drowning each of them in a vat of ranch. Most of the onion rings made it into her mouth but some splattered on the floor, the bar, her shirt, and her double chin, which looked like it was in danger of tripling. Vicky’s dainty nose looked like it was broadening, too, taking on a more porcine look.
When they ran out of onions, Vicky switched to fries, which she grabbed by the handful instead of individually, as had been her custom. She squeezed the ketchup bottle hard enough to empty it completely, causing it to produce a wet sound similar to flatulence.
“What’s that sound like, huh, guys?” she asked, to universal laughs. Even Brian chuckled a little. Why fight it, he thought?
Each time Cleveland got a run, Vicky smashed her fist down on the bar in approval, causing multiple patron’s beers to spill. But they took it in stride – even when she was making a mess, she was still the life of the bar.
As Vicky rattled off baseball statistics that Brian had never even heard of and waved her hands around for dramatic emphasis, she caused the flab on her arms to jiggle and her heavy, bra-less breasts to sway and knock against each other. Everyone, especially Brian, was spellbound.
They took a taxi home – and, when they arrived, the driver told him that the bartender had covered their fare. He also said the bartender had left a note for Brian inside an envelope. Inside was a scrap of paper with just two words: “You’re Welcome.”
~
“What a night,” said Brian, as he and his wife staggered into bed. “I can’t think of how that could have gone better!”
“I can think of one thing,” said Vicky, pulling her clothes off, revealing just how much she’d changed. The delicate frame that she’d once possessed no longer existed. Instead, Vicky was a big powerhouse of a woman, someone Brian might have assumed was a softball player. Her arms and legs were both wider and longer than his, and as she leaned closer to him, he could tell that she was at least 2 or 3 inches taller as well.
As Brian felt her sloppy kisses decorate his forehead, he felt his pathetic worries about being ‘the man’ slowly melt away. Now, instead of feeling embarrassed by her, Brian only felt embarrassed that he’d resisted this for so long.
Brian soon disrobed as well. But when Brian leaned in to kiss her, she pushed him down on the bed instead. Then she turned around and leaned over him, placing her wide, cellulite-pocked thighs on either side of him, before gradually lowering her crotch to his face while her big, soft belly weighed down on his neck and chest.
Brian cautiously lapped at her, but his enthusiasm increased when she leaned down and began to lick his cock, eagerly swirling her mouth around him. Then she leaned against him, taking him all the way inside her throat.
The massiveness of Vicky’s thighs and ass meant that Brian could barely breathe, but that only enhanced the intensity of his orgasm when he finally shot his load. Vicky gulped it down eagerly. She let out a few deep groans as she came too, then gingerly rolled off of him.
Brian snuggled himself against the softness of her flabby shoulder, while his hands massaged her large, sweaty belly. Meanwhile, Vicky cradled his head in her large, hugely husky arms, while her fingers splayed through his hair. The flesh that brushed against his cheek was softer, warmer, and more giving than any pillow.
Brian drifted off to sleep with a big smile on his wet lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so happy. Vicky felt the same way.
The End
Did you enjoy this story? Then check out From Charlotte to Chavette: The Ring of Change Saga!
Liam's a liar and a thief, a no good London "chav" who steals a ring that has the power to transform anyone who wears it into the perfect match for whoever gave it to them. Unfortunately, he said his perfect woman is "twice as bad" as him! The pretty and posh lady on whose finger the Ring of Change now sits is in for a surprise. She's going to transform into a woman who is fatter, trashier, sluttier...a real "chavette." Liam should have been more careful what he wished for!
Case Study
“Who can tell me what’s so special about the noble gasses?” Ms. Darkin, the frizzy haired science teacher asked her high school class. She gazed around the room, only to meet the familiar sight of glazed over eyes and blank expressions. Finally, and reluctantly, her star pupil raised her hand.
“Yes, once again, Elizabeth?” Ms. Darkin said with a smile.
“Nobel gasses have a full shelf of valence electrons,” Elizabeth started in a soft, quiet voce. “That means that it’s very difficult for them to bond and form molecules with other atoms.”
“Correct, as usual,” Ms. Darkin said. “They are not predisposed to give or to take electrons, so the interaction that causes bonding is all but impossible. Nobel gasses are the outcasts of the atomic table, in that sense.”
The bell rang, and the students could not run fast enough out of the room. Ms. Darkin moved quickly, so that she could have a word with Elizabeth before she left.
“I was hoping,” the teacher started quickly, “that I could get you to sign up for the county science fair again this year.”
“Last year was fun, but…I don’t think so,” Elizabeth said in her usual quiet voice. She hated to disappoint others, but her mind was made up.
“But, why? You are my star pupil. Heck, you’re my only good student! I guess that’s my fault for deciding to be a science teacher in a town like this…” Ms. Darkin’s voice trailed off.
“Some of the other students have given me flack for being, you know, too into science. They say it’s nerdy. And, at my Bible study group, someone quoted Martin Luther by saying ‘Reason is the Devil’s harlot,’” Elizabeth offered. “I think my parents would be happier if I just focused on my cheerleading and left this stuff alone. I’m sorry,” Elizabeth finished, not able to make eye contact. The teacher nodded solemnly, and without saying another word, the thin, blonde, high school senior quietly walked out of the room.
Ms. Darkin let out a long sigh. She knew that this was inevitable in a town like Meadow Falls, Idaho. It was a small town, full of small minds, and in such places science was never appreciated.
Elizabeth, she knew, was a perfect good girl. She was pretty and popular generally, and would be more so if it wasn’t for her association with science geekiness. But what was all that worth? Would the world be better off if she was intellectually shallow, married early, with a bunch of kids? Or, would things be better if the planet had another great scientist to solve the big problems or our time?
It wasn’t a difficult choice for Ms. Darkin to make. And, if Elizabeth couldn’t see the path ahead, she could always have an intervention. With the advances in understanding the human genome, just about anything could be achieved with the right type of DNA cocktail.
She had been working on something new lately. It was untested, but there was no time like the present…
Chapter One: Initial Exposure
The next day, Elizabeth’s routine was quite usual. She woke up early and organized everything in her backpack, made her bed meticulously, and showed and shaved her legs and underarms. She applied a heavy dose of makeup to her already stunning diamond shaped facial features, and ate breakfast. To avoid gaining weight, she measured out exactly seventeen cornflakes, and an eighth of a cup of skim milk.
On the way out the door, she gave her mom and dad a kiss on the cheek, and her two parents smiled as their perfect daughter walked out the door to school.
During P.E., she practiced cheerleading with the other girls. She wasn’t as vivacious as Jillian, the head cheerleader, but she certainly felt comfortable in her crowd. She did notice that while she was slender all around, Jillian had the same body type but inexplicably bigger breasts, and that made her a bit more popular with the boys. There were rumors that her rich dad had paid for her to get implants, but Elizabeth was never the type to believe in rumors. She just figured her friend had more luck with her genetics.
She and Jillian painted each other’s fingernails in the locker room after class, as was their normal custom.
During lunch, she attended her Bible study group. The fact that it was held only during lunch and after school helped skirt rules about religion in public schools. The guest lecturer talked about the evils of the theory of evolution. Elizabeth responded as she typically did, by putting her head down and quietly listening.
When it came time for Ms. Darkin’s science class, Elizabeth made a point of refusing to answer any questions posed to the class. After a few queries went unanswered, the teacher announced that the class would be learning how to create artificial sweeteners as a science experiment. The experiment went uneventfully for Elizabeth, who finished before the rest of the class.
“Don’t drink anything until I check it. I wouldn’t want anything to happen do you if you’ve mixed it wrong. I know it’s tempting to taste, but please wait,” Ms. Darkin warned.
Each of the students had a beaker full of a bubbly green mixture, with various degrees of color and carbonation. Ms. Darkin nodded approvingly at each of them, until she arrived at Elizabeth’s.
“Oh, no no no,” she said. “That one won’t do. But I don’t want you to miss out on tasting the drink. Here, have one that I mixed at my desk,” the teacher said as she replaced Elizabeth’s beaker with her own.
“What did I do wrong? I don’t understand,” Elizabeth asked in a soft voice.
“I can’t go into all of that now,” the teacher answered hastily. “Now everyone” she continued, raising her voice, “bottoms up.”
Elizabeth felt a little ashamed at having made mistake, even though she had no desire to stand out in class. She felt no desire to taste the drink, but everyone else was raising the beaker to her lips, and she didn’t want to be the only one not partaking. With reticence, she lifted the beaker to her lips and swallowed.
To her surprise, it did not taste like the diet soda she often had a lunch. Instead, it was incredibly sweet, so much so that it almost hurt. She considered spitting the drink out, but didn’t want to draw attention to herself by doing something generally perceived as gross and unseemly. As she swallowed it down, she noticed that the cloying sweetness seemed to fade, and was replaced by a warm, pleasant feeling. It started in her stomach and seemed to spread throughout the rest of her body.
Elizabeth swallowed down the rest of the drink, which now tasted completely fine, and went home without giving the experiment another thought.
Chapter Two: Twenty Hours after Exposure
The next day, Elizabeth slept in past her alarm, which was extremely unusual for her. Thrown off from her usual routine, she barely had time to get dressed and toss everything into her backpack. She still managed to slather on some makeup, but skipped her shower. Though her stomach growled with unusual intensity, she skipped her traditional meager breakfast altogether.
“Waking up this late? I don’t deserve to eat,” Elizabeth, ever the perfectionist, thought to herself. She quickly tied her hair back in a ponytail, lacking the time for her elaborate hair curling, and then ran out the door.
She felt distracted throughout P.E., and performed her cheerleading moves only halfheartedly. As she made her way to Bible study during lunch, her stomach growled again, and this time, she felt compelled to acquiesce to its demands. She turned around and headed to the cafeteria. Within a few moments, her orange plastic lunch tray was brimming with generous portions of macaroni and cheese, pizza, and greasy looking breadsticks. She also grabbed a mini carton of whole milk.
Elizabeth was used to being hungry, but she found that it was an impulse that she could ignore fairly easily. Today, though, she felt downright ravenous. She wasn’t sure if it was because she had skipped her minuscule morning meal, but she couldn’t remember the last time she was this starved.
She sat by herself, in the hope that nobody would see her, and then she started eating. Elizabeth eagerly wolfed down her food, barely bothering to chew. Some of the orange cheese from the macaroni smeared on her lips and cheeks as she noisily gulped it down. When she was thirsty, she reached for the milk, tore it open, and started to chug it down, ignoring the straw on her plate. Despite some of the milk splashing out of her mouth, she continued to pour the cold, frothy beverage down her throat until it was empty. After the flow of milk stopped, she opened her mouth wide and shook the carton over her face, hoping to get every last drop. Her stomach felt stretched and bloated, but surprisingly, it felt good to feel so full. She undid the top button of her jeans, and let her ordinarily flat tummy poof out.
She let out a small burp, and noticed a few people had turned around to gawk at the spectacle. Horrifically embarrassed, she stormed out of the cafeteria as fast as she could. On the way out of the hall, she bumped into Ms. Darkin.
“Oh, hello Elizabeth,” the teacher began. “Have you thought anymore about signing up for the science fair?”
“I…I…” Elizabeth hesitated. She no longer felt the resistance she did yesterday, but she knew she’d be too busy for everything. “I think it might conflict with my cheerleading, I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize, I understand,” Ms. Darkin replied, a knowing smile breaking across her face. “Just let me know if you have second thoughts, alright?”
Elizabeth hastily nodded.
Chapter Three: Thirty Days after Exposure
Three alarms went off simultaneously, rousing a groggy Elizabeth from her deep slumber. She had learned from repeated experience sleeping in that she needed more and more help maintaining a regular sleep schedule. When she did finally pull herself out of bed, she didn’t bother to remake it, leaving her sheets and blankets in a tangled mess. She stuffed whatever papers and books she could find into her messy backpack, and headed to the bathroom.
Elizabeth had started taken pains to avoid looking at herself in the mirror, since what she saw increasingly distressed her. Despite her best efforts to regain control of her dietary regimen, she had continued to fall off of the wagon over the past month. When she didn’t splurge on cafeteria food at school, she’d sneak down into her family’s kitchen at night and stuff herself full of that night’s cold leftovers. The food wasn’t always tasty, but she longed for that sated, full feeling and did whatever she could to get it. A few times, when she was worried her family would notice how much food was missing, she left the refrigerator door open and left discarded food scraps on the floor so she could blame the family dog. Though Sparky wasn’t allowed to sleep inside the house anymore, she was sure her parents doubted her story, for their daughter was clearly gaining weight.
Elizabeth gazed at her reflection reluctantly and surveyed the damage. Her face was clearly puffier and slightly greasier looking. Her trademark diamond shaped cheeks were fading behind a soft layer of fat, and the beginnings of a double chin had begun. Elizabeth’s shoulders were a little rounder and wider, and her upper arms looked a tad huskier.
One bright spot was that her small breasts had finally filled out considerably. Her chest would likely give even Jillian a run for her money now. Sadly, her tummy had grown even more, and soft looking potbelly threatened to stick out even further than her bust. Below that, her hips and thighs had widened, and her butt strained against every pair of pants she owned.
Elizabeth let out a long sigh and stepped into the shower. Her hair seemed to be darker that was usual. She had heard of children’s blonde hair darkening as they got older, but had thought that at 18, she was past that possibility. As she vigorously rubbed the shampoo into her scalp, she noticed her chubbier body jiggle slightly.
She dried herself off, and not feeling the need to put on any makeup, put her hair into a ponytail and dressed in the baggiest clothes she owned. She trudged downstairs, and poured herself some cereal. These days, she used a full bowl of flakes instead of measuring out a tiny handful. When her parents weren’t looking, she’d substitute the skim milk for half & half, with delicious results.
“Honey,” her Mom said with a nervous tenor to her voice. “We need to have a little talk.”
“Not now,” Elizabeth said through a mouthful of breakfast, “I’m running late.”
“Alright,” her Mom replied defensively. “But you can’t put us off forever. We are your parents, and we want to help you with whatever is going on, no matter what it is, ok?”
Elizabeth gave her Mom a long hug, but then ran out the door without saying another word. She herself didn’t know what was going on, or why.
During cheerleading practice, it was increasingly obvious that Elizabeth was no longer keeping up. In addition to being noticeably heavier than she had been just a month ago, she seemed to get winded more easily. Furthermore, her coordination had suffered. On two occasions, she performed a step off rhythm. One of these missteps caused someone to almost fall during an aerial move.
As disturbing as these changes were to Elizabeth, she found herself oddly unmotivated to try to keep up the pace. A short while ago, being on the squad was both fun, and a symbol of her status at school. Now, all the jumping and shouting seemed like such a waste of time. Why do all this hard work just to provide moral support to a bunch of football players, who were in turn wasting their time smashing into each other? Why not put this effort into making education cool? Why were the cheerleaders, and not the kids on the honor roll, the cool kids anyway?
“Elizabeth,” the coach began at the end of the session. “We have to…”
“Yeah, yeah, we have to talk. I’m off the squad, right?” Elizabeth cut the coach off, using a cynical tone that surprised even her. The coach, used to the quiet, go along to get along Elizabeth, blanched with surprise.
“While that was what I was going to say, Elizabeth, I’m surprised by your cavalier attitude about this. I’ll let you back on if you shape up. Please, let me know if anything is going on,” the coach lowered her voice before continuing, “like if these changes are because you’re pregnant.”
“What?” Elizabeth replied with indignation.
“I want to respect the privacy of the other girls, but let me say that you wouldn’t be the first pregnant teenager this year,” the coach said, continuing to whisper.
“Look, being a cheerleader isn’t the end all be all of human existence. I’m fine and I don’t need this,” Elizabeth spat, her ears burning.
“Well, if that’s the way you feel…” the coach said with a sigh. The rest of the girls made their way to the locker room to change.
“What went on with you and the coach back there?” Jillian asked her, once inside. “Were you just pissed because she cut you from the squad?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Elizabeth replied. “I don’t know what came over me. I never act like that. I’m so glad it’s nail painting day, Jillian. I really could use a pick me up.”
“Yeah, about that,” Jillian began as she pealed off her cheerleading outfit, revealing her lithe, flawless physique. “If you want to let yourself go to hell, that’s fine. But don’t expect me to come along for the ride.”
“But, I thought we were best friends,” Elizabeth said, her lip quivering.
“We totally were, you know, past tense,” Jillian replied with a sneering tone, as she gazed at Elizabeth’s pudgy body, which strained against the tight cheerleading uniform. “But come on, you’d do the same thing to me if the situation was reversed. I’ve got an image to maintain.”
“Why?” Elizabeth let the existential question hang in the air for several moments. Jillian, too stunned for an answer, merely muttered “whatever” under her breath and walked away.
Though she had called Jillian her best friend moments ago, this certainly wasn’t their first big fight. In the past, though, Elizabeth had always chased her friend down, begging forgiveness, which she always received. She had always assumed that Jillian was an overly sensitive person, and that she needed to be extra careful of her friends delicate feelings.
Now, though, that sense of understanding and forgiveness that had come so naturally to her was gone. Instead, she felt nothing but suspicion for her friend’s motives. Had she staged her previous tiffs, just as a way to show her who was the boss? And was she really so concerned with appearing cool that she’d cut out her best friend over appearance issues? If so, she certainly wasn’t much of a friend to begin with. Elizabeth slammed her locker shut, feeling angry and betrayed.
Elizabeth opted to head to Bible study during lunch instead of the cafeteria, not wanting to risk running into Jillian. In the past, quietly listening to the words of the Gospel was always a soothing and relaxing activity for her, and she relished the thought of getting a moment’s peace on such a difficult day.
The youth organizer read from Genesis, which was common. She had heard the story many times: God had made everything, a snake tricked Eve into eating an apple, and everything went downhill from there. In the past, Elizabeth had accepted this story without giving it a second though. Now, though, she felt questions forcing themselves into her mind and onto her lips.
“I have a question,” Elizabeth began, trying to be as respectful as possible. “Why did God place the tree in the garden if he didn’t want man to eat from it?” The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. “And,” she added, “God’s all knowing, right? He knew what would happen in the garden before he created Adam and Eve. If he knew they’d disobey and cause the fall of mankind, why was he so mad about it?”
“Those are some good questions, Elizabeth,” the youth leader replied, “But, as Christians, we have to accept what’s in the Bible as a matter of faith. God works in mysterious ways.”
“That’s another thing,” Elizabeth countered. “Why do we have to accept the Bible on faith? I mean, couldn’t I just say, you have to accept the Koran on faith, and if it doesn’t make sense to you, then Allah works in mysterious ways? Or Thor, or Zues, for that matter?”
The silence was gone, replaced with hushed, concerned whispering noises. “In a secular world, we’re just animals. We need the morality of Jesus to help by the guiding light in people’s hearts, Elizabeth,” was the reply.
“I have two problems with that,” Elizabeth said, her increasingly strident tone shocking her and the rest of the girls. “One, you’re presenting a false dichotomy of Christianity vs. no belief in anything. Two, largely secular countries like Japan and Sweden have lower crime rates than the US, and within the US, states that are less religious tend to have lower crime rates. So Bible-based morality isn’t motivating people to be good. The evidence shows the opposite.”
“Elizabeth, if that’s how you feel, you should leave,” was the reply.
“Fine,” she said, and made her way for the door. “By the way, human beings are animals. It’s called the theory of evolution. Look it up. There’s more evidence supporting it than the theory of gravity,” she shouted on the way out.
When the day ended and Elizabeth found herself in Ms. Darkin’s science class, she had no trouble putting her hand up and answering every question, even when the eyes of the rest of the class were trained on her. After the bell rang, the frizzy haired science teacher walked up to Elizabeth.
“Let me guess,” Elizabeth said with a snapping tone of voice. “You’re asking me to sign up for the science fair for the millionth time?”
Flustered, Ms. Darkin stammered for a moment.
“I accept!” Elizabeth exclaimed, and gave her teacher a bear hug.
“You don’t usually tell jokes like that,” Ms. Darkin said, a little startled.
“I’ve been in kind of a funk lately,” Elizabeth began. She was about to apologize, which was her general habit when she did anything that was out of the ordinary, but it occurred to her that she had no reason to do it. If someone had a problem with her, that was their problem, she decided.
Before she arrived home, she decided to stop at a grocery store. She received a modest allowance from her parents, which she was used to spending on makeup. She hadn’t worn that in a while, so she figured she ought to divert those funds to snacks.
“No more raiding the ‘fridge at midnight for me,” she said to herself as she stuffed her cart full of junk food. Red licorice, 2 liters of soda, and mini cinnamon rolls made their way into her cart, along with potato chips and sour gummy bears.
When she arrived home, her parents were waiting for her.
“Elizabeth,” her father began sternly, “your mother and I received some disturbing phone calls.”
“Is it true that you’re off the cheerleading squad, Elizabeth? And did you really raise that big fuss during Bible study?” her mother asked, her voice strained and tight.
“Yeah,” Elizabeth replied, nonchalantly.
“What’s going on? You’re not acting like the daughter I know,” her father growled.
Elizabeth paused. It was a good question – she had changed her behavior pretty radically, and there was no apparent explanation.
“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully after a long pause. She knew that, had she been warned how her life was going to change a month ago, she would have been as horrified as her parents must feel now, perhaps even more so. From her current perspective, though, she couldn’t bring herself to feel upset about it. What had happened to her today, though it was upsetting, seemed entirely natural for a girl like her. What really perplexed her was why she had ever joined the cheerleading squad and Bible study to begin with. What had she been thinking?
“You’re not going to get off that easy, Elizabeth,” her father said menacingly. “We’re your parents, and we’re not going to just sit by while something awful happens to our only child. We want you to turn out right”
Elizabeth suddenly had an answer to the question she had just posed herself. She had become a cheerleader and a bible study member because her parents had wanted her to. She had been desperate to be a perfect child, to be whatever they need her to be. Now, she only felt resentment that they had asked her in the first place.
“Things are going to be different from now on,” Elizabeth promised, talking with a new determination that was alien to her. “I’m going to my room and I want to be left alone.” Bags of food in hand, she marched upstairs.
Her parents, shocked at this surprising behavior from their daughter, let her be. In her room, Elizabeth started to eat and drink. She chugged down the soda, and chewed potato chips until her jaw was practically numb. Her stomach grew increasingly round and large, but she didn’t mind. She rubbed the softening flesh with one hand as she laid back in bed and relaxed. All that mattered was that she was becoming full and happy, and the heavy feeling in her gut gave her a warm glow.
Hours later, stickiness from the sour gummy bears coated her fingers, and cinnamon sugar from the rolls fell all over. It showered her bed, her carpet, and even her clothes. A few grains landed fell into her growing cleavage. She didn’t notice as she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Four: Four Months after Exposure
Elizabeth rolled out of bed, which took considerable effort. She was on track to be late for school, but P.E. was her first class, so she didn’t mind missing a few minutes. Her old immaculate room was gone, as candy wrappers and wadded up papers covered the carpet. She shoved what she could find into her backpack, and then put on some sweat pants and an ultra baggy T shirt.
In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth, but didn’t bother showering. What had once been a daily ritual could now be postponed to every couple of days. Shaving her body hair was also, her mind, a big waste of time. She wasn’t showing off her body to a man, so why did she need to keep it in tip top condition? And besides, if a man wanted her, why would that make her under obligation to fix herself up? She looked at herself in the mirror and pondered how much she had changed.
Elizabeth’s dismissal from the cheerleading squad was effectively the cessation of all forms of exercise. At the same time, she had massively increased the amount of calories she was taking in every day, from a near anorexic handful of food to a regular junk food binge whenever she got the chance. Her body clearly showed the results of her radically altered habits.
Her face bore almost no resemblance to its formal self. The chubby, apple shaped cheeks obliterated her diamond cheek bones, and she had a doughy, double chin to match it. Her hair had become even darker, and now she didn’t even bother with a ponytail. It simply lay limply on the sides of her face.
Her arms were much meatier, and shook violently when she waved at someone. Her breasts, though much bigger, had started to expand to the point where they had begun to sag a little. Her big potbelly jutted out in front of her, and even her back had a couple of rolls of fat.
“Like the cinnamon rolls I love so much,” Elizabeth thought to herself, feeling no sense of shame about the size of her bigger body. She grabbed her belly, and sunk her hands into it. It felt warm, soft, and pleasant to her fingers. Her butt was much bigger as well, though in her mind, it was just a nice big cushion she took with her to make chairs more comfortable. Her thighs were much thicker and wider, and her hips had expanded too, complete with little love handles.
Her parents, though unhappy with her changes at first, had eventually reached a truce of sorts with their daughter. They stayed out of each others way and didn’t criticize each other. Elizabeth missed the closeness she had once experienced with her family, but figured that it was just taking them a while to get used to the new her.
When she arrived at school, she grudgingly changed into her P.E. uniform. She tried to keep up with the rest of the class, but her added heft made it more difficult. A few of the kids had started to make jokes at her expense. Today, they were even joined by Jillian, who shouted, “Nice going, piggy,” when Elizabeth struck out in softball.
In the locker room, Elizabeth felt determined to get even. She marched her way over to Jillian, who didn’t even acknowledge her presence.
“You think you’re something just because you’re thin and you have big tits,” Elizabeth shouted at her former best friend. “Well, I’ve got you beat in one of those categories,” she said as she removed her top and her bra. Her massive, fat breasts sprang free.
“What are you doing?” Jillian asked, feeling embarrassed.
“Big, aren’t they? And I didn’t have to have my Daddy fly me to Orange County to get them stuffed full of silicone,” Elizabeth said. Jillian, horrified that her secret was out, ran out of the room as fast as her toothpick legs could carry her.
Elizabeth didn’t bother debating the Bible study people anymore. Now, she spent her time hanging out at the school’s anime club, which was largely populated by other nerdy kids.
“Lizzy!” was the shout that greeted her as she walked into the AV building where the club’s lunch meeting was held. She had asked new friends to call her by the nickname, as her full name seemed so feminine and antiquated.
“Hey gang, good news, I brought donut holes,” she said, pulling a big box from her bag. “I thought it would give us energy for writing some good fan fiction. I’ve got an itch for some really unorthodox couples,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
Just then, the door opened, and Ms. Darkin stepped into the room.
“Lizzy,” she began, and Elizabeth smiled. She was the only person who had switched over to her nickname. “I’m so glad I caught up with you. You finished the project for the science fair last night, right? The deadline is today.”
“Actually,” Elizabeth began, as she absentmindedly started munching on a donut hole, “I got a new idea.”
“A new idea! You’ve had six new ideas already for this fair,” the teacher replied. “You’ve got to have the discipline to develop the idea once you get it. You can’t just move on to the next idea.”
“But this one’s so good!” Elizabeth gushed. “Where’s some chalk? I’ll show you.” She picked up a stick, and started writing some chemistry equations on the blackboard behind her. “See, it all started when I thought about Noble gasses, right? Well, what if you could shear off one electron off of each atom? Just alter it a little bit? You’d start a chain reaction. In no time, the behavior of that atom would change radically. It would start bonding that would have been unthinkable for it, so to speak, in its old state. It would end up involved in bigger molecules it never would have otherwise. Think of the applications for, say, fuel cells. Why do we have to be content with Hydrogen’s destiny being plain old water? It can be whatever we want it to be.”
“That’s brilliant,” Ms. Darkin began. “You should start developing that for the fair right away. Why didn’t you do that last night, anyway?”
“I like to get ten hours of sleep these days, I feel more rested. And eating takes a bit longer than it used to. Also, ‘Sailor Moon’ was on,” Elizabeth explained. One anime club member gave her a high five for the mention of one of their favorite shows. “I’m lucky I ran into you. I might have forgotten to write down that equation. Don’t erase that chalkboard,” Elizabeth added with a casual shrug.
“You’re a brilliant scientist, but you’ve got to focus,” Ms. Darkin pleaded. “You need to develop this idea. I can help you, if you need help.”
“Yeah, but what if I would have come up with a better idea, if I hadn’t spent all my time on the grunt work of developing this one?” Elizabeth complained. “I’m more of a conceptual person.”
“Science is all about rigor and the experimental process,” the teacher replied weakly.
“Well, maybe science needs to chance to respond to the needs of people like me. You know, Albert Einstein was so disorganized that he paid people to stand around in his house and write down his ideas if he was suddenly struck with inspiration. Speaking of that,” Elizabeth began, her eyes suddenly widening, “I’ve got a great inspiration for an experiment for your class today.”
“What is that?” Ms. Darkin asked, thinking she might have to get another blackboard.
“The effect of pizza on a high school student’s stomach. Let’s order a dozen for the class!” At her suggestion, the other anime club members got excited. A dozen nerdy kids, most of them overweight and wearing ill fitting clothes, started cheering for pizza. It was about as far removed from her cheerleading days as was possible, but somehow, Lizzy felt like she belonged.
Epilogue: The Formula’s Future
Ms. Darkin remained in her classroom long after the students had left. Lizzy’s idea was based on the chain reactions resulting from the smallest changes. Ironically, nowhere had that been more true than in her experiment with Lizzy’s DNA. She had meant only to gently prod her in the right direction, to give her a gentle nudge into becoming a bit more comfortable with her scientific mind. Unintended social pressures had exacerbated the changes, causing then to go much farther than she had ever intended. She was almost a different person now, one who would forever have difficulty fitting into mainstream society, and especially a small town like Meadow Falls, Idaho.
On the upside, though, she did have proof positive that her DNA concoction worked. And while she might not have a student who would take home the science fair trophy, she knew that Lizzy had the potential for scientific greatness. As much as she wanted to feel guilty for all she had inadvertently done to make Lizzy’s life more difficult, that one fact seemed to overpower everything. If she had it to do all over again, she decided that she would.
Next year’s class, she decided, would be quite interesting.
THE END
Nerdy Girlfriend
Alan and Tom were college roommates and best friends, and they were nerds. Not just run of the mill nerds, but full blown, Star Trek convention attending, computer addicted, chess mastering, Dungeons and Dragons playing nerds. The two young men were quite similar, with only one real difference defining them – their opinion of the most popular girl in school, Michelle.
This important distinction was very important when Tom and Alan ran into Michelle. She was the captain of their college’s cheerleading squad, and deserved that title in every respect. She possessed a stunning quantity of traditionally defined beauty, she was a skilled acrobat, and she was haughty and pretentious enough to feel genuinely at home atop the proverbial social ladder. She had short, well coifed hair, a slightly tanned and flawless complexion, an extremely slender physique.
Alan was quite smitten with her. From the moment he first saw her, he felt consumed with infatuation. He even had once hid under the bleachers and secretly watched her during cheerleading practice. He desperately desired Michelle to be his, and lamented this desire’s impossibility to Tom often.
Tom wasn’t at all interested in Michelle – how could he be? Tom felt that since she had nothing in common with him, there was no real attraction. And likewise, Michelle wasn’t at all interested in Alan. The few times they had bumped into each other, Michelle refused to even speak to him. She walked right past him as if he didn’t even exist.
Tom was a good friend, and while he understood that Alan’s motives for wanting Michelle were skewed, he felt sympathetic to his buddy and decided to help.
He decided to do some online research to see what he how he could help Alan. In no time, he had found exactly the guide he needed.
“Let me see,” Tom said, studying the list he had found…I’m not a magical practitioner, I’m not a scientist with access to funny chemical compounds…aha! Rule Nine…” Tom started. “Law of wish realization inevitability – any wish made by anyone anywhere will be inevitably granted.”
“I wish for Michelle to become the kind of girl that would fall in love with…a nerdy guy like Alan.” Tom head a knock on the door, and half expected that there’d be a sudden poof, or the room would spin, and he’d suddenly come face to face with his best friend making out with Michelle. But he saw nothing. The knock repeated itself, and Tom finally got around to answering it.
“Hey Tom,” Alan said as he entered the apartment. “Whatcha up to?”
“Eh, nothing much,” Tom replied. “Nothing much at all...”
Chapter Two: The Perfect Girlfriend
After a few more minutes of chatting with Alan, Tom had decided that the whole wish thing was rubbish. He felt embarrassed at having even looked up such a facile solution to his friend’s problem. As the two played D & D, Tom tried once again to explain to Alan why he saw dating differently.
“Isn’t this the best?” Tom opined with a certain degree of vagueness in his slightly nasal tone of voice.
“The best what? Game?” Alan squeaked in his high pitched voice. “Well, there’s chess, Magic the Gathering, World of Warcraft…maybe this is in the top 5…” Alan’s voice trailed off as he mentioned still more games.
“No, I meant playing games in general.” Tom clarified.
“Well, of course.” Alan replied.
“Well, wouldn’t you want your perfect girlfriend to be able to sit down and join us?” Tom asked, getting to his point.
“Why would Michelle be interested in D & D? She’s a cheerleader.” Alan responded with confusion.
“No, not Michelle, I mean, a perfect hypothetical girlfriend. I mean, as if you had designed her to be whatever you wanted. Wouldn’t you want her to enjoy doing the things you enjoy?”
“Well…maybe,” Alan hedged. “But I don’t know if that’s sustainable. How many supermodels do you know that play role playing games?”
“We’re talking hypothetically here, Alan. You can make anyone like anything you want.” Tom reminded him.
“I know, but you’re missing the broader context, Tom. What hot chick would choose to continue to keep playing games in the basement with nerds, even if that was her highest ambition? There’s just so many social and financial rewards for other behaviors. Becoming a cheerleader, a model, making friends with the popular people…how is she going to resist that forever?” Alan asked, with a sense of triumph.
“What about you? I don’t see you running off to join the football team to impress Michelle and join that popular world.” Tom countered.
“Well, that’s not exactly a workable option for us, Tom. We were given the gifts of brains, not brawn,” Alan replied.
“Well, you aren’t going to get an argument from me on that one,” Tom conceded, and the two chortled in laughter for a few moments.
Chapter Three: The Game
After failing to convince his friend to change his standards, he figured that Alan’s loneliness was just going to be a permanent fixture of their lives. He was therefore quite surprised when their lunchtime chess game was interrupted by a most unexpected guest.
“1.e4,” Tom announced in chess notation as he made the first move of the game.
“…c6” Alan replied as he entered his favorite chess opening, the Caro-Kann
“2.e4” Tom responded quickly, and Alan moved “2…d5” just as quickly. Tom thought about his next move for a while, and then made his decision. “3.f3”
“What the heck is that?” Alan quipped, “You’ve never played that before.”
“It’s called the fantasy variation,” Tom responded. “I read an…interesting story online that introduced me to…to...” He stopped speaking as he looked over Alan’s shoulder. Michelle was walking over to their table! “Muh, muh…” Tom stuttered, unable to finish speaking the name of Alan’s crush.
“Don’t mind me,” Michelle began, “This game looks interesting, mind if I watch?”
“Go right ahead,” Alan squeaked, and she pulled up a chair and stared at the board intently.
The next few dozen moves of the game didn’t go well for Alan. Though usually a solid player, he floundered around the board, his pieces taking inactive positions. Tom credited his superior less to the Fantasy Variation and more to Alan’s inability to keep his eyes on the board, with Michelle sitting right next to him.
Tom could tell that Alan was close to resigning. After another attacking move, Tom felt as though victory was inevitable. He saw Alan’s hand drift towards his King, ready to tip it over in resignation. Before he reached it, however, it was stopped by Michelle’s.
For a brief moment, their hands hesitated, lingering over the board. After a poignant silence, Michelle finally spoke: “May I?” she asked.
“Uh…sure,” Alan responded at least, not quite sure what Michelle was asking but confident enough that his answer would be yes in just about every case. Michelle reached for Alan’s Queen and moved it directly into the path of Tom’s pawns.
“Michelle, I…you…uh…” Alan was unable to formulate his words, trying to explain that she was giving away his Queen in a hopeless position. Tom, however, saw the position for what it was and smacked himself on the forehead. How could he have missed this?
“It’s a draw!” Michelle exclaimed. “Stalemate. If he captures your Queen, you have no legal moves and the game’s tied. But if he doesn’t capture, you’ll just put him in check and force him to capture next turn. You’ve secured the draw in worse position.” It was truly a brilliant maneuver, and Tom was less upset at Michelle for telling Alan about it than he was upset at himself for not having anticipated it himself.
“Well lunch is already over, catch you guys later,” Michelle said, as she scampered off towards her table. Alan was too stunned to reply; he simply sat there, his jaw slack with incredulity.
Chapter Four: The Invitation
At first, Tom and Alan didn’t know what to make of Michelle’s strange behavior. There wasn’t a logical explanation.
“She couldn’t be an expert chess player…” Alan whispered to Tom during science lecture.
“But, it’s equally unlikely that any novice would have seen that move.” Tom whispered back.
“Well, if she was just having fun with us, why would she have suddenly become so into the game? And how would she know an opportunity like that would come up?” Alan inquired. Tom had an answer prickling in the back of his mind, but he didn’t allow himself to consider it. That just couldn’t be the answer…could it?
The two didn’t have to wait too long before seeing Michelle again. At the end the day, they literally bumped into her in the hall. Alan was surprised to actually hear her apologize and even helped pick up some papers that had fallen in their little collision.
“Hey, what are you doing this afternoon?” Michelle asked the still stunned nerd duo.
“Uh, well, um…” Alan squeaked, desperately trying to come up with something more impressive sounding than what was occurring. Tom, on the other hand, had a funny feeling that the truth was exactly what Michelle wanted to hear.
“Playing D & D, or maybe Magic the Gathering, why?” Tom asked. Alan scowled, subtly tried to nudge him. His eyes seemed to say “Hey Tom, you don’t want her to think we’re a bunch of nerds, do you?”
“Ooh, sounds cool. Mind if I come?” Michelle asked as she batted her mascara-filled eyelashes. Alan was again rendered speechless, and so it fell to Tom to answer. He was still a bit skeptical.
“Don’t you have cheerleader practice today?” Tom asked, slightly raising an eyebrow.
“Eh, well, yeah. I mean…” It was Michelle who now seemed to have trouble speaking clearly. “Well, I do, yes. But I’m ditching it. One day won’t kill the squad, right?”
Tom nodded approvingly. “Of course. We’d love to have you over to play some games.”
Chapter Five: Dinner for Three
Alan and Tom walked back to their apartment with a sense of disbelief: here it was, Friday night, and they were going to be playing their favorite games with the most popular girl in school. Alan was tripping over his feet (moreso than usual) as they finally got to the apartment. Tom wasn’t sure which was more of a coincidence: the wish he had made yesterday or the hypothetical question he had posed to Alan last night.
By the time they were setting up the D & D table, Alan’s nerves had finally calmed down. By the time they were creating the character sheets, it was obvious to both young men that something man than a radical change interests was happening to Michelle.
“So, I’m guessing you want to be the elf, the lithe, thin, spritely race?” Alan asked, trying his best to say it flirtatiously.
Michelle loudly – and uncharacteristically – combined a snort with a scoff. “Yeah, right. Why don’t I play the dwarf, short, shout, strong, hearty – and with a nice constitution bonus?”
Neither Tom nor Alan was sure how to understand this remark. Had she really just shot down a comparison between her and a lovely elf in favor of one between her and a homely dwarf? Or had she only suggested that she play the dwarf to create as much contrast between herself and her role-playing alter ego as possible? Or had she just wanted the character’s constitution bonus? And how in the world did someone playing this game for the first time know that dwarves receive that bonus anyway?
No answers became apparent, and the game continued. Michelle continued to display traits that made it seem as though she never was a cheerleader. Upon sitting down, she didn’t hold herself with great poise and grace, as Alan had often observed her do during English class. Instead, she simply flopped down, slouching a little bit against the couch, which made her look shorter and more casual. When Tom made nerdy puns about rules in the game, she laughed a big, bellowing, dorky, unladylike laugh.
The hours flew by and soon it was evening. “What’s for dinner around here?” Michelle asked, rubbing her flat tummy. “I’m starving.”
“I don’t know…maybe we can get pizza?” Alan asked. Michelle brightened up.
“Great idea! Let’s try ordering it online!” Michelle exclaimed. Tom merely shrugged and pulled out his laptop.
“What’s this article here, ‘How to eat an entire pizza in one sitting?" Michelle asked, pointing to an online tab saved from his last browsing session. Tom stammered for a minute and took back his laptop, and then Michelle continued. “Looks totally neat, I want to give that a try. Let’s order two pizzas and see if I can pull this off…” Alan looked a little bit taken aback, but Tom’s eyes widened. He unconsciously licked his lips as he imagined Michelle stuffing her face with slice after slice of pizza.
“Stop that,” he mentally scolded himself. “She’s for your friend, remember?”
When the pizza arrived, the boys were surprised to see Michelle answer the door and take care of the pizza tab.
“You didn’t have to do that, Michelle,” Tom said.
“Well, it’s the least I can do, given that you’ve both taught me to play some awesome games. Plus – I plan to eat more pizza than both you scrawny guys put together!” Alan and Tom seriously doubted both of these claims. Michelle had picked up the rules to D & D quickly – too quickly. After just a few hours, she seemed to understand the very complex rules as well as Tom and himself. She had to already have known how to play, yet what was the possible incentive of lying? The pizza claim was also doubtful. How could a cheerleading captain really eat a whole pizza? Then again, she was skipping practice to hang out with them…
Tom brought out some 2 liter sodas for them to drink, and Michelle greedily guzzled hers directly from the bottle. Afterwards, she let out a little burp, and then blushed.
Michelle didn’t even bother using a paper plate. She simply dragged her pizza box over to where she was sitting and ate the pizza directly out of it. Before she ate, she pulled open as many of the little packets of red pepper and parmesan cheese as she could find and doused her pizza. She tore open one of the little packets a bit clumsily and cheese flew everywhere, creating a huge mess. Some landed on the carpet, and some landed on her clothes, and a few little crumbs landed on her chest and slightly exposed cleavage. She quickly grabbed a napkin and tried to clean everything up, blushing yet again.
Tom noticed Alan looking at this spectacle with what appeared to be a mix of curiosity and revolution on his face. Tom was simply amused.
Michelle began to chow down on her pieces of pizza in earnest. She took large bites, chewed noisily, and failed to catch dribbling grease from the slice more than a couple of times. She was cramming them down as she was starved, and as Tom gazed at her impossibly thin waistline, he guessed that she might as well have been.
“Hey Tom?” Michelle asked, shaking him out of his staring.
“Uh, yeah?” Tom replied.
“Are you going to eat your crusts?”
Chapter Six: The Transformation
When Michelle excused herself to go to the bathroom, Tom and Alan had a chance to talk amongst themselves for the first time in hours.
“Well, what do you think? Isn’t this the best day of your life?” Tom exclaimed excitedly.
“Well, yeah…” Alan said reluctantly.
“Well yeah, nothing! I thought she was totally out of your league, but every thing we do impresses her. She’s really the best of both words in the flesh.”
“Yeah,” Alan agreed, again with a tone of reluctance in his voice. “I never really expected this, you know…that she’d be such a cool…buddy.”
“What’s going on, Alan? Buddy? Buddy? This is Michelle you’re talking about. Are you blind?” Tom asked incredulously.
“Well she is hot. But I don’t know – there’s just something wrong. I mean, how did she pick up chess and D & D that fast? And some of her mannerisms are so…not cheerleader. There’s just a really weird vibe going on for me, to be honest.” Alan said.
Tom debated if explaining the wish he had made would offer clarification for his friend, or if it would just cause him to think Tom was nuts. Before he reached a decision, Michelle walked back in the room.
Tom immediately noticed something different about her – but he couldn’t quite place it. After a few moments of impolite starting, he realized her hair had changed. The popular styling was gone and it was just sort of naturally hanging. It definitely went with the ultra-casual behaviors she had been exhibiting all evening.
As the three resumed the game, other changes started become obvious as well. Michelle’s stomach, which was almost unnaturally flat at the start of the meal, had a definite curve to it now. Tom thought that this might be because of the amount of pizza she had stuffed down her maw, but as he studied her more intently, he began to notice other changes.
Her arms had grown a bit. They were no longer twigs, but getting a bit bigger and huskier. They led up to a pair of slightly rounder and broader shoulders. Tom eyed her up and down and she looked as if she had put on 15 pounds since this afternoon.
“Was this plumpers pizza?” He thought to himself. That just couldn’t be – could it?
Michelle, still intently consuming her pizza, seemed totally oblivious to Tom’s staring, so he continued. She stuffed another piece of pizza into her mouth, and Tom could actually see her chest expand. Her breasts strained against her top and revealed a bit more cleavage. She took another bite, and Tom swore he could see her thighs broadening and her hips swelling in girth. He could tell her legs were becoming thick and juicy. Her tummy was starting to peek out from under her tight-fitting shirt. It’s swollen, round shape indicated a blossoming potbelly.
“Will you excuse me?” Michelle started Tom yet again. “I should go take my contacts out, my eyes are starting to hurt.” She pulled herself up from her pizza feast and walked to the bathroom. Tom noticed her larger derriere and the fact that her walk now had a slight waddle to it.
“I didn’t know she had contacts,” Alan said. Both he and Tom always wore glasses – and when Michelle exited the bathroom, so did she. Big, thick ones that put both Alan’s and Tom’s lenses to shame. And was it the dim light – or was her skin paler? It was as if the artificial tan had melted away and her natural, ultra-pale and creamy complexion was taking over.
Tom noticed Shelly’s overall frame seemed to have expanded as well. She now had big shoulders and a broad back. Her breasts were now tantalizingly large and luscious, and even her face was chubby. She had puffy, apple cheeks which created cute dimples when she smiled, and a slightly double chin when she yawned.
“Ok, where were we? Was my dwarf fighter going to attack?” Neither Tom nor Alan responded. Michelle’s voice had changed, too! It was now more nasal, and a bit more high pitched and squeaky.
“We were going to rescue the princess from the dungeon, actually,” Tom finally replied.
“Well I hope she’s ready for an amateur if she’s anything like sleeping beauty. I’ve never been kissed,” Michelle squealed.
“Michelle, you’ve never been kissed?” Alan asked with disbelief.
“Michelle, Michelle, I hate that name. Sounds so girly and lame. Call me Shelly.”
“Shelly? Shelly?” Alan repeated with disdain.
“Yeah, I like that much better. And to answer your question, yes I’ve never been kissed, Alan.” Michelle said, her eyes locking onto his.
“I, well, me, me neither…” Alan stammered.
“Well, maybe you could help remedy that, Alan…” And she leaned in towards him, puckering her lips like a 6th grader kissing on a dare. Alan stared at what his lovely Michelle had become. He was horrified.
“Tom, I need to talk to you outside right now!” And with that, he ran out of the apartment and left Shelly kissing the air.
Chapter Seven: Reevaluation
After telling Shelly to sit tight for a moment, Tom reluctantly followed Alan outside. He found his friend bleary-eyed and close to tears.
“What, what the hell is going on,” he wailed. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing, Tom? Tell me I’m not going crazy.”
“Alan, I should have told you earlier. This is my fault entirely.” Tom admitted.
“Your fault? What could have done?” Alan asked incredulously.
“I…wished for it to happen,” Tom stated, realizing how silly it sounded.
“You wished for my dream girl to be reduced to…to…” Alan stammered. “You wished for my dream girl to be ruined like this right in front of me? Is this some kind of payback for your hypothetical yesterday or something?”
“No! It’s not like that. I made the wish before that talk with you. I wished for her to become the kind of girl who would fall for you,” Tom replied defensively.
“That’s for the insult, Tom. You think that,” Alan snarled out the last word as he pointed to the apartment, “is the only kind of girl who’d ever fall for a geek like me?”
“No, Alan, listen. I just wished that she’d be the kind of girl that would fall for you. I never thought she’d change in that way. This is all happening out of my control.” Tom explained.
“And what do you mean you ‘wished’ this? How would that do anything, Tom?” Alan asked accusingly.
“It’s hard to explain, Alan. Let’s just say there are many things you don’t understand.” Tom said indelicately.
“What don’t I understand?” Alan asked.
“For starters, what’s wrong with Michelle, err…Shelly? You were just saying a while ago what a cool buddy she was.” Tom countered.
“That’s my whole point, Tom! She’s like some girl we’d meet at a Star Trek convention now.” Alan said with disgust.
“What’s wrong with that?” Tom asked sheepishly.
“What’s wrong with that? Michelle was the cheerleading captain. Just think of what people would say if a guy like me was walking around with someone like her. Now she’s ruined.” Alan lamented.
“So that’s what this is all about, huh? What other people think and say about us? Let it go, Alan. They don’t matter.”
“It matters! It matters!” Alan insisted. “Haven’t you noticed how unpopular we are? Besides, Michelle was beautiful. Why’d that have to change? Why can’t you wish her back to the way she was?” Alan demanded.
“Because you were right last night, Alan, although I hate to admit it. A cheerleader isn’t going to just become a dork for no reason. Everything in life is about incentives, real or imagined. There’s just no incentive for Michelle, as she was, to change only her habits but not her appearance. And besides, who says that Michelle was more beautiful than Shelly?”
“I do, and so would every other sane person in the galaxy.” Alan retorted.
“There you go again with the other people’s opinions thing. Do you really know what you find beautiful in a woman, Alan? Have you really thought about where your opinions come from? Have you considered if you really do feel this way or if you’re just reflecting the views of everyone else?”
“So what if I am, that doesn’t make the feelings less real.” Alan replied defensively.
“No, it doesn’t, but that’s how we’re treated, Alan. We’re looked down upon because of commonly held prejudices. Do people learn to play chess before they criticize us ‘eggheads’ for playing? Do they learn how to build a chemistry set before they worship at the foot of the quarterback? Of course not. We are mocked and teased for no reason other than our interests and our looks are unfashionable. Just like Shelly is now. Would you really want to treat her the way other people have treated us?” Tom spoke with a sense of urgency. He felt as though he had finally understood this entire evening’s meaning.
“That’s really nice of you Tom, but come on. Haven’t you ever dreamed of becoming a millionaire and getting a trophy wife? Haven’t you ever wanted to become something other than a reject?” Alan pleaded desperately.
“No, I don’t. I want someone who has a lot in common with me. I want a woman that can understand me, Tom. Some skinny gold digger who’s only attracted to me for my money couldn’t ever have a meaningful relationship with me. And besides I’m happy with myself. Don’t you think…” But Tom was cut off.
“No, I don’t think, that, whatever it is you’re about to say. I can’t accept what you’ve done to Michelle. Change her back, it isn’t right.”
“Why? She’d just go back to ignoring you.” Tom said.
“I don’t want to debate us anymore, Tom, this is about her. You don’t think she wants to be like this, would you?” Alan asked.
“Well, I don’t know…” Tom said. “To be honest I hadn’t really thought of it from that angle. Well, why not? Would you really want to just turn into a pro football player if you could?” Tom replied.
“Yes! Yes I would.” Alan started crying. “You’re right Tom, you’re right about everything. I do hate myself…”
“Alan, I’m sorry…I wish you were a football player.” Tom said before he could stop himself.
“What did you just say, Tom?” Alan asked in awe. Tom felt he might as well commit to it now.
“I said I wish you were a football player. No, the best football player this school has ever seen!” Tom said.
“Woah…I should get going to football practice then!” And with that, he ran off in direction of the school’s football field. As Tom looked at him disappearing into the distance, he suddenly had a revelation: he was possibly seeing his best friend disappear forever.
Chapter Eight: Discovery
Tom initially tried to chase Alan down, to get him back, perhaps even to apologize. He felt bad about what he’d done, and he didn’t want to lose his friend. Unfortunately, Tom’s asthma caught up to him, and he was reduced to simply holding his sides and wheezing, with his friend far outdistancing him.
When Tom finally got back to his apartment, he was surprised to see Shelly on his computer.
“Tom, I hope you don’t mind. You and Alan were talking so loudly outside, I couldn’t help but hear you. I didn’t understand most of what you said – but it sounded serious. I had to try to figure out what’s really going on.”
“And…?” Tom asked.
“Well, again, I hope you don’t consider this an invasion of your privacy, but I looked through your browsing, history, and I think I get what was going on. This story, The Cheerleader, this describes what happened, right? A cheerleader changes into…someone like me?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Tom said reluctantly, feeling embarrassed and guilty. “I’m sorry.”
“I really used to be a cheerleader?” Shelly asked with a tone of doubt in her voice.
“Yes, of course. You’re captain of the squad,” Tom said.
“How long ago was this?” Shelly asked to Tom’s amazement. Did she really not remember?
“This afternoon,” Tom said. “All of these changes have happened over just a few hours.”
“Tom, how is that possible? How could I have put on 80 pounds in a few hours? And I don’t know the first thing about cheerleading. I have Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings posters decorating my walls. I’m not a cheerleader…”
“I don’t know what to say, Shelly. I’m sorry I wished for it. I feel terrible,” Tom lamented.
“Alan must have liked the old me, and now he’s repulsed by me…as would any guy, I guess,” Shelly said. “Why do you even read these stories, Tom? Do you just like the idea of some smug hot chick getting her comeuppance?”
“To be honest, Shelly, I do think there’s quite a lot of that among people that read these stories. But for me, I don’t really think of a transformation as a negative, as a punishment.” Tom explained.
“What else could they be?” Shelley asked.
“Well, I think Alan just had bad taste. Or more specifically, he has misplaced priorities. He cares more about impressing other people than being comfortable with himself.”
“So what, Tom? So what?” Shelly squealed.
Tom wasn’t quite sure how to explain why he read those stories. For a few moments he simply gazed at Shelly.
“Didn’t you read anything else, Shelly? Did you read ‘Feel Beautiful as You Are?’ or ‘The Beauty of a Positive Self Image?” He gave her a few minutes to read the self-esteem articles, hoping the message would sink in as fast as everything else had changed.
“Those are very nice,” Shelly said at last.
“I could tell you that I actually think you’re beautiful right now, Shelly. I could tell you that in attempting to get Alan his perfect girlfriend, I’ve created my own instead. But that doesn’t matter, not really. You can’t just rely on me to understand who you are or are or create a sense of self worth. It has to come from within.”
“I know, Tom,” Shelly whispered.
“And, I want to give you the opportunity to change back. I think I inadvertently changed Alan. I can change you too. You could go get Alan to love you again – I’m sure he’s Michelle’s type now. You could get just about any guy to love you as Michelle.”
“But not you,” Shelly said in a low voice.
“Well, I think you’re perfect just as you are now, but it’s your choice. It was wrong of me to alter your whole life just because I wanted to help a friend, it’s only fair that I give you the chance to change it back now.”
Shelly scooted her plump body a little closer to Tom. “That’s so sweet. It means the world to me that you’d give me the choice.” Shelly surprised Tom by wrapping her husky arms around his thin frame and giving it a mighty squeeze.
For a few moments, the two simply held each other, taking in the emotions of the evening. Finally, Shelly leaned into Tom’s ear and whispered: “I want to keep playing nerdy games. I want to go out with you and for everyone to think we’re such a nerdy couple. I want to eat dessert when I go to a restaurant. I want – no, I wish – for things to be just like this.”
With that, Shelly leaned into Tom and the two kissed. Tom ran his hands down Shelly’s chubby cheeks and then down her love-handled waist. Tom tried to hold and appreciate her every delicious curve. He felt her arms hug him so tight and her heavy body pin him against the wall so hard that he could barely breathe. Her tongue eagerly delved into his mouth, flailing about with both inexperience and eagerness.
When the two finally broke the kiss, they were both gasping and giggling eagerly. After a long silence, Shelly finally said “Besides, you can’t really wish me back.”
“Why couldn’t I, I wished for Alan…” Shelly cut him off.
“Well, you have no way knowing if that wish really worked,” Shelly countered.
“True,” Tom conceded. Apparently his logic and way of debating had impacted Shelly as well.
“But I was referring to law 48, of course,” Shelly said.
“Law 48?” Tom asked.
“Yeah, ‘While it is possible under certain rare circumstances to reverse WG, it is not possible to do so before the woman has grown to at least 180 pounds in size, nor is it possible to get her below this point,’ from the rules of weight gain. You didn’t remember that one?” Shelly asked.
“No, I guess not,” Tom replied sheepishly.
“Honestly, Tom, if your entire story of what happened to me rests on law 9 of that list, I’d really recommend that you keep the rest of them in mind.”
“Ok, will do…” Tom said, and leaned in to kiss Shelly again.
THE END
Owl Eyes: From Scientist to Waitress
Ever since I can remember, I’ve been haunted by my first name. Maurice. My parents, who were uneducated but hoped I would surpass them intellectually, chose the name because they thought it invoked the image of a bookworm. It sounded more like a good name of an English butler to me, but I suppose I had to concede that they had good intentions - and predictive power, too, though the latter claim carries a significant caveat.
I did indeed grow into a bookworm - that much is indisputable. But did my parents anticipate my erudite nature with my name, or did the name help push me down the path of scholarliness? When I was a child and I introduced myself, there would often be a sneer or a giggle. Maurice just wasn’t what they were expecting, especially from a black boy. If only my parents had named me a strong, traditionally African name, say Shaquille or Darnell, instead of the French name Maurice, I might have been perceived as more masculine, more cool. My socialization might have gone differently, and I might never have sought refuge among books.
When I was 12, I found my first hero. I read in the back of a newspaper that the first ever African American had been awarded the Grandmaster title in chess - a man named Maurice Ashley. He later became a chess coach, an author, and a public speaker. I attempted to start a chess club at my school to follow in his example. The club, along with my newly aquired glasses, cemented my status as a nerd at school, and sadly, I proved to only be a mediocre player. Worse, my shyness prevented me from inviting many people to join.
In addition to my passion for books, I also developed a love for computers. After graduating college, the first in my family ever to do so, I started work as a software designer for a company involved in virology research. The pay was decent, but what good is a spacious apartment if one lives in isolation?
Explaining that I work in a lab filled with deadly viruses tends to put off potential friends and partners. That lab was such a serious and somber setting that there was little time for socializing with my co-workers, meaning that I had very few chances to make friends even inside the office. Brian, the most popular person at the office, rarely spoke to me. Stephanie, the girl I had a little crush on, never seemed to want to chat with me or even make eye contact. Earlier this week, I had been invited to g a Hooters restaurant that was a block away from the office for Brian’s bachelor party, but I wasn’t into that kind of thing. Besides, I knew Brian and the rest of my office mates barely noticed I existed.
I knew my parents were proud of me and my accomplishments, but it was difficult to accept that 26 years after my birth, they were still the only ones who used my name with affection. Others that knew me respected me intellectual prowess, but they were never attracted to me as a person. To everyone, I was unimportant, unmemorable or both. And with my line of work and my lacking social skills, I doubted anything would ever change that.
The Shift
I fell asleep alone in my bed on Thursday night, as I normally did. There was absolutely nothing unusual about Thursday. But before I even opened my eyes on Friday morning, I know something was amiss.
I remember distinctly the first thing I was aware of - a soft, overwhelmingly warm sensation draped over my body. It was simultaneously wondrous and frightening. The former because of the pleasing nature of the sensations, and the latter because I knew that this was not how my bed felt.
I pulled my head out from under the covers to find myself in a bed with a very plush pink quilt - not my usual thin, brown one. The mattress felt softer underneath me as well. The walls were pastel colors, and the room was smaller than my own. I quickly ran through the logical possibilities in my mind, as I lay in the warm, soft bed.
Was I dreaming? It felt real enough. It didn’t have that choppy, artificial quality my dreams often possessed.
Had I been kidnapped and brought here in my sleep? I was not restrained in any way, and this room seemed like an odd place to hold a captive. Besides, who could possibly stand to gain anything from abducting me?
Perhaps I had moved to this room in the future and then suffered some type of amnesia last night. That didn’t make sense, either - why would I choose to live in a room that looked so girly? Was I staying over at a future girlfriend’s house - perhaps sleeping in her bed? It was an exciting thought, but then I realized that the bed only contained one pillow - hardly evidence that there was ever two people sleeping here together.
All attempts to use logic to discern what was going on vanished the moment I looked at my hands. They were white, and what’s more, they were small and delicate, like a woman’s. They even had painted, hot pink nails, with small, tiny chips on a few of the corners.
I moved them back and forth in front of my face, splaying and playing with my little fingers just to make sure they were indeed mine. I saw a mirror on the far side of the room and decided I needed to have a good look at myself. There was nothing else that I could do.
I pulled myself out of bed very gingerly, resisting the temptation to look down at myself. I wanted to see what had happened all at once.
When I approached the mirror, I felt like I was looking through a window. I could see a white, blonde woman in a pink nightgown approaching. I knew there was nobody else in the room, but I still couldn’t believe it was me. When I stopped walking, she stopped walking. When I smiled at her, she smiled back, revealing a stunningly beautiful grin. She was me and I was her, there was no denying it. The bespectacled, nerdy, insecure black man to whom I had grown so accustomed being had vanished, and this white woman had taken his place.
It was immediately obvious to me that not only was I a woman, I was just the kind of woman for which I would have gone crazy in my old body. Wavy, platinum blonde hair gently cascaded down my shoulders. I had beautiful green eyes and perfectly shaped little nose.
I longed to see more of my new body, so with great trepidation, I removed my pink nighty. I didn’t know how to remove it per se, but instinctually my delicate fingers reached in back and started undoing a knotted tassel. The act of lifting up my arms raised my breasts slightly, which I could already tell were very large. I casually tossed the nighty behind me and turned back to stare at my new body.
My breasts were indeed very large - and suspended in front of me. From their disproportionately large size and their complete lack of sagging, I could tell that they must be fake boobs. I squeezed the lower part of my breast cautiously, and it felt a little firm, confirming my suspicion. Moving up the breast, I found the natural tissue, which was more soft and giving. When my finger nearly brushed my coral pink nipples, I felt a little tingle. When I deliberately played with it, rolling it between my fingers, I could feel it much stronger, and I could feel the little nub becoming firmer.
My body was just my type. I had always liked big breasts, and these were stunningly, eye catchingly large. I’d always preferred thin women with just a little bit of softness to them, and this body was very lithe, with a little bit of roundness around the middle, just a hint of a poofy tummy.
There was an artificial tan on my skin - that much was obvious from the tan lines around my breasts and my underwear. The natural shade was very pale, and stood out in stark contrast to rich, dark tan everywhere else.
I looked down, past my toned golden thighs and delicate ankles to my feet, which also had pink painted nails. The toes were very small, looking a tad odd as I deliberately wiggled them about. My old feet were large and contained a few errant hairs, but these feet were so small and frail looking I could imagine that children’s shoes might still fit.
After a few more minutes of ogling myself, I returned to the important task at hand - trying to figure out what had happened to me, and why. Clearly, I had a new body - perhaps I had transformed into this body, or perhaps I had somehow swapped bodies with someone else. My apartment had changed, or somehow I had found myself in someone else’s. But I knew one thing had not changed - my mind. I still had my old memories. I still knew who I was before this had happened. I knew my name was Maurice. I knew I worked in a virology laboratory.
The theory came to me suddenly - what if somehow I had caught a virus from the lab? Perhaps others at the office were affected in similar ways. Perhaps they were hard at work finding a way to reverse the process. The idea quickly took full possession of my mind, and I resolved to get to the office to check it out.
Of course, I couldn’t very well leave the apartment in my underwear - I needed to dress myself. Somehow, I intuitively knew were the right clothes were, and felt drawn to jeans and a black, oversized T-shirt. This certainly didn’t appear to be the garb of such a lovely young woman, but I went with my instincts and put them on.
I felt drawn to the bathroom too, where I brushed my teeth and found myself applying a liberal dose of pink-shaded lip gloss. I was amazed to see my delicate, feminine fingers naturally reach for the mascara and eyeshadow, and even more amazed to see myself apply it correctly to my gorgeous green eyes.
After that, I made my way to the closet, where I found what was apparently my shoe collection. Dozens of pairs of shoes lined three shelves, each show more ridiculous looking than the last. Most were high heeled and were adorned with flowers, sequins, or other frills and froo-froo. I felt drawn to a pair of red heels with lace roses. They fit my tiny feet surprisingly snugly.
I grabbed a salmon colored purse on my way out the door, and found a small Suzuki car had replaced my Dodge. Naturally, it was pink as well. Far more important was the fact that I knew where I was - on a street fairly close to my office.
In the car, I had to admit that I had my doubts about the virus theory. I knew of no virus which could possibly explain such a rapid change in race and gender, and even if one did exist, how could it change my apartment and my car as well? It wasn’t a logical theory, but I needed to see it through. It was the only testable hypothesis I had, and I knew I’d be a pretty poor scientist if I just let it languish without making sure.
When I drove up to the large, nondescript grey building, I found my parking space was occupied by a Hummer, so I had to park one block over, in the mini-mall. I exited my car, purse in tow, and started to make my way across the lot.
I saw a young, pretty waitress exit the Hooters in the lot.
“Marcy, there you are,” she called out to apparently nobody in particular. Was she wearing a an earpiece and taking a cell phone call, I wondered?
“Marcy, get over here! You’re 15 minutes late!” the woman shouted again. I kept walking, but the waitress ran over to me faster than I could walk in my heels.
“Are you deaf, Marcy? Your shift is up,” she said as she grasped my little wrist with her hand. I turned around, looking at this woman intently. If what she said was true, I had a new career as well. And a new name.
Before I had a chance to object, she started walking back towards the restaurant. I followed her in a daze. Inside, the place was covered in pine - wood floors, chairs, tables, and walls. Little sun lamps hung from the ceiling, and a dozen TVs were attached to the walls, each one covering a different sports event. She took led me past the tables, and into a back room containing dozens of lockers.
“Get changed and let’s go,” she said. I looked up at her, full of fear. I couldn’t handle any job working with the public - especially something so intimate, like being waitress. I was far too shy and socially awkward for that.
Her face fell when she saw how worried I looked. “I won’t tell anyone you showed up late, ok?” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “But you’ve got to get out there,” she added.
Part of me wanted to bolt right then and there. I wanted to make my way over to my office, and check out my virus theory. In truth, I would have run over to a snakepit if it meant I could avoid being a waitress.
Sadly, I knew that any attempt to test my theory was doomed to fail. As I rifled through my purse for the key to my locker, I did not find my employee keycard for the lab, which meant there was no way for me to get into the building. I found no ID with “Maurice” on it, which meant there was no way for me to prove who I was. And with my story, who would ever believe me?
With all that had happened today, I didn’t want to lose my job. With great reluctance and shaking fingers, I opened up my locker and found a Hooters tank top and mini-skirt. So this was why I didn’t bother to dress up before heading out today - I knew my work clothes were right here.
I quickly pulled on my Hooters uniform and I checked my reflection in my makeup mirror. I looked amazing. The white tank top made eyeshadow heavy eyes pop, and my proud, artificial breasts looked mouthwateringly luscious in the tank top.
Still, even if I was the image of beauty, I knew I’d be in trouble fast. I’d never been to a Hooters. I knew nothing about the menu. I didn’t know how to carry a loaded tray - in fact, I was naturally quite clumsy, especially when I was nervous. And I certainly didn’t how how to be friendly, chatty, and flirty - the qualities I’d be expected to possess in this position.
It was early in the day, and from her location up front, my co-worker was apparently the hostess. I was the only waitress at the moment, through the restaurant was devoid of patrons. Perhaps they had just opened?
In a couple of minutes, the first customer arrived. He was a large, older man, with a bushy white mustache. The hostess - Susie, from her nametag - seated him at one of the smaller tables, and smiled and nodded towards me. I grabbed a tablet and a pencil from the bar and headed over to him. One customer paired with a single waitress in an empty restaurant? I knew I’d have to be really chatty.
“Hi, I’m Marcy, and I’ll be taking care of you today,” I heard myself saying as I stepped towards him. It was the first time I had spoken anything as the new me. My voice was pleasant sounding, with a very distinctive feminine lilt.
“I like the sound of that,” he said with a wink. “First time coming to this place, so what’s good here?” he asked.
“Um...” I paused for a moment, not sure what to say. “The wings,” I blurted out. “Everybody raves about them.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said. I wrote down wings on the tablet, surprised at my own handwriting. It was so curvey, loopy and light, compared to the heavy handed, stubby handwriting I was used to producing.
“Anything to drink?” I asked. I don’t know how I managed to stop my voice from shaking, but somehow I did.
“Sure, get me a bottle of your finest champagne,” he said.
“Oh? What are we celebrating today?” The question seemed to tumble out of my mouth, uninvited. Of course, I knew it was the right thing to ask. But I casual conversation had never been this easy or natural for me. It was as if, somehow, part of me knew exactly what to do and who to be. I decided to let my instincts continue to guide me.
“Lean down and let me whisper a little secret to you,” he said. I complied, and I could feel his warm breath on my ear for a moment, and even felt a little bit of a tickle from his mustache. “Today, I became a millionaire,” he said.
“Wow! Congratulations,” I said. “I’ll go get that bottle of bubbly for you,” I added, and scurried off to the kitchen. The wings were ready very quickly, and I quickly returned with them and the champaign.
I bent over as I placed the basket of wings on his table. The man’s eyes stared right at my cleavage, and I saw him lick his lips.
“Mmm...looks delicious,” he said. “The wings look pretty good too,” he added, feeling absolutely no need to conceal his lechery.
I let out a high pitched giggle and threw my head back, causing my wavy hair to cascade around me as I did so. “That’s hilarious,” I said as I gave him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. I opened up the campaign with a loud boom, and poured it, somehow knowingly exactly when to stop before it bubbled over the edge of the champagne flute.
“So,” I began in a hushed tone, “what happened? Did you win the lottery?”
“No,” he replied, then started again excitedly. “I own a small biotech company. The stock price just went through the roof, because we secured a patent on a process sequencing the peptides of the P360 taxonomic group, the Bunyaviridae virus family.” He stopped talking for a moment, then glanced up at me, looking as though he expected me to be bewildered. “Well, I guess to you, it’s like I won the lottery.”
Of course, that wasn’t the case at all. In fact, I had all sorts of technical questions I wanted to ask him. But all these questions were from the perspective of someone who worked virology, not the type of questions to come from a waitress. I smiled, and let him believe I knew nothing of what he said. In his mind, I was just another blonde bimbo, and there was no reason to disabuse him of this notion.
When the man was finished with his chicken wings, I talked him into ordering a cheesecake. When he was finished with this, I brought him the bill. He paid and as he rose to his feet he thanked me for, in his words “giving an old man a lovely afternoon.” When I brought the bill back to the register, I saw that he had left me a $500 tip.
As the man left, he let two other parties in the door, and I was soon made responsible for them as well. Waitressing was coming quite naturally to me, and after a few more minutes I couldn’t even remember why I had once been afraid. As the hours passed, the restaurant became more crowded, and more waitresses started coming on duty. Even the Friday night dinner rush didn’t phrase me, though. I was taking orders and flirting like nobody’s business.
Finally, towards the end of the evening, I saw a customer walk through the door that did frighten me: Brian. I had stupidly forgot that today was Brian’s party. Stephanie followed him, and then three other men who also worked in the lab.
I knew that they couldn’t possibly recognize me. But the fact that they were a very real, living link between the old me and the new me was terrifying. What if the fact that I knew them would prevent my waitress instincts from taking over? What if I was only capable of interacting with them the way Maurice did things, instead of how Marcy did things?
The first thing Brian did when he took his seat was look me up and down. I had never seen him with that look in his eye.
“We’re lucky,” Brian said as the party took its seat. “We got the hot waitress,” he said, to hoots from everyone else that the table.
“Professionally every girl who works here is beautiful,” I said, my eyes on Brian the entire time. “But personally, I have to say...how right you are,” I added, as everyone giggled. It was one of the first times I had ever been laughed with, as opposed to being laughed at. It felt good.
A few minutes later, I was bringing a platter of wings over to Brian’s table. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young man at the table next to me drop their fork. As they leaned down to pick it up, they inadvertently tripped another waitress, who had her own platter of food. Without even thinking, I lunged forward, and I managed to catch the tray midair. My own was safe as well, perfectly balanced on the other hand.
Patrons from both tables applauded, and I did a little courtesy as I blushed. When I served the food at Brian’s table, I made sure to lean extra low as I served each plate and wriggle my shoulders seductively. Brian, handsome looking with his curly hair and strong jaw, was already checking me out, but soon I had everyone at the table’s attention. Including, unbelievably, Stephanie’s.
She was looking cute this evening, as she always did, with her pixie hair cut, her deep brown eyes, and her delicate physique. I initially figured she was there only because Brian was her friend, but from her looks at me I started to suspect there was something more. When the rest of the party’s eyes were drawn away to watch a buzzer-beating basketball shot on the TV, I looked right at her, batting my eyes a little. She responded by smiling, blushing a little, and nervously chewing her lower lip.
“So what is it that you folks do for a living?” I asked the crowd, pretending that I didn’t know.
“Virolog...” Brian said, then stopped himself. “Just science stuff,” he finished somewhat condescendingly. He thought I was a bimbo, too! I smiled and played along, pretending that ‘science stuff’ was impressive. I’m sure that made him feel important.
After several rounds of beers, the inhibitions of the group started to fade. Each guzzle from the frosted mugs made the laughs louder and the attempts to flirt with me more obvious. Tentative glances quickly progressed to ‘accidental’ brushes of the hand. By the end of the evening, those had given way to naked, honest propositions.
“If I wasn’t getting married tomorrow, I’d ask you to come back to my place,” Brian said through slurred words.
“Are you sure that’s going to stop you?” I said with a laugh. I didn’t know if I was just playing the part or if I was serious.
“Some of us don’t have that obstacle, Brian,” Stephanie said, grabbing my hand as I brought out the check. “I think she’s mine.”
“Or perhaps there’s plenty of me to go around,” I said, eliciting more laughter, and feeling thrilled at their desire for me. All my fears were unfounded - I was Marcy, even to those who knew me as Maurice, and I had succeeded with flying colors. It no longer even occurred to me to want to ask them about what had happened to me, or why. All I needed to know was that I never wanted to go back.
And I never did.
~~~
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The first ever crowdfunded Transformation ebook, The Transformation Mall contains 11 short stories and vignettes about a variety of characters. Shops can cause weight gain, female muscle growth, age progression, punk changes, gender changes, personality and sexuality shifts, and much, much more, including several brand-new transformation types. At over 34,000 words, The Transformation Mall is easily the longest and most detailed project I've ever done. You can read the first chapter, Cougar Clothes, for free on this site.
