How to edit yourself

“What is was, was magic” story contest entry

“I remember Mom saying her sitter was wild but wow!” I said to myself. I settled in for the night in my aunt’s big, ornate bed and dreamed of her, these remarkable women friends/lovers of hers and what they did together, some of it in this very bed. There were the photos to prove it.

Author's note: I will post a properly proofed version later. My muse was a naughty girl and procrastinated too late to send it to my friendly proofers -- feel their pain. Okay, it's not that bad but still ...

How to edit yourself

“What is was, was magic” story contest entry

This is my entry into Bob Arnold’s Fall 2007 Stardust, “What is was, was magic” story contest. I got off to a quick start and got stuck then I got this great other idea and the original started flowing again. Did you follow that logic?

If bits of this story seem at all familiar they probably are. I was inspired by various stories I have read here and elsewhere. I hope I have not inadvertently infringed anyone’s work and this was done purely for fun in any case.

All errors, typos and headache inducing properties are my own. Don’t blame Itinerant, Janet Nolan, Holly Logan, Karen_J or my evil blonde sister. It’s not their fault I procrastinated and they had no chance to whack me over the head with a two by four or a piece of rusty gas pipe.

How to edit yourself
By John in Wauwatosa, 2007

My great aunt Winfred Leyland had died and left me a modest monetary bequest plus her house, its furnishings and, very specifically, the contents of her attic. This came as a big surprise as one, I barely knew her and two, I barely knew her. I say it twice because this is important.

Her other heirs were surprised as well though they got the bulk of her financial assets, or so I thought. Winifred had moved across country as a young woman and my mother had lost track of her older and wilder sister. Over the years I heard many stories from my mother, most of them were fond memories of my carefree, adventurous, almost Bohemian aunt. By adventurous I mean she smoked, drank and partied hard as a teen. She had men ten, fifteen and twenty years her senior spellbound. And she was not a blonde bombshell nor was she was a pretty, dainty waif. She was a tall, handsome woman, think of Julia Child as a young woman. But one thing shone through in the photos mom had of her and in her recollections; Winnie exuded feminine sensuality and sexuality.

She married in her teens to a man almost twenty years older, had two babies who died soon after birth from RH incompatibility and was widowed in her mid twenties. She remarried to a man a few years younger than her, birthed three wonderful children and died of heart failure in her mid sixties. I have vague memories of her but I really didn’t know her.

My mother was dead; cancer cutting her down before her time. I was single and had no strong ties holding me back so I took some time off work to travel out west to my aunt’s home. I flew out, rented a car and drove to an old part of San Francisco and was surprised yet again. Her home was a three-story wood and brick townhouse converted to a single family mini-mansion. It was in immaculate condition and I realized this was a very generous bequest to a nephew she barely knew.

I was met at the door by a representative of the law firm handling her estate and got several more surprises. This was the first of many surprises, another being that the house originally was a single-family home with servant quarters. It was converted into a town house a few decades before my aunt converted it back into a single-family again, bizarre or what?

Getting back to the lawyer, “I am confused, why did my aunt choose me and what does it all mean?”

“I will go into the details later but given the circumstances I think a brief summary of your aunt’s bequest will clear up most of the questions you must have.”

“Okay?” Did I mention I don’t like lawyers?

I was astounded by what he told me. The home and land — a corner lot on the top of a hill with the house and an undeveloped side lot totaling two point five acres -- were assessed at 3.25 million but the potential value of the property was much greater. Because it was on top of a hill near the downtown and underlain by a solid bedrock outcropping, the land was a prime location for redevelopment. A major chain wanted it as the site for a thousand-room high-rise luxury hotel and they were willing to pay to get it to complete the project. They had bought up the surrounding properties but my aunt’s land was the keystone. Without it their land was all but useless for the development, thus my aunt’s land was potentially worth many millions more than its assessed value. They had offered my aunt 12.25 million shortly before her death and her estate’s lawyer suspected they would go higher.

I was torn by this knowledge, as the house was an architectural gem. The venerable Queen Anne had retained most if not all of it’s original gingerbread details and thought extensively remodeled several times — the latest in the 1990’s -- it retained most of it’s late nineteenth century charm. The furnishings were nothing fancy but in good taste and serviceable. I did notice that many of the rooms had a different theme as if people of widely disparate tastes had decorated them. The effect was eclectic yet it *worked*, a bit like a museum with rooms representing different cultures from around the World. From the upper stories there were million-dollar views of the city and San Francisco Bay, 12.5 million dollar views if one was mercenary. It would be a crime to tear it down.

“Follow me, your aunt left specific instructions to show you the attic, she was insistent on this.”

The attic was huge with a high ceiling. A diverse array of wooden desks, bookcases and glass-fronted cabinets were lined up in a row down one side of the attic. I was encouraged to open them and found some were full of labeled photo albums organized by year. Others were identified as containing travel souvenirs, personal journals and books all similarly organized. The other side of the long attic displayed a series of chests and wardrobes that held a dizzying array of styles and sizes of vintage women’s clothing in their fragrant cedar lined interiors. At the far end of the attic by a large half-moon window was a craftsman style library table, a green glass shaded banker’s lamp and an IBM Selectric typewriter with a set of type balls in an ornate lacquer-work case. There were a dozen type balls not counting the one in the venerable IBM. A letter typed on high quality 100 percent rag-bond stationary paper was in the machine and addressed to me!

“My dear nephew John,

“I regret we met but a few times in life back when you were too young to know me. My late baby sister wrote often of you and of her love and pride in her child. Please rummage through my memories I’ve stored up here but resist the urge to sell them or give them away until you’ve looked them over. I ask that you hold off on any decision to sell the house, its contents or the land until you have done this for me. I have led an interesting life, much of the details I have kept to myself. The boxes are labeled by contents and date, I suggest you start with the earliest and work your way forward. I think you will enjoy the journey. What you learn may be hard to believe but by the end you will understand. Treat this as your legacy, a legacy almost denied you and you won’t go wrong.

“Your loving Aunt.” The letter was signed and dated from a few days before she died. ~~She must have known she was dieing and hurried to complete this last message and her will.~~

The lawyer waited as I read the cryptic letter. “Is that it, this is all she left for me in the way of instructions?”

“Other than signing the papers accepting transfer of the estate to your possession, that’s it.”

“Any outstanding debts, recurring bills, back taxes, restrictive codicils or unholy curses I might wish to know about? No Native American burial ground in the basement or a nearby Hell’s Gate perchance?”

The lawyer laughed. “No surprises, I assure you. Your aunt was most fond of you and wished you every happiness. As to any debts or bills, she was and the estate is up-to-date. Your aunt was not afraid of modern technology and modern ways. Most of the bills were on an automatic payment system, which a division of our law firm monitored for her. We have taken the liberty of drawing up documents to continue that service for you until such time as you wish not to. “

We returned to a ground floor parlor where I was shown all the documents and deeds. They all appeared to be satisfactory so we took a taxi to the city hall and registered the transfer of ownership. Our signatures were witnessed and notarized. I was given a thick folder with the deeds and a set of keys along with alarm codes.

“Good luck to you. If you ever have need of legal services call me. The lawyer gave me his business card, shook my hand and left.

* * * *
I returned to my hotel, retrieved my luggage and checked out. I spent a few hours that afternoon settling into my aunts, now my home.

As the hours went by my quick scan into my aunt’s past began producing remarkable, even shocking revelations. I had started with the photo albums.

“This is curious and curiouser, as Alice would say. There are periods of time, one of over five years where there are no pictures of Winnie but lots of pictures of exotic and enchanting women. Here, a few months after her first husband died she must have become friends with a tall Chinese girl as she dominates the photos. And that does not appear not unusual for Winnie, from 1955 to 1985 there are no less that seven different women of a variety of races who dominate the photos for varying lengths of time. In the decades since that seems to slow down but a few women do show up in the photos. Looks like she had a Swedish nurse’s aid in her last years, a tall, busty blonde, what else.” I said to no one.

There were few pictures of men, mostly her two husbands and then not many. I saw a damaged picture, torn and taped back together of her second husband acting very friendly with the Asian beauty. ~~Was this what triggered one of those terrible fights Mom talked about? My uncle was hitting on of my aunt’s friends?~~

I switched to skimming through her journals. I was flabbergasted. Mom said her sister was a Bohemian but the woman in these journals could have been a madam or a high-priced call girl given the *activities* the entries detailed. It was in a kind of code. Much of it described her girlfriends of the time. There were entries like, “*M* went out last night, returned three days later reeking of cigarettes and alcohol. I got calls all the next week from several guys wanting to see her again. God she is becoming a wanton but I can’t help my attraction to her. She is everything I am not: she completes me.”

~~“Compared to her journals her photos hold nothing embarrassing. The handwriting keeps changing though. … Shit, when the Chinese woman was her *companion* most of the journals are in a Chinese script. Was my aunt a secret lesbian? That would explain the terrible fights she and her second husband had sometimes. That’s it! He wasn’t hitting on my aunt’s friend he was hitting on her lesbian lover. This is a script straight out of a bad soap opera. Still they were happy in the end so they must have loved each other. I can see from the few photos of her she hardly aged much the last twenty years until her second husband died then she seems to wither away. The journals confirm her despair at his death.~~ I thought.

I thumbed the pages of her journals looking for a clue to who her mysterious women friends were. My aunt may have been a plain faced though femininely handsome woman but her friends were all high fashion model, film star class and young. The Chinese woman in particular was babe, her photos dominated longer than any other in the archives. I was reminded of the actress who starred in The World of Suzy Wong but taller and with a certain intense strength to her character. She was exquisitely beautiful and of indeterminate age, say 25, but she had this look of total dominance and confidence. This was a woman you wanted to, no, had to obey, to summit your will to and woe to those who broke that trust. I’m not saying she looked like a dominaxtress or a cruel person, it was more a look of command. Think of the Dragon Lady from the old Terry and the Pirates comic strip.

A couple other women stood out. One was a petite fire-haired redhead whose face and body screamed Lolita/whore. Her body had almost elfin, childlike features on top of a lush, baby-fat woman/child’s body but the expressions on her face and the look in her eyes were of pure lust. Oh, there was this towering African American gal — tall like a Massi warrior --with big soul-stealing eyes, this big Afro and these big, um…and a big, firm … she was smoking, ‘nuf said.

It made no sense to me yet it made perfect sense. Somehow at the height of the anti communist and white supremacists/anti-civil rights movements my aunt had managed a series of long-term lesbian relationships completely undetected and apparently unconcerned. These relationships continued for decades after those repressive forces lost power. The women were of various ethnicities and build, from short to tall and from waif-ish to voluptuous. All were young and beautiful. My aunt had high standards.

“I remember Mom saying her sitter was wild but wow!” I said to myself. I settled in for the night in my aunt’s big, ornate bed and dreamed of her, these remarkable women friends/lovers of hers and what they did together, some of it in this very bed. There were the photos to prove it.

I woke surpassingly refreshed despite the vivid dreams. I always had a strong imagination but the dreams were wild. I pictured myself, I mean my aunt, in a series of increasingly wild and erotic situations with women and a few men. But no, it wasn’t me, it was me imagining myself as my aunt. But why was I seeing women other than the ones who dominated her photos? If I was my aunt, why didn’t I see her favorites? Did my aunt have short-term lovers in addition to her long-term ones? I contemplated that my POV in the dreams was that of the gorgeous female companions of my aunt considering, I never saw them. But then I didn’t see my aunt either. Did her companions have short-term dalliances as well? Nothing made sense to me. But then the human imagination is a strange and complex thing.

I showered and dressed, and went out for breakfast, as I’d not had a chance to shop for food. I found a nearby dinner that looked busy and full of *locals*, usually a good sign. I took an empty stool at the counter and looked at the menu board.

“I’ll have your number seven, the scrambled eggs, toast and sausage breakfast special with a coffee.”

“Right up, sir,” my waitress said. Minutes later she came with my order. “From you accent, I assume you are from the Midwest?”

Her own accent was a charming southern drawl, perhaps Texas? All I knew being served by her was a pleasant way to start the day. I got a good look at her as she crisscrossed behind the U-shaped counter serving the crowd. What man wouldn’t be happy to see this woman, she was what is often referred to as a girl-next-door type. Physically she was a cross between Annette Benning with her tall elegance and Sandra Bullock and her just-right curves but with long blond hair and these cute freckles. She was almost a blonde vision, but a believable one, no hallucination.

She was at that age when a woman is at their peak, no longer a child but before time, life, sun and gravity take their toll.

“Wisconsin actually, are you from Texas, ma’am? I’ve long liked a charming Texas drawl; it sounds so warm and friendly.” I smiled.

“A small town north of Dallas/Fort Worth and I do miss it though ‘Frisco is great. I’m Dianne and you are?”

“I’m sorry, I’m John, and I’m in town because my aunt died.”

“My condolences,” she paused then spoke again … John, I’m not promising anything …Great going, Dianne, you sound like a sex-starved idiot!”

“Excuse me, I didn’t follow that at all.”

“I meant to say that I get off work at three o‘clock and you look like you could use some cheering up.”

“I’m not depressed, it’s sad my aunt died but it didn’t know h…”

“Ssh!” She whispered in my ear. ”The evening shift is chronically understaffed, unless I have a good excuse I’ll likely get drafted into overtime.”

“And overtime is a bad thing?” I whispered back.

“It is when you’ve worked a month of 60 hour weeks in a row.”

I spoke out loud. “Thank’s, Dianne, is it? My aunt Winnie and I were very close and I miss her. She was like a second mother to me when I was little.” I managed a tear by thinking of the cat we had to euthanize. I held him while he purred in my lap as the vet put him down.

“Sure, I’d love to spend the evening with you, strictly platonic, okay?”

“That or you can help me shop for groceries. I only moved into my home yesterday and I don’t know where to shop.”

“Oooh, grocery shopping, how romantic.” Then she whispered again. “Nice touch the tears, though this is a purely causal date, I think you may have earned a good night kiss if you keep this up, stud.” We smiled and broke into snickers.

“There, I got you to laugh, John. Meet me here at three sharp.”

“It’s a date. Gotcha, Dianne.”

“I’ll get you for that.”

“Is that a promise, hot stuff?”

“Aaaaah!”

* * * *

I returned to my house, somehow that meant more to me than I expected. I’d only first seen it the day before and already I felt like it was home. I spent the rest of the morning unpacking my modest amount of clothing and generally learning where everything was. I located all the breaker panels ~~Thank God no fuses and she has some GFI circuits too,. Bless you Auntie.~~ I found the water and gas meters and their master shutoffs, a big item in earthquake country.

The house though over 100 years old had been retrofitted for earthquake and fire safety. The stone foundation had been tied to a reinforced pored concrete inner foundation wall that carried the load; the stone foundation was purely decorative. Steel reinforced the walls and floors. I won’t go into details but with it being on bedrock and not fill, this was one of the safest places to be in a quake. This fact and the views explained why the hotel people wanted it so bad.

I was about to leave for my *date* when a letter carrier rang the bell to deliver a package by return receipt mail. This is very expensive and is usually reserved for critical documents and legal papers. I signed and opened it. It was a letter from the hotel developer. It consoled me on my Aunt’s death but eventually it got down to the nitty-gritty. Oh they couched it in friendly terms how,”It must be a burden for you, John,’ -- always John after the initial formal greeting, all so warm and homey — ‘to disrupt your life to come cross country to inherit an old, money trap of a house.’ They described in glowing terms the development and I had to admit it seemed good on paper. They appeared to my sense of pride and decency by describing how the project ‘will provide several hundred direct construction jobs as well as employment to a host of suppliers and subcontractors.’ They claimed to ‘admire your late Aunt’s independent streak and her stubborn desire to hold out against the changes to the neighborhood the development would cause.’ They also pointed out how as I had no emotional ties to the property I could ‘see without the cloud of sentimentality the rightness of this development and the more than fair price they where offering me.’ They went so far as to offer another two million above what my aunt’s lawyer said they had last offered her and implied they might go higher if a quick settlement could be worked out.

I distrusted them immediately. For one, this was blatantly pushy; I’d been in possession of the house barely 24 hours. I wondered if a manager or lawyer would be camping at my doorstep tomorrow. I could understand them offering more for a quick settlement as they had to have financing lined up that could pull out or cost them a fortune in excess interest to hang on to while no work could progress. A tiny piece of me suspected there was something wrong with the project, something bad for the city. Even deeper inside of me I hated and feared these people with a passion, as if their development would rob me of something precious and irreplaceable. I ignored these feelings and left for my *date*.

* * * *

I was waiting outside of the dinner a few minutes to three, five after three Dianne came out the door. She looked around appearing tired and disappointed but her face lit up on seeing me, not the typical reaction I’d expect from a pretty woman.

“John, over here!” She cried out. I hurried to her and she took my hand in hers. “I’m glad you came, so very glad.”

She walked at a crisp pace holding my hand tight for a few blocks until we were out of sight of the dinner. Her grip loosened but she did not let go.

“I am pleased you are so eager to see me but why, other than getting out of work? I’m what, Twenty years older than you and balding, I’m hardly a catch. So why me?”

“You’re fifty-three, you don’t look it.” This shocked me.

“You’re thirty-three? I thought you were twenty-four to at most twenty-eight.” That got her to blush and it looked good on her.

“My family tends to live to be pretty old, great grandma is 99 and still walks to church on Sundays. I’m glad to see you for several reasons. Getting out of overtime was one, one more customer like Bill the ass grabber and I might have snapped. But mostly I remember when I was new to this city almost ten years back and a local resident helped me get settled and feel welcome. Maybe I’ll take you to meet her. I haven’t seen her in a while but I’m sure she’s around, she’s roughly my age. Oh, and you may not be a pretty boy or muscle man but I like your eyes. Remember, just friends.”

“I can use a few good friends as well as some groceries.”

“That’s right, you said you needed shopping help. Where do you live?”

“Six blocks east of the dinner.”

“You must live near where they want to build that monster hotel. A lot of the area residents don’t like it. It’s not that it’s an unsafe design or anything but it’s so big. It will block much of the view of the Bay from a park near it and it’s bound to inflate the already high property values in the area. These older homes provide some of the few halfway affordable rental apartments in heart of the city. When this all gets redeveloped, I may have to move as a waitress salary won’t cut it.

“Here we are, my apartment. Wait down here for me while I change. I’d invite you up but my landlady is protective of me. She’s always trying to match me up with a *good man* but that’s another story. Please don’t tell her I’m thirty-three, she thinks I’m twenty six. I‘ll be twenty minutes top. Just want to sponge myself clean and get in some nice clothes. I also have these nifty folding shopping carts, they are great for someone without a car.”

I sat and a few minutes later a plump middle-aged woman walked up to me.

“I see you are waiting for Dianne. May I ask your intentions towards her? You do seem a bit old. Are you single? Are you wealthy?”

“You ask this in regard to a tenant, what about your own children, did you use the rack?” I liked this woman immediately; she reminded me of one of my grandmothers.

She smiled. “My daughter was an angel and the boy who got her pregnant her sophomore year of high school is now her successful lawyer husband. They have three healthy kids, two girls and a boy. It almost wasn’t a happy ending so you see why I dote on Ms. Dianne.”

“Fair enough, Ma’am. I assure you my intentions are purely mercenary or should that be mercantile? She’s helping me shop for groceries for my house. I just moved in yesterday and I’m single.”

She smiled a warm, friendly smile. “From what I overhead you live near by but I don’t recall any houses on the market recently.”

“I inherited it from my Aunt Winnie, um Winfred. It’s a big old place but it grows on you.”

She looked at me, the smile vanished and her eyes got steely hard. “Mrs. Leyland’s, I know the place. You’re not thinking of selling it.”

“I got an offer from the hotel developer today but their tactics seem heavy-handed to me. I’ve only been here less than a day and they sent me an offer by return receipt mail. That raises all sorts of red flags in my mind. Something tells me to sell to them would be a mistake.”

Her smile returned and went electric. She reached around me and gave me a bear hug and a motherly kiss on my forehead, not easy for the modest-sized woman. “God bless you, son.” We chatted about nothing in particular until Dianne returned.

“I see you went for the elegant, sophisticated look.” She was in boot-cut jeans, a pullover sweater vest over a plain blouse and she wore tennis shoes. I was in a suit, tie and dress shoes.

“Somebody had to be practical and I figure we’ll be hauling a lot of groceries. Grab a cart and we’re off.”

Her landlord grabbed her gently by the hand. “Dianne dear, this one maybe a keeper, bring him around sometime for supper.”

We walked away and she asked. “What was that about?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll explain if I can after we finish shopping”

* * * *

She took me to several small to medium sized local shops. “We have Shopkos, Safeways, Walmarts and the other big chain stores but these are a lot closer and only a little more expensive. The staffs are far nicer too, except for the baker, he’s a bit of a grouch some days but he’s okay. He can get away with it because he bakes Racine kringles he learned to make when he apprenticed in Wisconsin fifty years ago. He bakes these cream-cheese filled ones; they are my kryptonite.” I saw the look in her eyes; if I was one of those kringles I’d be terrified.

We shopped for several hours, getting everything I might need as nearly all my Aunt’s old food and spices had been discarded prior to my arrival. I think I had a can of cooking spray and a box of table salt and that was it. It was a long haul back up that steep hill and I could see the wisdom of her outfit. She occasional took the lead and I could see the wisdom of her wearing those formfitting jeans and tennis shoes. My leather soles almost slipped a couple times, I’m not sure if it was from poor traction or my paying too much attention to her figure. But then I’m a sucker for a pretty girl.

“How much further, John, we’re practically to the hotel development block?”

“We’re here, turn up this drive.”

“But this is where the nice lady who helped me lived. She said she stayed here with an older companion, a Ms. Leyland.”

“She was my late Aunt, I inherited the place.”

“You’re not planning on selling it?” she asked with a similar steely-eyed look.

“I just moved in yesterday, I don’t even know the place. I want to learn about my late Aunt -- the attic is stuffed her journals and memorabilia -- so I plan on keeping it for a while just for that reason alone. The hotel developer strikes me as a bit pushy, to be honest. It’s more a gut feeling than anything but I’m not selling and certainly not before I know all the facts. And you have to read this last letter my aunt wrote me. She claims this house and the contents are my legacy, how could I sell it after that?”

She smiled and looked at me appreciatively, almost affectionately. “I understand what my landlord said. I explain one we get inside.”

* * * *

We got inside, closed the door behind us and I disarmed the alarm.

“So what was that about?”

“Look at it from my landlord’s point of view. She wants to see me with a man. You are single, mature, have nice eyes, are pleasantly wealthy — you inherited the Leyland estate -- and you have high principles. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s pricing halls for *our* reception. Personally I think you’ve earned an early bonus.” She kissed me, on the cheek mind you, but it was a kiss.

“Why? Not that I’m complaining but I thought you were simply skipping out on overtime and being nice to a new comer, you know, playing the Welcome Wagon lady.”

“That is part of it but this hotel project scares a lot of us on the hill. It’s bound to shoot the already high real estate prices through the roof and forget about reasonable rents. You will have made a lot of friends if you refuse to sell. This is remains a platonic friendship, buster, so behave,” she said and smiled.

“I’ll settle for friendship, Dianne. Friendship is a good place to be. Can you help me organize these groceries?”

“Let me at it.”

* * * *

Dianne was a whirlwind in the kitchen and pantry, the efficiency that made her a successful waitress translated into a great homemaker. She went so far as to rearrange the cook wear and utensils, she said the new layout would save me a lot of time and aggravation.

I was impressed and maybe a little in lust, to be honest a lot in lust, maybe even in love. That’s long been my problem; I meet a nice girl and it go from “hello” in my mind to “Push baby, one last push and the baby is out.” I tend to think too far down the road, a road that isn’t even there yet. I put that out of my mind, I needed a friend and I wasn’t going to let my stupid-self mess things up. Plus a gentleman does not take advantage of a lady, ever. A part of my mind, fortunately a small part, replied ~~Then why do the bad boys get all those hot looking teenaged girls pregnant and never have to marry them. Damn, I want me some …~~ I added that so you don’t think I’m some saint. I have my desires, good, bad, carnal, venial and in-between; I’m just too shy to act on them.

“Could you show me the rest of the house and grounds? I’m curious.”

“Dianne, after what you’ve done for me, a complete stranger, you could move in as a rent-free tenant for all I care.” Her sweet and totally relaxed tone melted away my growing reservations about having her in my house.

“Are you serious?” she asked looking at me worried.

“Dianne, damn, I said something to upset you. Let my try this way, I am pleased at what you have done for me today. You befriended a stranger — an older man — and you came to his home without telling anyone. Okay, the landlord knows but that’s all. That was stupid and risky on your part. I could be a rapist or white slaver or worse. And what you did, all these favors has blown me away. I wish to return the favor but I don’t know how.

“As to living here, that was a flippant remark … BUT it is a huge house and is still equipped for a small live-in staff — there is a back stairs with lockable hall doors between it and the front of the house. Maybe it might not be a bad idea for you to move in. In exchange for rent and utilities, you may live here at no charge other than helping maintaining the house.”

“You want me to be a maid?” She sounded offended.

“This is why I’m my age and not married. Dianne, I meant we would share fair and square in the cleaning and other chores. It’s a big house and you clearly took charge in the kitchen. I could use your expertise. I can cook unless you like to or we can do that separately, take turns …?”

“It’s tempting; I would definitely save a lot on rent. Can I think about it for a while? We just met hours ago and …”

“Absolutely, Dianne, your personal safety and comfort come first. I could use a housemate though; this is a very big house. It needs people to fill it. Heck, If you have a coworker at the dinner you trust she could move in with you, two against one and all that.” She relaxed.

I thought a bit more and spoke. “What this house needs is a couple with a big family, that or a fraternity or sorority living in it.

* * * *

She gave me a look, a look that said, ‘I asked you to do something earlier.’ I remembered what it was. “Here, Dianne, let me give you the grand tour. I’m still discovering things about the house and my Aunt so it’s not a chore.”

“Say we work our way from the bottom up?” she suggested.

“Basement it is. I think there are some flashlights in this cupboard. I don’t know how good the lighting is down there.”

We found a couple bright flashlights and headed on down. The basement was partially finished and divided into several rooms with vertical tongue-and-groove bead-board like in many old homes.

“Looks like your Aunt liked to can or this was a summer kitchen,” Dianne said describing a small but fully equipped kitchen complete with a vent hood to the outside. Numerous empty Mason jars lined homemade wooded shelves.

The adjoining room was a laundry with electric clothes dryer and large sorting/ironing/sewing area. “I think my Aunt must have had servants at one time given this setup. Oh look, a full bathroom with an oversized claw-foot tub and shower, did someone once sleep down here?”

The next room was a typical 1950’s knotty-pine basement bar and rec-room but exceptionally well equipped complete with vintage scotch and other distilled beverages, a bar fridge with an ice-maker, several huge leather couch-beds, a slate pool table, a card playing area and several well maintained arcade machines.

“This would be a nice place to entertain guests into the wee hours of the morning,” she remarked.

“It is homey and warm, Dianne.”

The next room worried me. At first it looked like old harness and other farm items — chains, padlocks, buggy whips, hobbling shackles, heavy gloves and a huge variety of small clamps were stored on a rack and forgotten here but they had little if any dust on them. The iron rings mounted on the walls and the finished ceiling confused me as did the ones in the floor. There were no windows in this part of the basement and the door and wall we’d passed though to enter was unusually think. it reminded me of the door on the band room in my junior high school — thick and soundproof. I was confused by everything. Dianne spotted the truth of what we’d seen and reacted violently.

“John, we need to get out of this room, NOW!” she was breathing fast and sounded near panic.

“As you wish, Dianne.” We exited the room and she closed the door and locked it with a large sliding deadbolt I’d not noticed before.

“What upset you?” I asked as she walked to the bar, found the Jack Daniel’s and downed a couple stiff shots. She opened a club soda that was in a bar fridge and chased the Bourbon.

“John, that was a fetish dungeon. I made the connection when I saw the leather wrist and ankle cuffs. Your Aunt or one of her close friends was into bondage or domination. Those whips and harness were for sexual fantasies or worse. That may be some people’s cup of tea but it sickens me. I ...” she stared to say then stopped.

“It’s okay, Dianne, take your time and speak freely.”

“I was molested as a child by someone I trusted. It happened many times over a long period of time. It broke up my family when I realized I was a victim and I told them about my *beloved* relative. This *person* also assaulted a couple of my cousins, that’s how we got him put in jail. I’ve been in and out of therapy and I remain afraid of being intimate with a man.”

“That explains why at thirty-three you are waiting tables and are single. I’m surprised you didn’t go to school and become a sexual assault councilor or something like that.”

“I’m in school now part-time to finish my master’s degree in computer science and a bachelor’s in business administration. I’m a freelance programmer but I want to be a consultant and trouble shooter so I need the sheepskins. I’d like to council the victims but as an abused child I’m at increased risk of becoming an abuser myself. It wouldn’t be a wise career choice. It might not be safe for me to be a parent, that’s how bad that *human perversion* screwed me over.

“I … had some health issues that interrupted my college years. It took a lot of effort and time to get me to where I am now. The financial drain is why I’m only finishing my degree now. Enough about my demons, let’s see the rest of the house. I still like the rest of the basement. Maybe I could help you clean out that … other room. I need to confront my demons and that’s a room full of them.”

My opinion of this brave, wounded woman jumped several notches. I was seriously in danger of falling for her and ruining everything.

* * * *

The first floor was the kitchen/pantry combination, the formal parlor where the lawyer and I had gone over the papers, several smaller day rooms, entry halls, a mudroom and a half-bath. The grandest room on the first floor was a greenhouse-like dinning room, dance floor complete with a fancy old stereo system. I imagined entertaining my extended family, my wife at my side, grandchildren regaling me with stories of school and questions like,”Was Mom like this when she was l a kid, Grandma?” I have a vivid and uncooperative imagination ~~Why did my grandchild refer to me as Grandma when my spouse was a woman?”~~

“Imagine the parties that were held here. It’s beautiful.”

~~So are you, Dianne … John, platonic, remember platonic.~~

* * * *

We took the main staircase to the second floor. There was a sun room, two nicely decorated bedrooms, a living room/parlor and two baths, back-to-back. Several rooms had porches.

“I love this room, I could be happy living here,” Dianne said standing on a porch with an inspiring view of the Bay. I had to agree with her.

* * * *

The third floor had the master bedroom with its huge bed. Dianne’s reaction was unexpected; she broke into a laughing fit.

“W_w_w_who did your aunt buy that bed from, Hugh Heffner? I’d need a tour guide to find my way around it.”

I immediately thought of the Beatles, “Roll up for the Mystery Tour.” ~~Ghod, I sang it out loud!~~

Dianne just kept laughing so I knew I was okay.

“Try it out, I don’t mind.”

“Can I?” I nodded and she leapt onto it. She laid back and rolled around a few times then got off. “I felt like a starlet in some old Hollywood film. That was fun. Lead on Mr. Tour Guide.”

* * * *

The rest of the third floor was a huge master bath complete with a sauna and whirlpool tub, an exorcise room with a rail like in a dance studio, and tons of closet space. Some was my late uncle’s clothes but most were my aunt’s.

“If I thought there were a lot of clothes in the attic, wow.”

“Huh?”

“My aunt has a great collection of vintage clothes in various styles and sizes in storage upstairs. I think she was bisexual and had many live-in female lovers. I guess she wanted me to know all about her. She must have been a free-spirit.”

* * * *

We decided to check out the servant areas before going into the attic. A door off her dressing room led to a small backroom suite that must have belonged to her personal maid. It was small but nicely furnished and was also well stocked with clothes, very recent clothes.

“John, these must have belonged to the Swedish nurse’s aid that befriended me. I recognize many of the outfits. Why did she leave them behind?”

“Her tastes changed or she gained weight?” I suggested.

The suite connected via a utilitarian stairs down all the way, to another small suite on the second floor, the back of the pantry, a door to the back yard of the house and into the basement near the laundry area. All the rooms were clean and had been in use until recently. All had different clothing, so different they had to be from several different people.

The basement servant quarters were different, the room was the only one in the servant *wing* that clearly belonged to a man. He was a big, muscular man from the looks of the clothes and frankly, a little scary. He had a well stocked gun cabinet, his own bar, and all the clothes were very masculine almost to the point of excess. I entered a walk-in closet and I noticed the fetish gear, police hand cuffs, gags lining one wall and I *knew*. Hey I’m not a total dweeb.

“Dianne, don’t look in here. I know who the dungeon belonged to and it wasn’t my aunt from what I’ve seen in this closet.”

“You were saying something to me, John, I … Oh god!”

* * * *

I helped her out of there and back to one of the second floor parlors. I sat next to her on a loveseat in the room and held her while she composed herself.

“Are you going to be okay or should I escort you home?”

“I ... I should have expected that, someone had to be the one behind *that* dungeon. Maybe we should go for a walk, eat out or something until my mind clears. That room was a shock.”

“I’ll make a point of disposing of that stuff, I promise.”

* * * *

We decided to eat in as she was afraid a co-worker might spot her and shame her into working overtime. We had a simple supper, really more a breakfast of an omelet and toast. It went down well despite our nervousness and we felt better.

“Do you want to go home?”

“I’d like to finish the tour. You said the attic is okay?”

“It’s full of women’s clothing, memorabilia and the like, and my aunt’s letter to me.”

“Let’s go before I change my mind.”

* * * *

We walked to the attic and had a look around.

“John, this is the nurses aid who helped me out.”

She showed me the most recent album. It showed photos of a classic Scandinavian blonde. There was a note tucked in the end of the album and it was addressed to me. I took it out of the album and held it.

“Open it up and read it.”

“If you are reading this you have a fair idea of what your aunt was like. There is one additional thing I request you do for me then I will no longer bother you. Please humor you eccentric aunt. In the drawer of the library table is a silver tray, matches and a box of special paper. Put the paper in the IBM typewriter on the table and type out your deepest wish no matter what it is so long as it will harm no one. Wish for blue eyes, wish to have red hair or wish to meet your true love. After typing it, crumple it up in a ball, kiss it, set it on the sliver tray and set fire to the ball as an offering to the powers that be. Remember to say ‘As the Goddess wills, so mote it be’ as you light the offering. Do this for me and you will be as close as you can to understanding me.

“Love, your Aunt Winnie.”

“That was a strange note.”

“It sounds harmless and kind of romantic. Lets both do a wish and burn them together, it beats going home to my empty apartment. My, your aunt had a large collection of type balls. The one in the machine is a standard typeface but in this lacquer-work box there are type balls for Arabic, several for Chinese -- then they have a lot of characters -- high German, Norse and so on. I’ll go first if you don’t mind.”

“Be my guest.”

I left the room and she typed away

“I’m done, John.”

She left and I typed, it was so sappy. “I wish to win Dianne’s love, become her mate and have many healthy children with her.” My obsession was coming back but this was harmless and fun.

“Come in, Dianne, I’m finished.” She returned. “Now we kiss our balls” Dianne exploded with giggles. I lost it too. “I mean we each kiss the paper balls we had typed on.”

We did so and set them on the tray on the desk, there was a small stand in the drawer to raise the tray off the desk.

“Dianne, why don’t you light yours and say the blessing and I will do the same for mine, we do it together?”

She took a match and we stuck them. “As the Goddess wills, so mote it be,” we said in unison and lit our respective paper offerings. The paper burned slowly at first with an odd green flame then they burnt up in a flash of orange smoke.

“Wow, that was interesting, Dianne. Dianne?” she didn’t answer and I lost consciousness.

* * * *

I woke to shouts and someone slapping my face, hard, several times.

“Who the hell are you, bitch and what did to do to me, you sick fucker. I’m bleeding from my vagina and I feel terrible. I’m going to the hospital and if I was drugged and raped you and your sick friends are going to prison.”

“Dianne? It’s me, John!” I said in a sultry and accented voice. I spoke in American English but I was thinking in Chinese, I knew this as sure as I knew day follows night. I also knew I would not and never did put up with being insulted. I was torn between my confused state, my worry that something bad had happened to Dianne, my beloved, and that MY woman had brought me dishonor. Dianne looked distraught and terribly angry. She also seemed better looking than before, as if she’d been given the body of her dreams, she seemed younger and fitter too. The force of the slaps to my face told me she was stronger.

I wanted to console her while the other voice in my head wanted her to obey me, though under that outrage was a strong undercurrent of desire for MY woman. I was me but I was a new me. I was Lil, short for Lillith and I was the dominant woman here though not a mean heartened one. I wanted Dianne but I would let her decide whether to submit to my will.

I grabbed her by her wrists, stood up, pulling her up with me. I looked into her eyes and saw anger, fear, and a growing lust. I knew what to say.

“I am or was John; we are now Lillith.”

“That is so absurd; what a load of horse-shit.”

Believe what you will, Dianne.” She was shocked when I called her by name, if my claiming to have been John was not enough. “Know this, forces are at work here beyond you comprehension. In spite of your fears and the apparent evidence, to my knowledge no one has harmed you. If you wish I can drive you to the hospital. Know this as well, John will not say it but he is in love with you though he has a hard time admitting it to himself. He is too shy and too decent to impose on you. I do not know when he will be back but I felt you need to know. You must also know that from the moment I saw you, I wanted you. You feel much the same I imagine but that is your choice. Now shall we go to the hospital?”

“Get way from me! You come near me I’ll shoot you!” Dianne screamed and ran off.

I felt a mix of emotions, parts of me feared she’d call the police. I was almost frantic that I had lost her. I was bewildered at suddenly being a woman and worried how and if I could change back. *We* were disappointed we had not had sex with Dianne — both Lillith and John to be honest, my transformation into Lillith was eroding my shyness. We wanted Dianne and Lillith knew how to get her.

“That could have gone better. Now what happened to me, how do I make sure I can maintain control of this property when I clearly am no longer a man and … On second thought, sex will have to wait.” Lillith/John was increasingly assertive, sexually aggressive, confident and it felt great.

* * * *

I looked at that note from the latest photo album and something about it triggered a memory. I looked at the type balls again and saw they were all custom when examined close despite their superficial *factory* appearance. The ID marks engraved on them were in an obscure style of shorthand which I knew how to read. John did not know shorthand so it had to be Lillith’s knowledge. I removed the ball from the machine and the engraving read ‘Dianne/John ideal female base forms.” I had fixated on the photos of the Dragon Lady so I became her where as Dianne remained all but unchanged. Her ideal form was much as she had been I guessed. The ball must have engraved itself afterwards.

Looking closely at the type balls in the lacquer-work case showed they all had engraving, each different. My sharp and confident mind translated them into ‘Sharon petite redhead’, ‘Lana voluptuous Massi’, ‘Inga Scandinavian blonde’, ‘Kiki Japanese four foot ten’, ‘Yolanda Mexican pleasingly plump’, ‘Dani dark Hawaiian athletic’ and so on. Two were different one read ‘Marcus Persian male, muscular, aggressive’. I knew at once this was the man from the basement rooms. Last was ‘Lillith erased, Dianne/John male forms idealized.’ I could make no sense of it all thought the last ball seemed to promise a way back to being John.

* * * *
I went to the basement and mixed myself a stiff drink over ice with a splash of chilled tonic water. I was not a barbarian. I went into Marcus’s room, he’d be upset, I knew, but this was important. I — Lillith/John — selected a compact powerful automatic handgun from his gun cabinet. I made sure it was loaded, set the safety and slipped it into a small handbag I had found in one of the wardrobe. I had also put on a suitable outfit for contracting business, a form fitting woman’s power suit with a short skirt, four inch heeled sandals and silk stockings. The outfit shouted ‘Woman” and I was confidant it would give me an edge. I returned to the attic and remembered a floor safe. I dialed the combination and retrieved papers identifying who I was, a current driver’s license and document naming me as John’s power of attorney for all financial matters in his absence.

~~How did I know they were there and know the combination?~~ Not a clue but Lillith/John did and she/we knew my aunt had set these aside for our need. Somehow We knew Winnie was watching out for us from beyond the grave. I put the type balls, special paper and silver tray all in the safe. The typewriter would have to sit out. I knew the secret to the transformations was in the typewriter, the type balls and the odd ceremony but I remained stumped as to how to change back. I wanted to be certain no one could remove the critical pieces needed for any transformations.

* * * *

I walked to my bank and confirmed my balance and that my bank cards were still good. The manager was glad to see me as was the head teller. I knew them well or Lillith did.

“I’ve been out of town but if you want to take it up from where we left off, call me.” It wasn’t ballroom dancing We were referring to, these were two of her conquests and devotees. I learned they had both gotten married since I had last seen them so I released them from their obligation to me. They had been good for Lillith but We had Dianne in our sights.

* * * *

I walked over to the law firm that Winnie used and thus Lillith/John used. I found the lawyer I had spoken to as John. He recognized me and invited me into his office and closed the door behind us.

Lillith, it is so good to see you. It’s been, what, five years?”

“Far longer than that, I’m afraid and time has not been kind to you.”

“That is why I rejoice at your return. How soon can you use the magic on me and make me young again. I was your favorite was I not?”

“You were good in your day but I have found another. You had your day, remember that. I need the address of the developer. I need to convince them to cancel their plans and leave my neighborhood alone. A bit of cleanup and the old houses around my place will be as they were.”

“They are persistent. I could be a powerful ally if I was young again.”

“That will not be. As we were together more and more you changed and not for the better, the power is too much for you. I cannot risk harming you with it corrupting force. I am sorry, I would if I could.”

“I understand, being Marcus was intoxicating, I was loosing myself to him. This is the name and address of the project manager. Good luck.”

* * * *

I felt bad about him but Marcus was beyond anyone’s control for long. He had nearly overcome us women so we decided to ban him until a suitable candidate was found but no one ever was until now. ~~How do I know that? This is infuriating knowing and not knowing,~ For a moment Lillith and John’s personalities agreed completely. We put that out of our head and concentrated on convincing the developer to back off or at least scale way back. A small luxury hotel might be good for the neighborhood but not the monster.

I went to the address my lawyer had given me but the developer and project director were out to lunch, literally. I consoled my self by teasing the receptionist shamelessly. She was a looker if you like bottle blondes but then we, no, *I* like all kinds of women and occasionally men. I shocked my John persona but I’m Lillith and this is who I am, I am female triumphant. I felt John’s voice getting weaker, the desire to be a man fading yet I was not myself. I actually felt guilty teasing that girl and disparaging her use of hair dye even if only in my mind was mean spirited. I went back and apologized to her for coming on to her and offered to buy her lunch, ME!? I left the receptionist and walked back towards my home. I spoke out loud. “What is wrong with me? That young blonde wanna be deserved to be teased. The dark roots showing and cheep pushup bra demanded it. But she is young and trying to fit into a cruel world. The breast fairy is not always as generous as she was with me. With a little coaching I’d bet she’d be a great lay. Damn it, women are not cattle to be paid for and disposed of. God what did I say?” Fortunately no one overheard.

~~Something is very wrong with me I, am Lillith, I am strong, I am ruthless … And I want to take Dianne in my arms and keep her safe from the World. I want us to have the other’s babies, many of them. I want her to be my wife and partner. Oh, shit, I knew this might happen but it never is this quick. I am becoming him and him me. We are merging and I can’t, don’t want to stop it.~~

I got home, reset the alarm and researched how to get out of this mess. I had made some progress when I fell asleep in the attic. I woke as the sun bathed my face thought the half-moon window. I took a long shower, exploring this body I had not inhabited in years. No, that’s not right; part of me had never been her so we both became acquainted. My body felt much as before but the sensations were new and fresh again. I felt greater joy in how my body responded and I was eager to try it out with my love, Dianne.

This new Lillith would take getting used to but I liked her. She was still confident, sensual and sexually charged, perhaps even more than before. I was forceful and commanding but more considerate of others. I did not wish to abuse my power over others. I put on some soft under things, some form fitting jeans much like Dianne’s and a simple top. White tennis shoe fit the causal college girl look.

* * * *

I had spent the morning cleaning the house when the front door bell rang. I went to answer it mindful I was a woman alone. I opened the door to Dianne.

“May I come in, Lillith was it?” Dianne sounded unsure and remorseful. Her eyes were puffy and she seemed off somehow.

“What’s wrong? I’m sorry if I came off all bitchy on you but you did yell at me, Dianne.”

“What did you do to me? I’m asking calmly, I need to know.”

“You and John were maneuvered into activating a magic device. The Typewriter is capable of transforming a person physically and mentally. Sometimes it uses preset body templates. This time a special spell read your minds and granted your wishes. John wished, “I wish to win Dianne’s love, become her mate and have many healthy children with her.” Somehow that translated into him becoming me. His personality is one with mine but there may be a way to separate us. You seemed little changed, what was your wish?”

“I wished to become the woman I always prayed I was.”

“You wished to be yourself except maybe a few years younger and a little prettier?”

“I wished to be real. I was transgender, I was born a male. You are really John under that Asian beauty?”

“Mostly, though I am an amalgam of John and of the previous holders of this form. Many generations of the women on John’s maternal side have used these magic tokens. The magic remains the same, perhaps slightly strengthened over time; the form of the tokens has not remained unchanged. Long ago they were women’s clothing pins, jewelry, coins, amulets, and so on. The form is not important. They can be remade into whatever form suits the era they are in.

“I ... Forgive me, Dianne, you said you were a man?”

“I was, the story of my life is much as I described it to you except the health issues that delayed my college and that drained my finances …?”

“SRS surgeries?”

“Yes, the real life trial, hormone therapy, surgeries all took time and money but I was whole or as near as I could be.”

“Was? Dianne what is it?”

“I was bleeding when I woke next to you. I thought I’d been drugged and raped?”

“Yes, you were most upset.”

“tI was the start of my menstrual cycle. The strange feelings, the cramping and bleeding were my period.”

“You were intersexed? You had bits of both and all the years of hormones matured your female organs, Dianne? This is wonderful. Why are you grinning?”

“I was male in my body, female in my mind. I said I typed, ‘I wish to become the woman I always prayed I was.’ That is what happened. The magic that made you a woman made me into a real woman as well. My doctors gave me an MRI, and blood work and were astounded. The assumed I must have had vestigial organs that matured and somehow hooked them selves up correctly. I don’t believe that one.

“The alternatives were I’d had a womb transplant or that, would you believe, magic transformed me. The tests on the cell scrapings from my cervix proved to be all mine. The only way this could have happened had to be you.” Dianne move up to me, hugged me with all her strength and kissed me, on the lips. I responded.

“Dianne,” I tried to say but our lips were shmushed together. Dianne was one fine kisser. The kissing got more involved, that progressed to stroking and petting in addition to the Frenching. It wasn’t me, not entirely, it was Dianne. The new and improved Dianne wanted to say thanks and knew how to do it.

It was late at night, we were in my aunt’s huge bed and she had wore me out. I Lillith was exhausted and she wanted more!

“Dianne, honey, I am pleased beyond imagination you have chosen to make love to me but is this love or is it gratitude? I don’t want to hurt you and the Lillith side of me says you were the best she can remember in ages and she’s been around a long time. The body was based on a Ming dynasty princess famous for her beauty.”

“I was that good?” she sounded pleased.

“Hon, you wore me out.”

“What do we do next? I want children but men, sex with them, scares me. What about your property, the house? It’s all in John’s name, isn’t it?”

“My aunt anticipated this or the magic did. I have power of attorney for all of his financial matters in his absence and I think I know how to bring him back. We will find a way.”

* * * *

“You are all wondering what happened. Did I figure out how to change me back into John yet not remove the blessing of womanhood from Dianne? Did we stay together? Did we marry and did her landlord organize the reception? Did the lawyer betray/blackmail me to force us to make him young and virile again? Did Dianne overcome her fear of men enough to become pregnant with John’s child or did other methods and/or turkey basters have to be used? Did Dianne take male form and impregnate me, Lillith? And if Dianne did so, as whom did she do it, himself, Marcus, John? What of all the other type balls and the pushy hotel developer?”

“Mom, you know we know the story, we all do”

“You too Mom. You’ll make us all late for the prom. Please don’t embarrass our boyfriends like that.”

“Sara, Beth, you’d better behave yourselves. Don’t make Mom Dianne or me angry. And how can you be late when the prom is pavilion in the park next to us? What a nice man that developer turned into.”

“Don’t tell Sara or Beth we turned him into a prostitute for a month,” my wife whispered.

“Yeah, that’s need-to-know. But my old lawyer is happy but then she is making three times what he did headlining at the strip club. Who’d have thought he’d beg us to stay like that,” I whispered back to my love.

“You aren’t coming to the prom, are you? Its bad enough our moms look like our older sisters but pregnant, both of you?” Beth whined.

.”But it’s a mother’s duty to embarrass her child in front of her friends, Right Lillith?”

“Absolutely.”

* * * *
The End. Probably?

Sorry it was a rush job and my good proofer friends were unable to give it a going over. My muse was being naughty. Best of luck to all in the contest entrants and Bob I am working on the you-know-what story, honest.