User:JonBuck/Eve's Apple
 | This story is a work in progress. |
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See the Discussion page for an explanation of why this story starts here. Has to do with a personal Travel Nightmare. Also, there are some graphic depictions of self-exploration here. As cliche as they are, I think it's only natural.
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Whoever had loaded the vending machine was an amateur. Instead of neat lines of potato chips, candy bars, and pastries, everything was jammed inside like stuffing in a turkey. There were several dispensers that were obviously hopelessly jammed. The Hostess Twinkies and the Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies were both lost causes, mashed against the front glass.
Enough energy flowed from the Unseen World in the Spring to kick up magic-enhanced storms that caused the protective runes on aircraft wings to flicker unreliably. Too much magic could be as dangerous as too little. A storm had made Jim miss his connecting flight by fifteen minutes, leaving him stranded in Houston without another flight out until eight o'clock. But it was three in the morning and airline food was hardly a decent meal. He counted out the few coins he had in his pocket, and tried to come to a decision of some kind. Four Cokes wasn't enough caffeine to keep him sharp at this time of night. Okay, what isn't all blocked up?
Near the bottom there was a neat line of Nature Valley granola bars for a dollar. Grumbling at the expense he put the coins in, then prayed a little as he pushed the buttons for the selection. The green-wrapped food fell to the bottom. Yawning, Jim groped for it through the dispenser slot and shoved it in his pocket for when his stomach quieted down.
The Coke machine next to it was empty of anything caffeinated. He lurched back towards the seats he'd claimed for a so-called "bed". The airline had thoughtfully provided blankets and a pillow for his overnight stay, though there wasn't enough room to actually lay down. He was the only person left in this concourse. Even the TVs that showed endless Headline News had been shut off two hours ago.
The photographer sighed and grumbled at the airline, and the weather. And if his five thousand dollars in equipment made it to Seattle before him without things going missing. Little things like lenses and camera bodies. Even rune-etched commercial magelocks needed a master key for the TSA these days. And more than a few of them engaged in some quite complex theft. On one occasion, after a flight that had two stops, Jim finally got to the shooting location and one of his most valuable flash attachments simply turned to sand when he'd removed it from the padded case.
A substitution spell. Those didn't come cheap. But neither was that bespoke mana-flash. And whoever had stolen it was smart enough to strip the identifying runes as well. It'd probably sold on eBay for ten thousand dollars.
Still, wandering around the empty airport had made for some passably interesting subject-matter, even in his exhausted state. Shuttered shops and restaurants. Empty vending machines. Empty concourses reduced to puddles of light since much of it was shut off. Janitorial staff pushing their oversized self-propelled vacuums. Two men with tattooed shoulders and don't-mess-with-me frowns, wandering aimlessly.
When a satyress airport cop asked him what he was doing, he showed his press credential and said he was just passing the time while stranded here. The policewoman just frowned, and that was that. Jim headed back to the spot near his gate, but not before telling her about the two thuggish men he'd seen earlier. She'd just rolled her goat-like eyes. "We have security cameras all over the place, sir."
"Well, maybe you should still keep an eye on them?" he suggested.
"Look, Mister..." she bleated.
"Lambert," Jim said.
"Mister Laaaambert. It's big place, but there's more than one of me and we've got all sorts of surveillance," she stifled a laugh. "Arcane crap the TSA makes us use now. Don't worry about nothin'. That's my job."
Yes, ma'am, he thought, grumbling irritably to himself. Lack of sleep and a fragile stomach were going to make this a grindingly boring night. There was no way he was going to allow himself to fall asleep. Most of his equipment was going in the baggage compartment, but he had an expensive digital setup with him as a carry on. If he fell asleep there was nothing to stop someone from running off with it. He simply didn't trust the airport cops to do their jobs, or the honesty of cleaning staff.
The other bag he had with him contained the portfolio he was using to shop his skills around as a freelancer. Business was down lately--way down. His agent hadn't even given him anything to go on other than "something's missing, Jim." And wouldn't elaborate beyond a single word: demographics. Martha Winston had just given him a Look that said if he couldn't figure it out, there was obviously something wrong with him.
He'd wandered far enough from his gate that resting was a good idea anyway. Like most hub airports, Houston was spread out over miles of terminals and corridors. As luck would have it, the gate he'd come in was at the very end of this terminal. Fully half a mile from the departure gate, if he was any judge. There were more people on this side of the airport than on his. A married couple with two young children, who were still running around and screaming. The bespectacled father gave him a long-suffering look, while he and his wife tried once more to get the kids to settle down. Jim just shrugged. He was single and liked it that way, for just that reason.
The other person was a woman wearing a dark green dress. She had short brunette hair, and light green eyes that glowed dimly in the half-lit terminal. Oh, a witch. Or possibly an Arcanist, or whatever they're calling themselves now, he thought. Anyone who "awoke" their magic talents were marked in some way. Glowy eyes were just the latest fashion.
Jim checked his watch. Assuming the weather cooperated it was still over six hours before he could even board the plane. In no hurry to return to his gate for now, he sat down and took a few examples out of his portfolio. Just in time for the kids to settle down. He found a seat under one of the few lit fluorescent lights. "Demographics," he muttered, laying out some 8x10s on the seat next to him. "What's missing?"
"What's missing is you being quiet!" the father hissed from right next to him. "Please, can you look at your pictures somewhere else?"
The photographer was tired enough, and petulant enough at this stage, to not want to move again. Sighing, he gathered up this things again and moved down two more rows of seats. The light wasn't as good here, but he didn't have to endure parental scowls.
It was then that the witch's phone rang. It wasn't one of those irritating ringtones, but a decent facsimile of an old-fashioned bell. Their glare instantly transferred to her. She flipped open her phone. "It's two in the morning! What could you possibly want at this hour?" she said in a whisper still loud enough for Jim to hear, making the children stir and earning yet more scowls.
The witch stood up and half-jogged far enough down the concourse to be out of earshot. Jim couldn't help but watch, since her jerky movements revealed she obviously wasn't wearing a bra. Nature girl, he thought, not uncharitably. That'll keep me awake for a while.
Some time later, a polite cough made him look up. They glowy-eyed witch was smiling at him. "Those are very good," she said in a near-whisper. "Are you a professional? You look like it."
"I am," he replied evenly, keeping his eyes firmly on her face. The witch had refined features, no doubt because of her magic, and a stunning figure from head to toe. She surveyed his pictures. "I like that one." She pointed at a close-up photo of a single dewdrop on a cup-shaped leaf. "The light and detail is just stunning."
"Wish my agent agreed with you, um...?"
"Ilene Reynolds, traveling Botanical Arcanist," she said, tapping her chest. "You?"
Jim introduced himself, then went on. "Wish I knew, Miss Reynolds. My boss is a very stubborn woman, but she's actually got some ideas of how to get out of the funk I've been in. Demographics! She and I have shopped these around for weeks but I haven't gotten any offers. Usually she can find some magazines, at least. Even obscure ones can pay pretty well."
The woman sat down across from him, on the other side of the photo spread. She carefully picked each one up, making sure not to get fingerprints on the emulsion. Her nails were short, and polished a shade between red and pink. Besides the leaf, there were photos of landscapes (Mt. Rainier, the Grand Canyon), some wildlife, architecture, and lots of sailboats. She seemed particularly drawn to a photo of a huge anchor being pulled in by a cargo ship. "Stunning. I can't see why you're having so much trouble, Mr. Lambert. But I don't know your business very well."
"Call me Jim, if you like. I don't know, either. Demographics, she says," he said.
Ilene bit her lower lip thoughtfully, then looked through the portfolio again. "I'll let you know if I come up with anything before your flight leaves, Jim. Deal?"
Jim brightened. "Sure. I'm not going to be able to pay my bills if this goes on much longer." Then he yawned. "Afraid I'm going on hour thirty-six without sleep, though. Can't concentrate worth a damn right now. I'm going to wander back towards my gate. I'm way over at C39..."
"And you walked all the way over here?" the witch said. "You are bored, if you were willing to go through security again, twice."
Jim shrugged and smiled what he hoped was a charming way. "I don't have anything else to do. Is this your gate?"
"Well, it was my gate, until a few minutes ago. I have no idea where I'm going to be off to now! You wouldn't believe the trouble my profession is in these days. Everything's in flux. I mean, that's what mana really is. Raw change, but I rarely even see the inside of my house these days..."
Jim let her go on and on for a while, too tired to try and get a word in edgewise. When she finally paused, he groped for something to say. Some response. "Well, there has to be a way to spend more time at home, right? Maybe you could..."
Ilene's expression hardened in a disturbingly familiar way. Martha gave him the same "you don't get it" expression every other meeting these days. "No offense, but I'm not really asking for help at the moment. I just needed to vent, and you seemed receptive. Was I wrong about that?"
Fatigue made the alarm bells in Jim's head less urgent than they should be. "Nnnno... it's just..."
Her expression softened again. "Thanks for listening, Jim. I'll still let you know if I think of anything. I could use a walk, anyway. Goodnight." She got up and returned to her seat nearer the gate.
Trying to keep his disappointment hidden, Jim gathered up his things and headed for his gate.
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It felt like being halfway under anesthetic, everything felt distant, from the padded vinyl against Jim's cheek after he had slowly fallen over, to the way his body felt. Delirious, he felt both lighter and heavier, as the rest of his body sent a tingling sensation, as if every nerve had fallen asleep and was just waking up again, but all twisted and out of place. As if his entire body had become wet clay for a while, then forcefully reshaped by a supernatural sculptor. The granola bar that he dimly suspected had caused this sat three-quarters eaten on the floor in front of him.
Then he was lifted up and shaken, and a familiar voice from down a long tube called his name. "Jim? Jim! Oh God... it's Bloom, it has to be. Hold on, man! I'll be right back..." He was gently let down again, only to get an impossibly saggy sensation on his chest. Dreamily, he forced his unresponsive neck muscles to get working again.
Ilene returned an unknown amount of time later. Seconds, minutes, hours, Jim couldn't guess. Years had passed in an instant. But the paralysis was actually starting to fade. Once more he was propped up as Ilene sat down beside him and wrapped one arm around his shoulders. Jim found his voice. "What... what happened? What's... wrong with... why am I..."
That didn't sound right at all. Now a little more awake, Jim tried clearing his throat, raising his hand in front of his mouth. Or was it his hand? It had to be Ilene's, but there was no nail polish. He flexed his fingers, the feminine digits moved in kind. The mental fog began to clear. Feeling a pressure around his chest, Jim looked down.
"Hold on, Jim. Don't panic," Ilene said in a soothing voice, hugging him tight. "Don't panic. Yes, they're yours. But you look perfectly fine."
Jim looked at his chest, then at her chest. Back and forth. It was like a triple-shot of espresso at four in the morning. His polo shirt was stretched tautly around and over impossible flesh. He wiggled his shoulders, only to have them both wiggle in kind. Numbly, he reached up to feel one of the peaks that was sending a rough, scratchy sensation. He pinched it. "Owwww!" he hissed.
The pain finally coalesced the distinct sensations from outlying regions into an alarming whole. There was nothing down there. His hips were too wide, his waist too small, and the sight below could only be what breasts looked and felt like, from the inside. Even his hair felt long and heavy. His body felt hot and sticky, with every nerve ending furiously sending a flood of signals into his overwhelmed cerebrum. Every soft bulge, every curve, and everywhere Ilene touched, screamed difference. If this really was reality, and those breasts were real, and that inverted sensation below wasn't just bad acid... She looked up at Ilene's glowing eyes. "I'm... I'm a woman? Why am I a... a woman?" She blinked in confusion. Under this onslaught thinking hard was a luxury. "Wait, am I supposed to be..?"
The witch sounded very sympathetic. "No, Jim, you're not. That's just the Bloom talking. In all likelihood it won't be for long. Just hold tight. Here comes the airport police with the A-EMTs."
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No dream could have hands that cold, Jim decided. "Doctor, did you chill your hands over an air conditioning vent before you started today?" the photographer asked, trying to sound upset, but worried she was coming across as merely bitchy.
"Transformation leaves the body very sensitive, Miss Lambert. Your brain is still being remapped with all the different nerve endings, so you're going to feel the differences for some time. It's only partly a result of your sex change," the curly-haired man replied. "You're fortunate that you didn't consume more than half of that second granola bar. That one was treated with a psychoactive curse that could have essentially killed you."
"That's new to me," Jim said, awkwardly folding her arms as the doctor finished with the stethoscope. "I felt almost normal before you made me swallow that nasty potion. Now I'm back to feeling things no man should know firsthand. How do women deal with this?"
"Well, you may have to get used to it anyway, in the short term," he said. "Here's my diagnosis as a Medical Arcanist and Doctor. If your friend hadn't arrived when she did your most pressing worry would probably be what color nail polish to wear. Mentally you're fine, there's only a few residuals. Nothing to worry about. In fact, you may get used to your body faster. From your reactions, you still feel like you."
"Yes, I'm still myself. If I was a brunette woman, which I now am," Jim grumbled, fidgeting uncomfortably on the hard infirmary bed in the half-open hospital gown. She still couldn't quite believe this was happening. I mean, it happened to other people, sure. But to her... him? Whatever. She still felt very confused. She knew she wasn't supposed to be female, but nevertheless thought of herself as a she. At least for now it was less mind-bending than it could be. She could hardly deny her own breasts, much less the rest. "What I'd like to know is why I'm still a brunette woman?"
"You ate the other granola bar fully. And frankly, you're fortunate that you consumed that one first. Otherwise you'd feel like a woman trapped in a man's body and we would've had no choice but to 'correct' your physical shape. But since it happened the other way around, this physical curse is setting in. We can't undo it without sending off some test results to some specialists and getting a counter-curse made. I'm afraid we'll have to send you home this way, Miss Lambert."
"I wish you wouldn't use 'Miss'. That's a little presumptive," Jim reproved. "Anything from the police yet?" She'd spent over an hour giving them a statement. A mortifying hour in front of a pair of female detectives who couldn't stop snickering. Jim had remained stiffly formal through the whole interview. But the physical exam was worse. "What else?"
"Physically, you're a twenty year old woman, and quite healthy enough to travel. If you want to leave Houston, we can probably send you home on the next plane to wherever you're going."
Jim slid off the exam table, and realized she was a good four inches shorter than the doctor. "Please! No offense, Doctor, but I never want to see Houston again."
He pocketed his stethoscope. "Let me call a nurse in to help you with your clothing, then. You'll need something that fits on the flight home. I'll send her in."
The bra took some time. Jim learned just what those bra measurements actually meant by going through a half dozen before she finally found one that fit. The nurse showed her how to adjust the straps. "Now, how does that feel?" the kindly woman said. "Don't be embarrassed, dear. This is hardly the first time I've seen something like this. Overdosed Bloom addicts get stuck all the time. And they panic, too. You're taking this very well, Miss."
"I don't even want to know what that means, frankly," Jim said. "Look, I'm not supposed to have these things, and I doubt I'll have them for very long. So I don't care what you put me in. I just want to go home, okay?" Home. Familiar surroundings. And sleep. Jim felt like she could sleep for two days. A pair of panties, shorts, sneakers, and tee shirt later, she headed for the infirmary door with paperwork in slender hand.
"Hey, wait!" Ilene called from one of the waiting room chairs. She dropped her magazine and leapt up to meet her before she reached the door. "Don't rush out so fast. Done already?"
"I'm going home," Jim said stiffly. "I'm not dealing with this well. I've been groped in places I didn't have twelve hours ago."
"Where is home, if I may ask?"
"Bellevue, Washington. I just... ugh." Jim's emotions were all crowding in all at once, threatening to make her break down right in front of total strangers. She choked them back. "I want to go home."
The witch's green eyes lit up. "Really? I'm heading home myself. Decided to take your advice. Olympia."
That was about seventy miles out of Jim's way, but that they were in the same state was a blessing. "Are we on the same flight? Continental, ten a.m. or so?"
"No, but I don't mind switching. I don't feel right, leaving you alone anyway. Let's get you through security."
"Hold on, Miss Lambert. We have an escort for you," the nurse called.
Their escort turned out to be the same satyress cop who had flippantly disregarded her concerns the night before. Jim felt like gloating at the goat-woman, but with the unhappy look on the cop's face, she knew she'd be lucky to get through the next ten minutes without some kind of defensive rant. Someone had replaced one of the granola bars in that vending machine with a package spiked with Tiresias Bloom pollen. Someone who could have "killed" Jim in mind, if not in body. No curse is perfect, and there could have been some small part of her watching in horror as the new persona took over.
It was one thing just to be a woman, and another to be made into a Paris Hilton clone.
"I'll buy my ticket and meet you at the gate, Jim," Ilene said. "Just hold tight."
"Not a word out of you," the cop said stiffly. "Not a single word."
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The airport thronged with people now. Jim sat, hunched over, in a chair between two very large men tapping away on their laptops. She kept her arms folded over her breasts for as long as it was comfortable, but there was a compression that made them sore after a while. The bra wasn't helping, the way the straps dug into her shoulders. To say nothing of the experience of just walking to the gate from the infirmary. They had spoken with the airline, and was with the pre-board group. That was still at least a half hour away.
Then four hours on an airliner.
And a half hour home. Maybe, assuming she hit the traffic right through downtown.
Jim looked at the faces of the people around her. Most were absorbed in whatever they were doing. Talking on their cell phones, tapping away on laptops, completely oblivious to the fact that the girl in front of them hadn't been, a few short hours ago. For a moment Jim felt like shouting. Screaming "I'm a man!" to the world at large. Sanity prevailed.
"There you are!" It was Ilene again, waving excitedly. "Come on, Jenny. I've found some better seats."
Jenny? Jim sighed. Fine, whatever. She gathered her now-heavier bags and followed the witch to the two seats she'd claimed nearer the gate. It was quieter over here, and a few burned out lights gave them a little privacy. The twelve year old girl putting nail polish on was the only bad point. The sharp chemical odor was just that bad. And it was the kind of polish that changed color randomly, making the young girl's fingers look like they were flashing in mesmerizing patterns. Elfish, no doubt.
"Look, don't call me that," Jim said. "I'm not going to be this way long enough to need it."
"I have to call you something. You're making waves enough with a body like that. Or haven't you noticed? Whoever made that curse made you thoroughly attractive. What do you think so far?"
"What do I think about what?" Jim said, feigning ignorance.
"About..." Ilene gestured at her chest, and her hips. She seemed genuinely curious. "This. All this. You're experiencing it all firsthand. One of the girls. Another woman, just like me. You're like a filly just out of the gate on her first race. So what's your first impression?"
The new woman sighed and folded her arms again, squishing her breasts. She wondered just what Ilene was fishing for. Jim didn't feel like playing any games with her new hormones. "I'm just not in the mood to talk about it. Once we're on the plane we can talk about it. I really don't want to talk about this in public." I'm just not very good with words anyway.
"I'm way back in Coach, though. It was the only ticket I could get." She leaned closer. "I'm trying to make this an enjoyable experience for you. You may only be a woman a few days and I think you'll benefit from the change in perspective. Female hormones, a female brain, and if I know my Bloom pollen, you'll end up acting like one of us anyway without even thinking about it. So, what do you think so far? What does it feel like? Focus on the physical if you like." Her eyes literally sparkled. "I have a Cone of Silence spell in my purse. Nobody's going to overhear us."
Jim's expression flattened. Whether Ilene was right or not simply didn't matter. The curse would be gone in a few days at most. "This is about my photos, somehow, isn't it?"
She chuckled. "I figured out what you were missing. People. You have a lot of photos of things, and places. Landscapes and architecture. But where are the people?"
"Sorry, but I'm just not in the mood. If you really want to know, nothing feels right," Jim said tersely. "If you really want my first impression about this, I feel like I'm just... just..." Jim struggled to find the words. "Tits and ass. There I said it. So leave me alone."
Jim thought of the last quarter mile down the corridor. And the fact that no matter how she moved her arms, they always brushed against her breasts. The way her hips rolled around the unexplored strangeness that replaced her male genitals. It was one thing to read magazine articles about men who did this for recreational purposes. And in some psychotherapy circles it was a popular treatment, for married couples and singles alike. Mostly it was just Not Talked About in polite society.
She sighed and rested her head in her hands. How could something like this happen? What did I do to deserve this? Who could do such a thing to a total stranger? A malicious prankster, or something more sinister? It defied reason. Someone wanted to watch Jim squirm. Until the counter-curse was finished, Jim's life would be even more a shambles than it was now. Though for the life of her she didn't think it'd impact her photographic skills. But it was going to be much harder to focus on selling photos when she hadn't even looked at herself in a mirror yet.
Jim wasn't going to drink very much until she got in her front door.
Her self-appointed escort wisely didn't press the issue again.
"Continental Flight 462 will now begin pre-boarding at Gate C38," the PA system announced.
"Well, that's me," Jim said, rising to her feet. "See you on the plane?"
"If there's an empty seat near me, maybe. I doubt there's anything free in First Class, Jenny. See you in Seattle."
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The shock of the landing gear on the runway, making Jim's new anatomy bounce hard enough to wake her out of an unexpectedly sound sleep. For a frantic few moments, as the thrust-reversers cut in and the plane sharply decelerated, she forgot where--and especially what--she was. It wasn't just the bounce of her breasts, it was the yank on her head from her hair stuck between her back and the seat, which had been bound into a ponytail that reached to the bottom of her shoulder blades. A rude awakening.
And worse.
Jim's bladder wasn't going to stay full forever.
Being in seat 1A meant she was the first off the plane. Leaving Ilene behind because she had no choice, she did a quick-walk up the jetway and headed straight for the nearest restroom, dodging other travelers as she want. Unfortunately Ilene was way in the back of the plane. Just how they were going to find one another again, Jim didn't know.
As it happened, there was a lineup for an open stall, and Ilene came in behind her, pushing past the other waiting women to head for the wash basins. She stopped in front of her. "Are you going to be okay with this, Jenny?"
That name again. "I'm... a grown woman," she replied. "Like I have a choice."
The witch just gave her a look. Good luck, it said. A crowded women's restroom in a busy airport was hardly the best place to see one's new private parts. Despite the new body, Jim felt like an intruder here. Her mismatched outfit and lack of a purse set her apart from the others. So when a stall finally opened for her, Jim shut the door and tried to act natural.
But the habits of a lifetime no longer applied. Even the simplest bodily function had become alien. A frightening unknown.
Jim's outfit consisted of items left at the airport by previous passengers. It'd taken twenty minutes to find something that fit. The plain gray bra and panties were new, at least. But whoever had owned the brown tee shirt she wore now had stretched it out. Jim's shirt had breasts as much as she did. But at least the fit was loose. Unfortunately she hadn't been so lucky with her shorts. They were magic-fit, self adjusting garments that managed to be comfortable while at the same time were so tight they looked painted on. She'd kept her legs crossed the whole flight, worrying about camel toe. I should've picked that skirt.
Her throat felt dry. She took a deep breath. Okay, just calm down. You'll be doing this for a while, so just get it done. Over half of humanity does it this way.
She wondered if every man, the first time they were physically female, had a reaction to their new bodies like this. This wasn't something she'd even remotely fantasized about. But here she was, and there her penis wasn't. It wasn't as if she'd never seen a woman's crotch naked before. But never from this angle, and certainly not with a pair of boobs in the way. Shorts and panties on the floor, she sat down and spread her legs a little. And...
"Are you okay?" a woman asked her as she came out of the stall. Haunted is what the new woman felt. It must have shown on her face. "You were in there a while, Miss. Did I hear a gasp?"
"I'm fine, really. Just... perfectly fem... fine. See?" Jim bounced on the balls of her feet. "It's all there. Thanks for caring!" Jim fled.
Ilene was outside the restroom, waiting for her. She came up and gave Jim a little hug. Despite the weird squashed-boobs sensation, Jim found she actually needed it. "I don't know how much longer I can do this, Ilene. This anatomy of yours is driving me up the wall."
"Cut yourself some slack. You haven't been one of us twenty-four hours yet, Jenny dear." She hugged a little more tightly, like a sister comforting her sibling. Jim found herself relaxing. "There, now you're not so tense. Let's go find our bags. Did you drive to the airport or take a shuttle?"
"The way things have been going for me lately I park way out in the outlying parking lots. The cheap seats," Jim said, putting her camera bag back over her already-aching shoulder.
"You were pretty much dead away when I looked in on you on the plane. Are you rested enough to drive? I don't have my car here with me."
"Let me get some coffee and I'll be right as rain." Jim paused. "'Right as rain'? Geez, last time I heard that phrase was at my mother's for Christmas. My sister uses it all the time." She looked at the witch sideways. "Are you asking me for a ride home?"
"I'll pay for the gas, no problem," Ilene said. "Frankly, as woman to neo-woman, I don't think you should be alone right now. In my line of work I've seen what happens to people like you when they do try and go it alone. Humans are social creatures, we females even moreso. I can't think of a better use for my time right now than showing a new girl the ropes. Even if you're cured tomorrow, I want you to come away from this in a positive light and not a body horror."
"You sound like you read that in a book somewhere," Jim said dryly. "What do you do for a living?"
Ilene laughed. "I did, frankly. As for my job, I invented a way to channel mana for commercially grown magically-charged herbs. It's a lot like hydroponics, but they have so many medicinal uses. It's very profitable. Unfortunately a deal fell through, which is why I decided to come home. I've been away for three months now, at least.
"Even Tiresias Bloom has its legal uses, and it still needs human hands to cultivate it. Believe me when I say that no matter how many precautions employees take, that stuff gets in. I know a couple greenhouses that just supply wardrobes for both genders as an employee perk. But you always get somebody who can't handle being changed. And I don't want that to happen to you, Jim.
"I swear you're going to have a good time. I'll do my level best to make you feel right at home. Just one of the girls, right?"
"Um..." She didn't know if she should be embarrassed by Ilene's obvious sincerity, happy for the emotional support, or both. She could only think of one thing. "Call me Jenny if you want, Ilene. If you want to make me feel like a woman for he duration, I... er..." Jim came to a decision. What harm could it do? "It'll be fun. I mean, if I'm me again tomorrow, I might as well enjoy being 'Jennifer' between now and then. You can call me that, or Jenny, or Jen, or whatever."
Ilene hugged her again. The witch had a delightful smile. "Now you're talking, Jenny! Let's get our bags."
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Neatly-organized camera equipment covered every surface inside Jenny's apartment. One desk had a display of antiques, including an old Kodak box camera that still worked, and an assortment of early mana-flashes that didn't need the silver powder or single-use bulbs they used in those days. The air smelled stale, with overtones of the chemicals used for film developing, and she realized she'd left the house closed. "Give me a few minutes, Ilene. I think I left a loose cap on the fixer."
Jennifer flicked the air conditioning on high, turned on several fans, and opened each window all the way. Ilene had three large suitcases. Combined with the photographic equipment there hadn't been any more room in the Toyota 4-Runner.
"You still work with film?" Ilene asked. She looked around at the photo-covered walls, a few of which carried various awards. Nothing national, the witch noticed. But regional. And more than a few magazine covers: Sunset, Westways, even AARP.
"You can get all sorts of neat magic-based effects with the right kind of treated paper that digital just can't do yet," Jenny explained. She pulled on her bra straps. They were digging into her shoulders even more, and the elastic had begun to chafe around her chest. "If you don't mind, Ilene, I'm going to get a good look at myself in the buff. It's been two days since I showered, and I feel, well... icky."
"If I can use it after you, sure. Just remember I'm always here to give advice. And they're your own boobs. Try not to ogle yourself too much, okay?" She smiled brightly, knowingly. She turned more serious. "And if you have a handmirror, get a good look at yourself down there. A real good look. Once you change back, it'll be invaluable on your next one-night stand."
Jenny smirked. "I'll take your word for it. I just want to get clean."
Closing the bathroom door behind her, Jenny reflected that the place really felt like a bachelor pad. She pulled off her tee shirt, draping it over the towel rack since it was the only thing she owned that fit right now, then slipped the bra straps down over her shoulders. She'd worn it long enough that the elastic had dug red welts in her creamy skin. Off, damn you! She reached back and released the hooks. The bra fell to the floor. "Aaaah..."
Her breasts dangled freely as she reached down to pick it up off the floor and hang it next to the shirt. Naturally, the first thing she had to do was get a good look at herself in the mirror.
She'd been described as "thoroughly attractive" by Ilene. The description fit. Her face had retained several family features--in the shape of her nose, lips, and eyes--as if all the masculine cues had been evaporated out, creating a creepy, distilled femaleness out of Jim's old face. But to see the resemblance to Jim you had to know where to look. Jenny cupped her cheeks, and felt a downy coat of hair. "What do I sound like?" she said to Ilene. "Not like an airhead?"
"You sound like you. I'm tempted to compare it to celebrities, but honestly, you'd have a good singing voice if you trained up," Ilene said. "What do you think? Wiggled your shoulders yet? You know you want to, Jen. Jiggle those boobs! Every woman I've known in your position has. It's one of the clichés that happens to be absolutely true."
Shorts off, panties followed. They joined the shirt and bra on the towel rack. Jenny stood in front of the bathroom mirror. A thoroughly attractive woman, but not exceptionally so. Not perfect--at least, she was someone prankster's idea of a perfect woman. Her breasts were larger than she would've liked. The lingering effects of the mental half of the curse were irrelevant. Jenny still felt like herself--or rather, still felt like Jim in a female body. Now, all by herself. Almost.
"Any questions?" Ilene said. "You can ask me anything. Anything at all. No matter how intimate."
"Um... Not.. not right now, but I'll let you know." Jenny's voice quavered a little. There was actually a gap between her thighs when she stood up straight. And right in the middle under the brunette triangle of pubic hair, the cleft. She knew all the technical terms for what was down there, and was hardly a virgin--at least, as a man. Now the tables were turned, and it was all there, unhidden by cloth. She cupped her breasts, ran her hands down her curves, then down over her behind with one hand, while the other remained on her mons.
Cautiously, carefully, she explored her labia. No dream could simulate those sensations. They were warm, very sensitive folds of moist skin down there protecting her vagina. Obviously being a woman wasn't just breasts and curves. There was a lot more to it. In important ways, having tits was just an accessible sideshow. It wasn't really an arousing sensation, no more than a man who held his penis daily to take a piss. Just indescribably weird. Almost... compellingly so. It was the one completely new sensation Jennifer could think of since that woman in Vegas, almost ten years ago. "Ohmybod...er...god holysh..."
Did she have a hand mirror? If not, it was time to buy one. It wasn't like being a man, where you literally handled it several times a day. And right now, Jenny's imagination was all too hyperactive. She angled herself in front of the mirror, leaning against the wall, trying to see herself down there. Not the most attractive pose.
"That body is all yours, my girl," the witch said. Her voice dripped with expectation. "Yours to toy with. For all you know you're a woman for a day, or less. What to do with yourself? I wonder what I would do in your place. Hmmm. I'd be so curious I'd just have to play with it until I was satisfied."
"All I'm going to do is take a shower, Ilene. Honestly," Jenny sputtered. She didn't feel like a pervert, felt no real shame poking around down there. Maybe it was Irene's constant pushing, but she felt like her reflection belonged to her. Not a relative, not any girl she'd dated in the past. It was her own. That, by itself, made the weirdness bearable. Even desirable.
The witch laughed. "If you say so. See you in thirty minutes, Jenny dear. I'm going for a walk so you have some privacy."
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"I'm not wearing a dress," Jenny protested weakly. Her skin was still pruney from the predictably lengthy shower. Ilene had returned about ten minutes after cold water had forced Jenny to leave it. The only thing that marred the experience was her wet, clammy hair she didn't know what to do with. "What's wrong with these clothes?"
"You can't wear that damp shirt without a bra. I'm sure you figured that out," the witch said. She didn't press the issue, or ask what Jenny had done. Her only comment had been that she looked very clean now. She had done a towel-wrap for her hair to dry it out. "Honestly, I think you'll fit my bra tops. Then I guess you should check your answering machine. Don't you have a cell phone?"
"The battery died yesterday and I didn't have a spare," Jenny said. The blinking "15" was an unwelcome intrusion. But she still had to put food on the table, boobs or no boobs. "What's a bra top?"
"It'll be easier just to show you. It's a nice dress. I can't think of a better thing to wear than a dress, especially with your figure. And you said you wanted to feel girly, right?"
"No, I said I felt that way after my shower. It's certainly different! I can't really put it to words yet." Jenny pursed her lips. She'd given up on the bra, and the damp shirt felt chilly and all-too revealing. She sighed, then smiled, blushing a little at the idea. She stifled her laughter at the image of just wearing something so body-hugging. The fact that she had a body that fit it was even more absurd. "Okay, okay, fine. I'll flounce around in a dress for a few hours. Why the hell not? I never do anything halfway! But let me get some messages first. My agent has to be going nuts. I wasn't exactly clear with that Blackberry message I sent at four in the morning."
The first three were telemarketers. The next four were from the Houston Airport police, asking her to call for an update and a further statement. Four of the remaining eight were medical in nature, and the balance were from Houston newspapers wanting an interview. The doctors wanted her to visit the local Medical Arcanist to get the curse examined more closely so a counter could be created, as quickly as possible. She heartily agreed with that, dutifully copying down each phone number. It was already after six o'clock, though. No doubt it'd have to wait until tomorrow at the earliest. The last message was a very confused Martha.
"Um... Jim? Why aren't you picking up your cell phone? I'm afraid I have some bad news, so call me back as soon as possible. I also want you to explain just what in God's name that email of yours was about. I honestly couldn't make head nor tail of it. Something about a girl? Meeting a girl? Pictures of a girl? Call me, Jim."
"That sounded ominous. I'd better call those doctors," Jenny said. "I've had a great time, but maybe it's time for Jenny to say goodbye."
"So soon?" Ilene said. She chuckled. "No, go ahead. If we can get you fixed up before you have to see your agent, so much the better. I've seen what an unexpected change like this can do to a person's social and family life. It's not pretty, most of the time."
"Fucked up, I'll bet," Jenny said unthinkingly. She shut her eyes and groaned. "Just forget I said that."
"I'll just have a look at those pictures while you take care of things." She wandered over to Jenny's Wall of Prints that covered everything from Junior High though her more recent regional award-winners--up to 2003.
Thankfully the local Medical Arcanist's office was used to cases like this. The receptionist didn't comment as Jenny introduced herself as "James Lambert". "We've received your paperwork from Houston, Miss Lambert. But the earliest I can get you with a specialist is this Friday. I know it means you'll be a woman almost a week, but it's the best I can do. If you're not coping, I suggest going to the Emergency Room or checking into a mental health facility. I'm really sorry. But it's not the end of the world."
Jenny tugged her damp shirt away from her breasts. She wasn't sure if she should demand treatment, or think of it as an extended vacation from real life. "I'm fine. Perfectly fine. I have a friend here giving me emotional support. A female friend."
The woman on the other end had a tired voice, roughened from smoking. "The infirmary in Houston only gave us about eighty percent of what we need for a proper curse diagnosis. Counter-curses are serious business. If we don't do it just right, a botched attempt could make matters worse. There's always risk involved with mixing magics. Frankly--and I say this from experience as a Bloom victim--suck it up and just stay as you are. If you want my advice."
"Well, I didn't ask for it!" Jenny fumed. "Thanks anyway. Be there on Friday." She hung up carefully. "That's the most unprofessional thing I've ever heard! Who in God's name tells someone they should just..."
"Sounded like some kind of boilerplate to me. Something she tells everyone. Probably saves the insurance company money," Ilene opined. "So, Friday at the earliest, just for an exam? That's outrageous! And how long will it take them to make a counter? Are you going to be female for a couple weeks? Longer?"
Jenny sat down on her couch and pulled her knees up to her chest. "I'm sure I'll survive. I've started thinking of this as an extended vacation. This is so far out of the ordinary... I can't even." The brunette photographer blushed. "Anyway.
"It's my agent that I'm more worried about. If I don't sell some pictures like, now, I won't be able to make the rent next month unless I start taking steps. Like selling my antiques." She gave her boobs a squeeze. "This is just another complication. Granted, it's a hell of a complication. But it's out of my control, and I have no choice but to cope. I'd better call Martha."
"Try another email first?" Ilene suggested, sitting down next to her and putting one hand on Jenny's knee. "I don't think she'd believe it if you just called her out of the blue as you are. Once you're done we can get some dinner somewhere, and you probably need groceries." She looked at the blue dress she still held. "I'll find something different for you to wear for that meeting. But we'll need to do some shopping while we're out. You'll need bras and panties for a week, at least, and a pair of shoes. Otherwise you can borrow anything you want of mine. It'll fit. It's that magic 'contour cloth' like those shorts. It's going to fit pretty snug around those breasts of yours, but it'll be comfy."
The photographer smiled, patting Ilene's supporting hand. This is the strangest friendship I've ever had. But I like her. It's like we've known each other for years. "I'm a visual artist, Ilene. I'm horrible with words. It's going to take some time to write. I have no idea how, temporary or not, I'm going to break this to Martha."
"I'm sure you'll think of something, Jenny. Was there anything else?"
She blushed. "I think I'll wear that dress after all. If I'm going to be visiting your 'country', I might as well dress like a woman. I just feel silly doing it."
Ilene chuckled. "You're comparing changing sex to becoming another nationality? Tell me again you're not good with words, Jenny dear. By the time I'm done with you, you'll have gone native. Now, let me show you how to put it on."
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Even doing everyday things felt different. I've been in this grocery store hundreds of times. Hundreds! I know most of the staff by name. But she wasn't going to give anything away. After withdrawing cash from the ATM next door, Jenny and Ilene wandered through the grocery store, mostly buying perishables. Ilene had been a little shocked at the kitchen. "Where did you get all those spices?" she had asked. "Do you use them?"
"Of course. They're not for show," Jenny'd replied as she'd pulled on the dress. "I'm not your average guy who can't cook. There's this great store in Seattle. I'll give you the address."
For everything else, there was a Safeway down the street. Underthings had been purchased at the local Target rather than the mall. While there she had replaced Ilene's borrowed dress with something that didn't send a draft up her crotch. Now she wore a pastel green polo shirt and a pair of khaki shorts that were very similar to her normal attire. The outfit managed to feel quite feminine without getting leers she just wasn't ready for.
Ilene yawned. "Are you okay?" Jenny asked. "Did you get any sleep last night?"
"I've been burning mana to keep going, frankly. Once we're done here I'm going to take a shower and crash on your couch, if you don't mind," the witch replied. "I'm sorry the dress didn't work out. Too much, too soon."
Jenny picked a gallon of milk up off the shelf. It was much heavier now. Moving around made her breasts flex and move, nudged by arms and shoulder movements. It was going to be a long time before she got used to them, if she ever did. "I don't think I'm ready for skirts or dresses. I'll need a few more days. Or longer." Inside the purse Ilene had bought her, Jenny's Blackberry started ringing. She'd found a spare battery in the charger. Grimacing, she unzipped the mostly-empty denim bag. It was Martha's distinctive ring.
"You going to answer? Why would she be calling you again?"
"I don't know, but..." So much for breaking it to her easily. Jenny hit answer. "Hello? Um... this is..."
Silence greeted her. Martha didn't speak for agonizing seconds. "I reread that message you sent... I'm in my office right now, and I expect to see you within an hour. We have a lot to discuss, Jim. It's about your future with me, among other things." There was a sound a lot like stifled laughter. The middle-aged woman had to fight to keep it down. "See you then, o... okay?" As she hung up, Jenny heard a bark of laughter.
"She thinks this is funny?" the female photographer said. "This isn't funny!"
The green-eyed witch stifled a yawn. "What else did she say?"
"I need to go see her now. I can leave you at my apartment while I go over there," Jenny said.
Ilene shook her head. "I'm going to support my new friend. Let's get checked out and bring the stuff back to your place. How far away is your agent?"
Jenny shook her head and put the milk back, grunting a little moving the heavy bottle. "We don't have the time. Let's just leave everything here. I have a feeling that my future manhood is at stake now, as well as my career. This is going to suck."
Anxiety tied Jenny's stomach in knots through the entire drive. Martha's office was in downtown Seattle, near the Olympic Sculpture Park on the waterfront. It was an early summer Sunday evening, the sun going down over Puget Sound. Martha lived all the way in Marysville, over fifty miles to the north. She never came in on Sundays. It was the one day per week she was supposed to be unreachable.
She parked on the street and adjusted her bra. Again. It was brand new, the kind that came in a box that bragged "eighteen hours of comfort!" Maybe after a few washes and playing with the shoulder straps for a couple hours. They were always too loose or two tight. But at least the band around her chest didn't chafe so much. Girly, girly, girly. Right now, I'd rather not feel like this at all. It's just a distraction. My career is looking really bad as it is. This isn't going to be good news.
Yawning, Ilene was starting to fade. "Do we have time to stop for some coffee?"
"She normally has a pot going. Gourmet stuff. It's her fault I developed a taste for it," Jenny explained. Pausing in front of the door, she pulled nervously on the hem of her shirt as they approached the entrance, stretching it over her breasts. "How can I face anyone I know like this? I feel like I should disappear until this is over. She's going to laugh and laugh." Jennifer sighed and steeled herself. "She's on the sixth floor."
"I'm falling asleep on my feet, but I'm right behind you. All the way," Ilene said. "Just one of the girls, right?"
The lights in Martha's office were the only ones on. Even the corridor that led there had only a few lit. There were no security guards around. Jenny gathered that some of the people who worked here kept odd hours anyway. Martha was successful enough for full-spectrum mage lights. They worked wonders during the long, rainy Seattle winters that went from October to May. And the smell of coffee drifted out of the open door.
And she was there waiting for them, watching Jenny and Ilene carefully as they approached. Martha was a well-kept, middle-aged woman who wore round glasses, curly hair, and typically wore clothing with circle patterns on it. She was a full-figured woman, all curves and no angles. And she was desperately trying not to laugh.
"Um... hello, Martha," Jenny said. "I've had a hell of a day."
The woman stifled a laugh, then forcefully tightened her expression when she saw Ilene scowling. "So, who's this?"
"This is Ilene. I met her in Houston. She's from Olympia and she's helping me through this mess," Jenny replied tartly.
"Come on in, both of you. Boy oh boy, I never thought you were a Bridget, Jim."
"A what?" Jenny said. She unzipped her purse and pulled out the police report. They had very briefly stopped at her apartment for it. "Look, I don't even know what that is. But let's be clear about this. A crime's been committed against me and I'm stuck this way for I don't know how long. Read this."
"I'll read fast. Meanwhile, help yourself to some Gold Coast. It's a particularly good roast this week," Martha said.
The waiting room furnishings were a decade out of style, but sturdy and comfortable. The receptionist's desk looked more disorganized than usual. Martha had taken to using temps lately since she didn't pay quite enough to keep anyone longer than a few months. The office was in a perpetual state of reorganization. A single photograph of Jenny's--her last award winner five years ago--graced the wall. She watched as Irene poured a half dozen crèmes into her cup, before adding coffee. "I can't drink it any other way," she said. "What do you think she's going to do?"
"It's probably about those photos I sent of that Gadgeteer convention in Nashville. Rube Goldberg devices powered by mana batteries. You've never seen so many physics-defying gadgets in one place! One took a page out of a Tom and Jerry cartoon--except it turned one of the inventors into a mouse." Jenny laughed. That one had made for a good photo. One she hoped would sell. "She got better."
Ilene's eyes were almost dim enough to see her irises now. She laughed weakly. "I'm sorry, Jenny. I'm starting to lose it. The coffee isn't helping."
"Did she just call you 'Jenny'?" Martha said. The mirth had gone from her face, replaced by a mixture of sympathy and apology.
"She picked the name, Martha. Honestly," Jenny said.
"No, it's probably a good idea, to be honest. Since nobody else is here, I'll just get started.
Her agent's expression turned grim. "Nothing sold from your last batch. Nothing. All I have for you right now are some royalty checks from your pre-2004 period. And it's only a few hundred dollars."
It took a few seconds for that to sink in. "Nothing? Nothing at all? What's wrong with me?" She folded her arms and hunched over, sick to her stomach. Everything, everything, had abruptly started to collapse around her. No photos selling, no rent, no food on the table, no health insurance... and without that, no counter-curse. She started crying.
While she cried herself out and Ilene gave her comforting hug, Martha went back into her office. She brought the police report back out with her, and a slim portfolio bag. Then she brought the receptionist's chair around to sit in front of Jenny and Irene. "You've been through a lot the past week or so. After reading the report I'm sorry I called you a Bridget. I knew it wasn't like you."
"What does that mean, anyway?"
"Would you believe I see a lot of men who use Bloom for fun?" Martha explained. "After a while they start thinking of themselves as hot stuff in female form, so they want to do some modeling. I'd say about half of them are so bad at really being a woman it's obvious to anyone who pays attention. They don't fool anyone. It's the other group, who pull it off almost perfectly, that this applies to.
"A lot of those recreational women actually end up dating guys, who understandably think they're real. So when they find out that the hot babe they've been going out with is actually a man five days a week--and they inevitably do--we say those 'girls' 'Dropped a Bridget on Him.' It's a real shock, like a ton of bricks. Get it?"
"Not really," Jenny said. She gestured at herself. "I didn't choose this, but I am trying to make the best of it. If I can't sell anything..."
"I'm happy to hear you have a good attitude about it." Martha put the portfolio on Jenny's lap. "I put this together before I came in tonight. These are selections from your work from the past six years or so. Look at them sequentially, tell me what you see."
This was some kind of test, Jenny was certain of that. This would decide if she left this room with an agent, or without one.
"I'm hoping you'll finally see what I've been hinting at all these months," Martha explained. "Maybe having a woman's body--and mind, and some experiences--will help you see it. A change of perspective, which you've desperately needed anyway. We both know you've been stuck in a rut for years now."
"That's the most unsubtle thing you've ever said to me, Martha," Jenny replied. "I'm not that hopeless, am I? I haven't even been female twenty four hours."
The older woman leaned forward. "I'm telling you, don't look at these like James Lambert. Maybe this crime is a blessing in disguise. The Lord works in mysterious ways, my dear. Look at them like Jenny instead of Jim, a fresh pair of eyes. I'm not saying you have to discard everything you know about photography. But for a few minutes, step outside yourself and just absorb the subtleties of light, color, and shadow. It should be easy for you right now, considering your circumstances. Tell me, what's missing?"
Ilene dozed off in the time it took Jenny to go through the portfolio twice. A dozen of her best--or rather, this guy named Jim's best. If she was really going to step outside herself, she needed something else to divorce herself from that guy. Okay, if she really wants me to think of myself as a woman on this... say hello to Jennifer Sutton. A lot of artists used pseudonyms. She was going to go one better, and use a pseudo-gender to boot.
James Lambert wasn't very good with words, having never developed those skills. He struggled with them constantly, preferring more visual mediums. So as Jennifer Sutton went through the portfolio for a third time, she tried to outdo him. Weren't female minds supposed to be more interconnected than a man's? She started with the first one.
The first few were vibrant, colorful, full of action. Compelling moments frozen in time. A speedboat race from a helicopter, catching just the right second of triumph when the winner launched through the air over the finish line. Another of one of the many waterfalls on the slopes of Mount Rainier, as it violently flowed over the edge, swollen with spring meltwater. The third was another race, this time with sailboats. It wasn't even a famous race, just one off Mercer Island from a few years back. But the light, the water, and the way the small boats seemed to be moving against one another, was near-perfect. He'd even managed to capture the intense concentration on the sailors' faces.
From 2004 onwards, they changed. Less and less action. The vitality left the imagery, the colors became flat and lifeless. Photos of landscapes, of plant life, and a few sporting events. As if the photographer had ceased looking for that perfect moment and was content just to click the shutter. Sterile, empty. And there was something else important missing. Something Ilene had pointed out the night before, not twenty four hours ago. Jenny got angry at herself--at the man who had taken the pictures. All the subtle hints for a year fell into place. She looked at Martha. "Where all the people? I... he was really good at taking pictures of things, up until a few years ago. But on top of the sterility, there's no people."
"Now you see." she said triumphantly. "I knew you would. You're a smart girl, Jenny."
Smart? Bullshit! I'm such a moron. A fucking moron! Why did it take a pair of tits and a vagina to get me to see this? Stupid, stupid! Unfortunately those same tits didn't magically improve her skills. "What happens now? To our relationship, I mean."
"I'm going to give you another chance," Martha said. "Just one. Otherwise I'll have to let you go. I need you to put together a new portfolio. Do you want more advice?" Jenny nodded. "I realize that body of yours is the result of a curse, but we can turn this into a windfall. If you can give me something good in a couple of weeks I can put Jenny Whoever out there as an up-and-coming freelance photographer. You look like you're still in college, but that's okay."
"Call me Jennifer Sutton," she said. Sutton was her mother's maiden name. It felt right. "What happens when I change back?"
"What makes you think you have to? Frankly, I think you should stay this way as long as possible, to get the full benefits, then only change back when it feels dull. You can just as easily keep publishing as James Lambert, woman or not. It just doesn't matter. It's a two way street in this business. I have plenty of clients who use opposite gender pen names even without the Bloom. Makes their stuff more sellable in some markets.
"All that's really important here is that you've learned from Jim's mistakes. I can think of a dozen less drastic ways we could've accomplished the same thing, but here you are. You have to play the hand we're dealt in life instead of pine for a full house." She extended her hand. "Happy to meet you, Miss Sutton. We're off to a good start."
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Once they were back at her apartment, Ilene slumped on the couch, not bothering to undress. She was dead away before taking five breaths. Moving quietly, but not feeling at all tired because of sleeping almost the whole way on the plane, Jennifer retreated to her bedroom. The events of the day weighed heavily on her mind, and she was in too much emotional turmoil to try and sleep anyway. She shut her door, locking it, then stripped out of her clothes. _Maybe I should read something, to take my mind off._
The bookshelves in this room had a limited library. Mostly obscure volumes on photographic history, with a few works of fiction with photographers as the main character. She had a small collection of Jimmy Olsen comic books, and a lot of Spider-Man moldering somewhere in storage. She picked one at random off the shelf and settled in atop her bed covers, laying flat on her back. She normally used this position to read and relax, though without the nudity. Resting the book between her breasts, it gave her an excuse not to take her eyes off her cleavage.
The hours passed by, and she actually read very little. Every few pages she'd put the book down to sit up, roll to either side, or on her belly just to see how each position felt. Laying flat made her breasts sag to either side, turning the narrow cleavage into a broad, u-shaped valley with the darker splash of her areolae and her nipples as mountainous peaks. It gave her a direct line to her lower torso, where "no-penis!" sensations still screamed at her when she looked down that way. _Okay, this is getting ridiculous. I'm not going to let this paralyze me. I'm going to be a woman a long time._
Long time? No... more than that. Much more. After tonight she'd come to realize that in order to revitalize her career as a photographer, she'd have to reinvent everything about herself from the ground up and basically start from scratch. _Everything._ The questions had quickly become: Was her physical gender more important than her art? Was her situation as James so hopeless after all? _I've been a woman less than a day, and I've already gained something I can't put a price on. Why the hell not? But I'm going to be Jennifer Lambert. Sutton will just be a stage name. Explaining this to Mom, Dad, and Sis isn't going to be easy._
She wasn't going to chuck it all in the toilet and leave James Lambert behind. That felt like a cop-out. More like running away from his problems rather than turning to face them. Granted, becoming a pretty young thing wouldn't be a bed of roses either. Roses have thorns. But in a way she couldn't explain, this just felt like the right thing to do. Even if the counter-curse was easy and had a low risk of side effects, the benefits of this... this bite of Eve's Apple were just too obvious to ignore. _I'm not throwing away my old life. I'm still James Lambert where it counts. But I'm not going to let my past limit me either. I'm going to make this work!_
She folded her arms under her breasts and hugged them gently, and actually started to doze off, just as Ilene knocked on the door. Jennifer saw that the clock was just coming up on three a.m.. "Happy Birthday, Jennifer," the witch said, half-yawning. She still sounded absolutely exhausted. "Or are you asleep?"