User:JonBuck/Eve's Apple

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Author's Comments

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.

I am updating this story so fast, and doing other smaller edits to text already written, that I won't be using this green text to indicate new bits. Please check Recent Changes and click "diff" to see where my changes are. Thanks. --Buck 01:05, 9 August 2008 (EDT)

{{#ifeq: User |User| Eve's Apple | Eve's Apple}}[[Title::{{#ifeq: User |User| Eve's Apple | Eve's Apple}}| ]]
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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, somehow mashed against the front glass. An epic failure for whoever had stocked the machine. Jim stared blearily at his choices.

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 freelance 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. Their animated tattoos flipping him off as he passed them.

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. If he didn't figure out what it was very soon, he'd likely be looking for a new agent.

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 ankle-length 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. Glowing 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. Her figure made his blood stir. It was better than a cup of his agent's best brew. 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. "Is there something wrong with your pictures? What could it possibly be?"

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 pretty 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 was 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 flesh 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 newly female 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," 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. It won't take the generic counter-potions we use. 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 firmly entangled in your system. We can't undo it willy-nilly, we have to send off specific test results to some specialists and get 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, drumming her fingers on the exam bed. "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. Fatigue and estrogen. 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 who cast sideways glances at her chest. 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 cleft 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. It's a very fine powder. 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 table 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 into her tanned 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. Her eyes had remained blue, though were now a lighter shade. It really was a beautiful face and figure. It was hard to accept as her own. "What do I sound like?" she said to Ilene. "Not like an airhead?"

"You sound like you as a girl. 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. They're right at hand, so to speak."

Shorts off, panties followed. They joined the shirt and bra on the towel rack. 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; she examined them, both in first person, and in the mirror from the side and front. They really were marvelous, with a perky rounded shape, positively glowing with health. As a man she would've considered them her best feature. She still did. 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. But with a little effort, she separated the lips just wide enough to see into herself and stare for about ten seconds. She let go and slid down the bathroom wall, thunderstruck. Her mind felt tangled in knots. She knew what magic was capable of. But aside from her photographic equipment, tried to avoid things like this. It was an abstract no longer. It's there. It's all there. I have a cu... I'm really a woman. "Holy... Mother of God!"

"'Mother' indeed. 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. Even after all that 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 with me," 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... it's 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, then folded her arms beneath them. "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. The stretchy, magic fabric reshaped itself, leaving little to the imagination for onlookers. This was a garment intended to titillate men and irritate other women. And it was short enough to send chilly air where it didn't belong. "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, and didn't know if it was the hormones or not.

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 the proper body 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? It was time to take advantage of that. 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."

Maybe she's right. Maybe it did it take a pair of tits and a vagina to get me to see this. Why? I was being a dense, stupid man! 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 if it starts feeling 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, Jennifer Sutton. We're off to a good start."

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Once they were back at her apartment, Ilene slumped off to sleep 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 as heavily as her new chest. She shut her door, locking it, then stripped out of her clothes. She figured the best way to get used to her body was to look at it and use it. Her bedroom was small, and smelled oddly masculine, but it was still large enough to do what she had in mind. Maybe I should read something to pass the time.

The bookshelves here 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 before bed, though without the nudity. Resting the spine of the paperback between her breasts, it gave her an excuse not to take her eyes off them.

The hours passed by, and she actually read very little. Every few pages she'd put the book down to sit up, or roll to either side, or on her belly just to see how each position felt, experimenting with various movements from head to toe. Laying flat on her stomach without propping herself up on her elbows left her breasts uncomfortably squashed; while on her back made them 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. That position gave her a direct view of her lower torso, where "no-penis!" sensations still screamed at her, and she usually followed up on it with a labial touch.

She couldn't deny it was fun, in its own naughty way. It was part of the package. Her own soft, shapely flesh. Yet it was possible to overdo it. She gave herself a careful squeeze. I'll see these boobs and everything else every day. I'm going to be a woman a long time.

Long time? No... more than that. Much more. In order to rejuvenate her career as a photographer, she'd have to reinvent everything about her professional life from the ground up and basically start from scratch. Everything. The questions had become: Was her physical gender more important than her art? Was her situation as James so hopeless after all that she had to give up his life? I've been a woman less than a day, and I can't put a price on what I've gained already. Why the hell not? I'm Jennifer from here forward. Sutton will just be a stage name. I'm still a Lambert. 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 as if he was some worthless, empty shell. That felt like a cop-out. More like running away from her 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 path to take. 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 was far too compelling. I'm not throwing away my old life. I'm still myself where it counts. But I'm not going to let my past limit me either. This is going to work!

There were a lot of things that were going to change. She never did anything halfway. If she was going to be Jennifer Sutton, she wasn't going to be James Lambert with breasts. She wasn't going to be a tomboy. It meant adopting female ways of thinking, and their approach to life. In those ways it was very like moving to another country, with its own distinct culture. Not that I'm going to assimilate completely. I'm still my own woman.

The first step was accepting her body. She folded her arms under her saggy 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?"

"I'm awake, Ilene. Give me a minute." Jennifer took the bathrobe off its hook on the back of the bedroom door and wrapped it around her torso. It was far too large. She was a good three inches shorter and forty pounds lighter now. The terry cloth tickled her sensitive skin, making her nipples tingle and stiffen. She was forced to keep the top loose enough to keep that from happening. The robe dragged on the floor. The brunette photographer opened the door to see a baggy-eyed witch. "You're up? And why 'Happy Birthday'?"

Ilene walked inside and sat down on the edge of the bed. She still looked like she needed a lot more sleep. "I set an internal alarm clock. It's been twenty four hours since you changed." Her eyes glimmered a little. "I wasn't really sleeping at your agent's. I heard everything she said. From the look on your face on the way back here, you're seriously thinking of staying one of us. Am I wrong?"

"Um... I've already decided," the photographer said. "I'm Jennifer for keeps. I'll adapt. Not that I think it'll be a cake walk, but it's worth it. I can be a woman. I am a woman."

The sleepy witch nodded slowly. "Oh, I'm sure you can, and you are, and I'll support that decision. But I also don't want you to commit to 'emigrating' to my 'country' without knowing some very important things. Or rather, feeling them firsthand. You have to know what you're getting yourself into, if you're going to be a Jennifer instead of a James. Lay down on the bed." She patted the covers next to her.

"This is going to involve magic, isn't it?"

Ilene nodded. "Don't worry. It'll just be a really good illusion. So keep calm and don't panic at anything you feel."

She smirked as Jennifer did as she was asked, then kept her arms around her breasts as if they were a treasured badge of her newly accepted womanhood. "I see you found something you like," the witch said. "Two somethings. Of course, you know what those breasts are actually for, don't you? They're functional, not just for show." She placed her warm hand on Jennifer's belly. "This is from my last period."

"Period? Oh..." Jennifer barely got a word in before the knot of pain in her belly. She almost doubled over. "Is... is that what I think it is?"

"Well, think about it. The uterus is the strongest muscle in the human body. It's like getting a charley horse in your gut. That was a bad one, admittedly. But I wanted you to know what it felt like," Ilene said. "I'm not trying to torture you. It's just something you'll have to face month-to-month. And menses are just gross."

"I can do that," Jennifer insisted determinedly. "I'm just one of the girls. What else do you want me to experience?"

Ilene's hand glowed, then flashed, her eyes sending out a blinding light. And then...

Her breasts were even bigger now. But it wasn't they that made her stare. It was her distended belly, and a very heavy feeling indeed. And from the insider, a little jerk. Something she realized was actually a kick as the baby in her womb jostled around, using her kidneys as punching bags. "Please tell me this isn't real."

"Just an illusion--of a sort. It's an Empathy Belly spell some high schools use on teenaged kids. There's even a version for men so husbands know what their wives are going through. How does that make you feel? You're about eight months along. And it's the one big thing men just can't do, but you can now. It'll last about an hour, so think hard whether this is something you really want. You're female. You get to make babies instead of sperm. Your body won't belong to you for nine months, then there's the nursing."

Pregnant Jennifer slowly levered herself up, gravid belly protruding from her robe while her sore breasts sagged over it. Ilene offered her hand to help her stand up, which she gratefully took. "Of course, that'd mean I had sex with some man," she pondered, the idea no longer an abstract one. She didn't care that her breasts were exposed, feeling very comfortable with Ilene. She opened her bedroom door and waddled around her living room. Illusion or not, it sparked off an incredibly strong desire to experience it for real. "Did this curse make me a straight girl? I mean, that'd be a real change. I really want to experience both sides."

"Most of them do, as I understand it," the witch said. "But don't be surprised if you're bi. Don't be afraid to experiment with dating, either. I'm sure you'll have very different ideas about Mr. Right compared to us born-females."

The faux-baby kicked again. Jennifer re-tied the robe around herself. "I'm going to need a lot more time on that one. Ooof! Settle down in there." Despite the discomfort, it felt delightful. Like nothing else.

"I'm going back to sleep. If you still want to be 'one of the girls' when I wake up, then we'll go right off the deep end. I mean full immersion. And I won't pull punches, Jenny dear. Start thinking about which you want to use: tampons or pads. Good night."

Jennifer hugged Ilene affectionately, though not without difficulty in her current bloated condition, and wished her friend and mentor good night as well. The next hour of simulated pregnancy erased what few doubts remained. If anything, it made her decision all the more justified. Looking at her gravid self in the bathroom mirror, all the remaining testosterone in her system felt flushed out without remorse. Even with magical help, no man could do this. PMS was a price worth paying. She wondered if she had a masculine bone left in her body now.

Tomorrow she would cancel the exam, refuse treatment, and see what she needed to do to make Jennifer Lambert a legal reality to match the physical one.

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The clothes were the first thing to go. Button collar shirts, polos, shoes, slacks and jeans. None if it fit any more and would be of no further use to an attractive young woman.

Ilene was merciless on Jennifer's old wardrobe, energetically throwing shirts and pants alike into garbage bags for donation while the Jennifer played phone tag with doctors, the Houston Police, and various government agencies to get the ball rolling on her identity change. No, she wasn't going to bother with a counter-curse. Yes, she does still want whoever did this to get caught and punished. No, she wasn't some kind of Bridget. By the time Jennifer finished with the third round of calls, Ilene had cleaned out the entire dresser and half the closet. She didn't touch the boxes of mementos. Jennifer looked askance at the witch, who wore a serviceable pair of jeans and a rather attractive white camisole.

"I won't toss anything that seems to have meaning for you. You didn't say you were chucking everything out," Ilene said, sweaty from her efforts.

Jenny sat at her desk, one leg crossed over the other. An hour ago Ilene had shown her how to properly shave them. Her skin tingled as she rubbed her calves with the soft soles of her feet. "I appreciate that. But I've been looking at my finances. I can't afford a whole new wardrobe right now. I need to focus on earning enough money to pay the rent. Life doesn't stop because I grew a pair of ovaries, and I'm not exactly on vacation," Jennifer said ruefully.

"It's a working vacation, then. Don't you worry about clothes. I'll buy you anything you want. Just think about your new portfolio. Speaking of that, here's something I found on the closet floor." She pulled a Victoria's Secret catalog out of her back pocket. It was an old one, and much thumbed-through. "You're missing people. What techniques did the photographers use on these women? Remember, those outfits will fit you now. What appeals to you most as a woman?"

Jennifer thumbed through the pages with a different eye. The catalog had appealed to the old self because it was both available for free, and had a lot of beautiful women in it. It was at least three years old. Most of the garments were probably not even sold any more. But she still tried to imagine wearing them. "Well, let me think about that. I have a whole thirty hours of womanhood behind me now." And she was back in the clothes she'd bought at Target. Minimum, she needed seven more days of shirts and shorts, some cold weather jackets, and shoes.

And maybe, just maybe, a single dress. Something modest, unlike yesterday's cleavage show. She pointed at a brunette woman on the catalog page that had a similar figure to her own. It was what a polo shirt would look like if it was increased to dress length, stopping at the knees. It had short sleeves and a belt around the waistline. The model was shown sauntering towards the camera, hips askew enough to demonstrate how the garment flattered her curves. "I think I'd like that one."

"Good! Because the next thing on today's list is the mall. Consider this shopping spree my welcome gift to you."

The new woman didn't know if she should be flattered, or frightened. "I'll grab my camera bag."

"And your purse. Don't forget your purse."

She picked that up as well, and slung it over the opposite shoulder. "Are you going to change clothes?"

Ilene shook her head. "Why? I feel fine in this."

"No bra?"

Again, the witch shook her head. "To tell the truth, I hate them passionately. I blame my über-hippie mother for that. But I'm also a witch, so I have some control over my body. I keep myself nice and firm, but prefer a little bounce. It got your attention, didn't it?"

For a moment--just a moment--Jennifer thought of doing the same. But for all Ilene's intent on making her go "full immersion", she wasn't pushing her to do anything she didn't want to. She had a feeling that today's shopping trip would end up with at least one dress, but everything else would be khakis and polos. The way this polo shirt fit it might as well be a low-cut tank top. It was a surprising find in Target. And though it lacked stereotypically feminine cues like lace or ruffles, she liked the way it looked on her. It was just a simple green polo.

"Hmm. Hold on a minute," Ilene said. She picked up her makeup bag. "Before we go, do you want to give anything here a try? I don't have a lot that works with your complexion. You're a little darker-skinned than I am. How about some nail polish?"

Ilene wasn't going to force her, but wasn't adverse to making suggestions. Jennifer thought about it, then set her purse and camera bag down again and wiggled her fingers. "Lead on, MacDuff."

The polish smelled worse than some of the chemicals she used to develop film. But it was a nice shade of red. Jennifer liked it so much she had to take her shoes off and paint her toenails, too. Then she got a little carried away. Next came the lipstick, a half hour of fussing with her hair, and even more experimenting with the makeup the witch did have. By the time they were finished it was already past lunchtime and both women were getting hungry. So when Jennifer took a final look at herself in the mirror, she decided that was more than enough.

"I'll add makeup to the list of things I'm buying you today. You look like a silent movie actress in my foundation." She uncapped some removal cream. "Far too pale."

"If you say so, Ilene. God, this is going to take a lot of practice." She shut her eyes as her friend removed all the caked-on application. "Let's get some lunch first. Maybe I can start by taking pictures of people eating. If the owner likes them, maybe he'd like some free publicity photos."

"Why wouldn't you try selling them?" Ilene asked.

"Jennifer Sutton is just starting out in the business. I'm just seeing of I can get my knack back, period. I don't even know if the estrogen will do the trick yet." Jennifer sighed. She'd taken the biggest risk in her life for uncertain gain. But she was committed now. No going back. You couldn't pick your sex when you were born, and in a sense it really was her Birthday today. Except this really was a choice. There's born-again Christians, can there be born-again women? What a mind-bending concept, but for her it worked.

"Second thoughts again?"

"No, but I'm under a lot of pressure. I need at least a dozen good photos to give Martha by the end of July. And..." She looked at the antiques on her shelves: cameras, flashes, and even a lens or two. She'd been getting to this point anyway, even before the gender switch. They weren't exceedingly rare but would pay the rent for a few months. Time for some sacrifices. A girl's gotta eat. "When we get back, I have more stuff to do before I can relax."

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The next five days kept Jennifer on her toes. Getting her identity changed was a bureaucratic nightmare that left little time to do anything else. And she was normally too emotionally and physically exhausted by the end of the day to go anywhere and look for any photos of opportunity. The sheer amount of paperwork needed to make Jennifer Lambert a real person and link her to James's social security card, driver's license, credit cards, bank accounts, even the bills she paid from month to month, was mind-boggling. It required a half dozen notarized affidavits, more statements from the Houston police, the doctor who had treated her at the airport, and certification from a Psychological Arcanist that she was of sound mind and body, uninfluenced by the psychoactive curse.

"Yes, I really decided I want to be a woman! No, I wasn't a transsexual before this! It's my own choice!" she'd said on numerous occasions, to the notary in particular. It became a mantra. At first, an embarrassing one that felt much worse when saying it to other women. Most of the men seemed more inclined to ask her out on a date. And one did! He was politely turned down.

Between this and selling as many of her antiques as she could on eBay, she needed a vacation from her vacation from herself. It had her so wound up that Thursday night Ilene had cast a sleep spell on her so she could get a full night's rest. The spell was a good one.

Waking to sore, squashed breasts was something else.

Hissing with the dull throb, Jennifer rolled over in bed while the grogginess slowly passed. By the clock it was almost ten, more than an hour than she normally slept. Throwing off the covers, she exposed herself to the relatively chilly air in her bedroom to wake her up more. As a man she'd slept in just a pair of briefs. As a woman, she did the same in a pair of boy shorts. Hugging her breasts, she sighed contentedly. "Well, good morning you two. Day six."

Up and out of bed, she put on her robe and waved at Ilene and did her morning routine in the bathroom. Business taken care of, back to the bedroom to consider what to wear for the day.

There were few changes to the bedroom itself as yet. The most obvious sign that a woman lived here now were the half dozen dresses that hung in the closet. There were blouses, two jackets, three long skirts, hip-hugging slacks, and three pairs of shoes, including a practice pair with three-inch heels. She was still moving forward cautiously. The styles were mostly conservative, mostly similar to her male wardrobe. Plain bras, panties, and socks. But there were a couple things that made her blush just thinking about them.

Jennifer opened her lingerie drawer. On the left, all her new bras, still mostly unworn. Down the middle, panties, all the same "boy short" style in white. On the right, a small burst of color and lace. Three matching sets of bras and panties that was about as far into the feminine as she felt like going. Pink lace, pastel blue satin, and a burgundy strapless. She was more curious about how that last one actually worked than anything else.

Every day she wanted to try something new that reminded her she wasn't a man any more. So today, she put the "royal teal heather" polo dress on the bed. Drafty, but cute.

She wasn't going to take a shower this morning, having taken a long one the night before. She changed panties, then picked up the dress. Unlike the one she had worn that first day, this one went on over the head, like a shirt. She put her arms through the short sleeves and pulled the stretchy garment over her bare chest. Following Ilene's example, there would be no bra today. The fabric tickled, but was thick enough to mostly hide her nipples. She smoothed the front down, adjusted the belt, and buttoned up the neck. She stood in front of her new dresser mirror, running a brush through her hair before binding it secure and neat with a blue barrette. There! I feel like walking out the door right now.

Woman or not, some days there was no reason to spend an hour just preening. Today, the dress and the barrette were enough. She left her bedroom with a bounce in her step.

"Breakfast?" Ilene said, whisking eggs and flour in a bowl. "Nice choice, there. Understatement is very effective on you. Make sure you keep your legs together when you sit."

"Thanks, I'll remember," Jennifer said. She sat in front of her computer. Three auctions had ended overnight, it was time to see who the winners were. The antique flashes were getting better prices than she'd hoped. Three of the four had more than met the reserve. The last one would need re-posting with a lower one. She sent congratulatory messages to the winners, two of whom had already sent payment. "Looks like we need to go to the mailbox store again."

"Another notary? How did your auctions go?" The witch poured the batter into a metal pan.

"Very well! I've bought myself two months or so. It'll be tight, but doable." I'm going to have to find a part time job, though. Just for a financial cushion.

"Look, I've told you that if you need money, I have more than I know what to do with," the witch said. "Or do you want me to just help fill your closet?"

Jennifer smiled thanks. "Honestly, I'm doing fine. I'm still self-sufficient for now. I'll ask for help if things get really rough."

"Okay. Now, what were your plans for today? If you don't have any, I have a suggestion."

Jennifer went to check her bank account, after transferring the money from PayPal. "Yes! The name changes went through! I'm officially Jennifer, Ilene. The bank and the government both say so now." She paused. "Oh. What'd you have in mind?"

"Congratulations. Anyway, I think it's time I went home. I got a call from my house sitter this morning. I think she needs some help with my garden, and I have about three months worth of mail to go through."

"Sounds great to me. I'd love to see your place. Should I pack my suitcase?"

Ilene nodded. "We'll be staying at least a few days. I'm sure you'll find a lot of subjects for your portfolio around the capital. Let's get some food in us first."

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I have to update my equipment, Jennifer thought, rubbing her arms. The front of her dress was damp and clingy with sweat from carrying out her heavy equipment boxes, and her arms themselves felt like wet noodles. Lighter, for one thing. She still used film for almost half her photography. If she was going south for a few days it paid--literally--to be prepared. Two SLRs (one film, one digital), and a medium-format camera with a film and digital backing and its tripod joined the suitcase and Ilene's things.

The 4-Runner was full again. There was still mud caked on the wheel wells from her last foray into Mt. Rainier National Park. There was always something to take photos of in the Cascades. If it hadn't been for Ilene's suitcases, camping equipment would've taken up the space instead. Considering the rather weaker state of her new body it would be months before she could take long treks like that again. Assuming she needed or wanted to.

"That's a familiar contemplative expression," the green-eyed witch said. "I see you doing that a lot these days." She smirked. "You look like you're staring at your breasts, though. You might want to look somewhere else while in public."

"I kind of am. Frankly, I like looking at them. I like the way they feel," Jennifer replied, shrugging. And my hips aren't bad, either. She tugged on the front of her dress, letting the air conditioning cool her off. Being smaller meant changes in temperature affected her more. She was already feeling chilly. She put the SUV in reverse and pulled out of the parking space in front of her apartment. Her neighbors were an incurious lot. Perhaps they thought she was Jim's new girlfriend, but none cared enough to ask. The only people who had to be informed were the apartment managers. They had raised eyebrows, but that was it.

Ilene was smirking. Jennifer sighed. "I like my breasts. Is that wrong?"

"I know I said 'full immersion', Jenny dear, but there's no need to wallow in estrogen either," the witch said. "A little narcissism about your new self is healthy, though. I'm glad you like them. They have a very healthy shape." She raised an eyebrow. "Next time at least wear a camisole underneath, though. I do."

Jennifer's shoulders fell as she pulled out into traffic. "Oh. I don't have any of those."

She pulled down the front of her shirt and revealed she had one on now. "I have drawers full at home. I hate bras, but I love these. You're a little bigger than I am, but they'll fit. You can even wear them by themselves if you're feeling immodest."

She pulled into the parking lot at the mailbox store closest to home. Going in here felt like a mistake. The notary worked here, and the rest of the staff had known her very well as Jim. She'd often used their services to receive expensive photography equipment while off in far-flung places like Boston, Tampa, or even London a couple times. "Are you sure you want to send them off here?" Ilene asked. "Why don't we try somewhere nobody knows you?"

"I have my reasons," Jennifer said tersely, getting out of the driver's seat. "I've never had a damaged package with these guys. This flash is worth two thousand dollars, and I don't want a bad rating on eBay."

"Just making sure. No reason to torture yourself," Ilene said. "I'll come in with you."

It wasn't as if she'd shut herself up in her apartment for almost a week. Far from it. Between the mall trips and the seemingly endless bureaucratic runaround, Jennifer had been interacting with people as a woman frequently enough. Most of them admittedly didn't know her from before, so her former gender was an abstract thing for them. Not so for Darcy and Donna in the mailbox store. They were a mother-daughter team and the store's sole employees except during Christmas season.

"Hello... Miss Lambert," Donna said. The grudging way the older woman addressed her had made getting the notaries frustrating at best. "What do you need this time?"

The photographer picked a shipping form out of the rack. "I need these things in separate boxes. Double bubble wrapped. They're irreplaceable."

Her daughter, who was a few years younger than Jenny's actual age, looked at the items. "You're kidding! It took you how long to find these? Six months?"

"Sacrifices, Darcy. A new wardrobe is expensive," Jennifer said. "And I'm still not selling anything new just now."

"If you need clothes, I can give you..." she looked at her mother. The plump woman was giving her a hard look. "Come on, Mom. It's Jim. Or Jenny, rather. We should help her out. She's sacrificed her manhood for her art! That's real dedication for you." She smiled at Jennifer. "It's going to work out in the end, Jenny. You're one of us."

Donna was anything but a soft-spoken woman. "Bullshit! It ain't Jim. I don't know who that is, but it isn't him," Donna opined, giving Jennifer a hard, doubting look. "No man I know would trade his vitals for a... a... blue dress! And if it is Jim, he ain't a real woman. He's just play-acting for God knows what perverted lesbian reason." She glared at Ilene, who gave as good as she got. Donna actually took a couple steps back under her withering glare.

Jennifer frowned. The sour old woman thought of her as an intruder, while her twenty five year-old daughter was the polar opposite. "You know what? I don't give a tinker's dick what you think, Donna. Give me my things back, Darcy. I'll take my business elsewhere."

Darcy mouthed an apology, obviously hoping she'd change her mind later. And Ilene said nothing, knowing an I-told-you-so would go over like a lead balloon. On the way south conversation turned to other topics.

They talked about clothing through most of the drive. There was always something new, and nothing Ilene didn't know. Women had so many more choices than men did, but they also had more difficulty finding something that fit, since an 8 from one company might be more like a 10 from another. It wasn't just in what she knew, it was like she could anticipate Jennifer's questions. The new woman couldn't be sure if it was clairvoyance, or experience. After deciding that Jennifer would get her ears pierced tomorrow, there was a lull in the conversation. They were passing through Tacoma when Ilene broke the ice again.

"You're about to meet my house sitter, Gloria," she said. "She's... well, she's like you. A Bloom victim. Different circumstances, but when I found her a year ago she was a very... oh what's a good word? Maladjusted?"

"As good as any."

"She's about forty. Looks thirty, but that's the Bloom. She got a super-powerful dose. I'm not going to tell you everything, that'll be up to her. But the last I left her she was on an even keel. I hope she hasn't hidden anything from me. Just stay behind me when we arrive."

"You could have said something before we left," Jennifer said darkly.

"Oh, you're in no danger from her," Ilene reassured. "She's just got more body issues than you do, even after a eighteen months. So... don't obsess over your boobs too much." She pursed her lips. "You're also going to hear me call her 'Major' a lot. She was in the Marines before... well, before. Just getting her to the point where she chose a female name took ages. Um... take the Nisqually exit. I'm actually nearer Yelm than Olympia."

"Really? I thought you lived in the city," Jennifer said.

"My main sales office is in the city. But as I said, I'm a Botanical Arcanist. The stuff I work with has to be done in a rural setting. It's not exactly a working farm. It's just me and Gloria. Magic resists mass production, you know. About the only thing we can get from the Unseen World are batteries and a few cosmetics, and a golem or two."

That wasn't exactly true any more. There were ever-greater numbers of mass-produced items that ran on magic. It was just that until someone invented the mana battery ten years ago, outside of the National Enchanted Forests, there just wasn't enough ambient magic to run them reliably. All a mage (or Arcanist, or whatever) really needed to do was make one item and run a mass-duplication spell. From there, "factories" in the Unseen World could churn them out at a pace only limited by the chaotic energy near the more ordered areas on that immediate side of the Curtain. They weren't nearly as good as consumer electronics manufacturers yet, but in another ten years mana- and electric-powered merchandise would be competing neck-and-neck.

"I still need to send these things off, though. Just point me to the nearest UPS Store, then we'll head to your place," Jennifer said.

This time the employees treated her like just another woman. And that was exactly what she wanted.

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The "Major" was an Amazon, a shade over six feet tall, and reminded Jennifer of Wonder Woman. She had perfect Greek proportions, which meant that her breasts were quite large. Though it seemed like she worked outside, her skin was like alabaster, as if she had been carved from it. She moved fluidly, at least when she obviously wasn't thinking about it. When she tried to control herself and walk more like a man, that fluid motion became broken and uncertain.

Ilene embraced her like a sister. "Major! You've grown out your hair! And it's more than a butch cut. That's a huge step."

The Major ran her fingers through her lustrous black hair. It was the fullest and best-looking hair Jennifer had ever seen and was as long as her own. The tall woman blushed furiously. "Figured that after the price I paid, it wasn't worth being bald any more. I hope you like it, 'cause I used one of those home kits for women. Grew it out and styled it in one go. Yeah, it's a big step. I wanted to see how... how I looked. Um. How I looked if I... um..." For a few moments, she looked as confident as Jennifer herself felt about her own new womanhood. Then the Major's fragile self-confidence abruptly evaporated, the glow of success fading into doubt and self-hate. "Um, who's this?" she said, nodding at Jennifer. "Adding another Bloomer to your collection?"

How could she tell? Jennifer wondered, waving a little feminine wave at the Amazon. There was something about her face, though. Her expression that mixed hope and despair at the same time. There was a lot of history written on that deceptively youthful appearance. The photographer found herself wondering what she'd look like in a different, more feminine outfit, instead of the camouflage pants and loose tee shirt she currently wore. But on a body like hers, almost anything could look feminine.

"Meet Jennifer Sutton," Ilene said. "Yes, she's a Bloomer. You know me too well, Major."

The tall woman opened her mouth, as if she was going to correct Ilene of something. She fixed Jennifer with an expression like a drill sergeant. Her hips swayed provocatively as she tried to swagger around her. "She's new and wearing a dress? You got to her quick, Ilene. I doubt she'll need your help adjusting very much. And what's with the camera?"

"It's what I do," Jennifer said, extending her hand. "Good to meet you, Major."

The Major took it, and gave her hand a hard squeeze. It was a strong hand. But there was an obvious strain behind her eyes. A shyness, and more. "Photographer, eh? Well, keep that thing away from me."

Damn. There was just something about her. If I could just... This was the first person she actually wanted to take photos of. There was something about her that made her feel like a good subject. Assuming she could break through that shell of hers. Something that Ilene had been working on for a year at least.

The Amazon visibly fought back against the doubt, and seemingly won a victory. "Um... you ladies don't have to call me 'Major' all the time. Gloria will do. It's sort of... well... more appropriate." Not a small victory, it seemed. "Let's go inside. I hope I haven't made the place too disorganized while you've been away."

Ilene said nothing, and the two women followed Gloria into the green ranch-style farmhouse. The inside was also various shades of green, with brown carpet. It was like living inside a leaf, with veins branching off into bedrooms. Whoever had owned this house before the witch had had a very large family. There were five bedrooms. One door had warning signs on it, obviously Ilene's magic workroom. The door was obviously mage-locked. The blocky handle had a glowing mana battery in it. "Pardon me, girls. I need to check on things in here, then we'll check on that garden." She laid her fingers on the lock, muttered something under her breath, and went inside.

This left Jennifer alone with Gloria the Amazon. The photographer felt she needed to fill the silence with something. "You really do have wonderful hair, um, Gloria."

The black-haired woman had a bitter laugh. "This hair got me a Section Eight, Miss Sutton. This hair!" She grabbed a hold of it and gave it a hard yank. It probably hurt. Her wild eyes fixed the shorter woman with an almost hypnotic allure. "This hair. God, I was such an moron! Stupid! Macho! Moron!"

Uh oh. Jennifer, you idiot! Jennifer swore to herself.

But the Major stopped herself. It was a strange thing to watch. As if Gloria knew she was starting down a road she'd been down many times before. So she just... stopped. All the pain was visibly stuffed down into some corner of her mind. "I'm not going down that road again. I'm sorry, Miss Sutton. I get carried away with my own problems all too easily. I'll tell you the whole sordid story later, if you'd like to turn an ear to it."

Jennifer put her hand on Gloria's near arm, trying to be supportive of a sister Bloomer. "You're coping. Trust me, you're coping." Who am I kidding? She belongs in a mental hospital, not a farmstead. Yet Jennifer still tried to project that they were in a sisterhood. That if Gloria needed support, she would give it. "And so far, so am I. Can you take me on a tour while our mentrix checks on her lab? And call me Jenny."

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User:JonBuck/Eve's Apple

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