Things have been kind of quiet around the Old Gods Home when a couple of young punks on Earth decide to desecrate an image of the almost forgotten fertility goddess Sheela-Na-Gig. With a little help from her retired buddies she still has enough power to give the punks a lesson in femininity.
Eternity had been quiet in the God's card room at The Home. It always was. Whenever someone new joined the group it was a nine eon's wonder, but since that meant the poor deity had lost so many followers he no longer had a place in the current pantheon of the real world it reminded the current denizens of their own misfortune.
The place was pretty nice, actually. A professional decorator would have been scandalized by the way the retired deities had stuffed millennia of traditions and artworks into one area without regard for the overall aesthetic, but Godhood had it's prerogatives. Occasional shifting alliances had prevented some of the most egregious mistakes, like the time one of the Native American types had tried to recreate his sacred mountain in the library. Cooler heads has prevailed and he was convinced to move it to the gym, where objects for climbing were more appropriate. Besides, the flashier folks like to do cannon balls from the summit into Neptune's more-than-Olympic-sized pool.
Since there was so much supernatural energy concentrated in one place it was child's play to keep the place up to modern standards. The microwave oven had been greeted happily by everyone but Vulcan, who just couldn't get used to heat without fire. The ancient types really appreciated how easy it was to come up with burnt offerings without all the hassle of starting a fire and overloading the air conditioning.
Despite arguments between the Chinese and Egyptian contingents about who invented them, playing cards had been the favorite pastime at The Home until Television was invented. This had been a major cause for dissention as TV became more popular. The first TV had had been settled in the card room and pretty soon it distracted enough players that the games went to Hell, or where wherever the complaining deity considered the most unpleasant place in the universe. It wasn't long before a lightning bolt fried the first set. A coalition of love goddesses defused the situation by suggesting a new room be created for the infernal thing.
The love goddesses were surprised and pleased at how many humans eventually invoked their aspects in front of the tube, but that's another story.
The deities had soon realized that some ground rules were needed to keep card games from devolving into Holy War. The deities of luck had their own table; Rome's Fortuna, China's Fu-Xing and Finland's Leob-Olmai had been in a marathon game of Rummy since the game was invented. Half a dozen who counted Oracular Pronouncements among their Aspects had been arguing about who had already won the game for so long the deck was covered in the dust of ages.
Over at the poker table, fertility goddesses Sheela-Na-Gig, Akka, and Barrahgnooloo had challenged the fertility gods Ba, Eros and Jurawadbad to a game of strip poker, Texas-hold'em rules. The goddesses swore that their period costumes were a tribute to the game, but garters, corsets and all those petticoats gave them an advantage over the gods in their traditional loincloths. It didn't matter much anyway, everyone knew they would all end up in the Orgy Room to exercise their Aspects. Vigorously!
Sheela-Na-Gig was just ready to surprise her opponents with a full house when a shudder ran through her body.
"A curse on those asshole teenagers! May their little pink pricks shrivel and drop off!"
"Hey Sheena baby, what's got into you? asked Eros.
"Not what you want to put in me, baby." She sneered. "Some punk teenager is shoving his finger up my snatch again. Why in Creation did all those sculptors have to show me with my slit wide open for every young punk to play with?"
"They knew you, sweetheart. They never saw you posed any other way."
"Up yours, Jura-baddy."
"Not with what I got in my hand. I know what you usually have in your hand Ba, but I ain't offering anything better." They got back to the game. "I'm going to raise you all five." Sheela-Na-Gig challenged.
Just as Sheela-Na-Gig was raking in the pot she jumped up and screamed, grabbing her crotch.
"That son of a bitch is using his lighter! That's it, that fucker is toast. Lend me some energy, boys, I'm going to make that bastard regret he was born."
Her fellow deities were only too happy to pool their powers, having experienced such disrespect in the eons since they retired. They could still break through to the real world with a bit of effort when they cooperated and this seemed like a good time to do it.
Sheela-Na-Gig concentrated and then smiled beatifically. "That should do it!" she grinned.
Brent found himself lying on the ground. His ears were still ringing and his hand hurt like hell.
"Hey Brent! Brent! You OK?"
Carl was starting to panic. Brent's arm looked funny and his hand was all red with burns. A few seconds before Carl had been holding Brent on his shoulders while he was making a smoke plume from the twat on that carving on a church, then the world had gone "BANG" and he was flat on his ass.
"Shit! The fucking lighter exploded on me!" Brent whined. He tried to look at his hand to see what damage there was but moving his arm caused a fresh explosion of pain.
"Christ, I think it's broken!" his voice sounded dim in his ears after the explosion. "What the hell are we going to do?"
They were both supposed to be back in the hotel room while his parents were at some effen party that they couldn't go to. Still treating him like a kid even though he was 17. Two more effin months and he'd be 18 and they couldn't tell him what to do any more. He had tried to stay home while his parents toured Europe while Dad did some business this summer, but they wouldn't hear it. Damn! A whole summer to do what he wanted without the old fogeys around! The best he could do was to talk them into letting Carl come along so he wouldn't be bored out of his gourd while Mom fucked around with culture and dad did his Big Business crap.
Carl dragged him up off the ground
"Fuck, man. You look like shit. Can you move your hand?"
Brent tried. If Carl weren't there Brent would have cried at the pain, but no way he could do that in front of him. A wave of nausea rolled over him and he puked right then and there. Christ, Carl was going to think he was a fucking sissy.
"Hey man, we better get back to the hotel." Carl told him. "You need a doctor, they got to have one somewhere."
The walk hurt like hell and the old bastard at the desk looked like the smug English asshole he was. He's already pissed Brent off more than once, telling him what to do and not letting him into the dining room without a fucking tie at dinner. Old prig! The English said stuff like that; prig, bobby, water closet. Couldn't even talk right.
They tried to give him some crap about calling his parents, but he told the asswipes he was 18 and didn't need his parents to do anything. Just take him to the hospital, he demanded. For Christ sake they didn't even know enough to say 'go to The Hospital', it was just 'go to hospital'.
They still made him call his folks on the cell phone and then they had to go all crazy when they got to the place. He sat on his ass forever, that much was like the way they did it at home. The time he'd sliced his leg he sat in the fucking ER for hours with a cloth on the cut before they looked at him.
They finally took him into a room and the doctor was some chick who looked like she wasn't any older than him. She could have been hot if she weren't wearing that white shapeless crap that doctors wear. They x-rayed him then shot him full of juice and set the arm. The chick doctor looked like she enjoyed pulling on his arm while he tried not to let her know it hurt. At least it wasn't hurting so bad by then. They slathered some crap on his burned hand and gave him some pain pills and a whole list of stuff to do then pushed him out the door.
Carl was making time with a couple of chicks in the waiting room and his dad was looking really pissed when he got out. Carl must have gotten the chick's phone numbers out of them because he slipped a piece of paper into his pocket before he left. When they got back to the hotel Mom got all blubbery again and Dad just shook his head. No way he told them what he was doing when he broke his arm; he just fell, that's all. Good thing they didn't ask where he was when he fell.
Sheela-Na-Gig finished pulling the pot to her and looked insufferably smug. By now nobody was paying too much attention to the cards and she was quite pleased with herself. One more petticoat and Eros was going to be so distracted by looking up Akka's quim that he'd be naked in no time. She made a note to keep track of those smart ass kids and enjoy her revenge, then want back to the game.
Eros surprised her by staying in the game longer than she thought. What he did to her in the Orgy Room wasn't a surprise, but it was a great way to forget what that punk had been trying to shove way into her.
Brent woke up needing to take a piss so bad his crotch hurt. He threw the covers back and headed for the bathroom, cradling his cast tightly to his chest. Damned if his pajama pants didn't fall down halfway there and nearly make him fall again. This was going to be a fucking great day!
When he hit the toilet he couldn't make his rod point the right way with his left hand and managed to piss all over himself and the bathroom. It was almost as if his prick was trying to hide itself. That made him take another shower, trying to keep the cast from getting wet. The doctor bitch had warned him about that a dozen times, telling him he would turn green or get an infection or something. Six weeks!
Good thing he liked the skinhead look, he didn't have to wash his hair with the fucking cast on. He put his hand to his skull.
"What the fuck?" he muttered. His head was fuzzy, he had just shaved it yesterday, it should be good for a week or two before he needed to do it again. Before he could do much more than wonder he suddenly had to sit on the throne with the worst fucking case of the shits he had ever known. Christ, half of his body must have gone down the fucking water closet.
When he'd finally flushed for what seemed like the hundredth time he took long look in the mirror and knew he had to shave the fuzz off his head, it looked silly. He had just discovered that there is no way to shave the right side of your skull with your left hand, when Carl started pounding on the door.
"Brent!" BAM BAM BAM "Brent! I gotta get in there NOW." BAM BAM BAM
"Hold your horses. I'm almost done." What was he going to do with his head?
BAM BAM BAM
"Now Brent! I gotta shit RIGHT NOW!"
Well, at least he wasn't alone. Must have been something they ate yesterday. He opened the door and Carl was standing there with his pajamas around his ankles. He was in such a hurry he didn't even look at Brent's half shaved head. From the sounds that came through the door Carl was in worse shape than he was.
The both of them spent the day in bed, taking turns running for the bathroom and feeling like crap. That was weird. Considering all the crap that was coming out of them there shouldn't have been enough left to make them feel like crap. One of his teachers always said that there was an endless supply of crap in universe and if they ever ran out the government could take over and nobody would notice for a hundred years.
Maybe he was right.
At least Carl had finished shaving his head for him without being too much of a pain. That afternoon his legs started aching; major cramps in his calves were agony. Half an hour later Carl started moaning, too. Mom did her worried thing but when she rubbed his legs it made things a lot better. She used to rub him when he was a little kid, he had forgotten how nice it was. If only his body wasn't hurting so much it might have been pretty nice.
They both fell asleep early, but they both wore a path to the pot every couple of hours. He sat down to piss, he wasn't going to take a chance of pissing on himself again and having to sleep in it. Damn it was hard to point his prick the right way.
The next day was more of the same. Damned if his hair hadn't grown back overnight, it looked like he had a brush cut! What the hell kind of food poisoning made your hair grow? Mom got all worried and took them to the hospital to have them looked at. They only waited long enough for Brent to have to shit twice before they saw him. Christ, were all the doctors in this effin country chicks? At least this one was old enough to maybe know something.
He went through the whole weighing and measuring routine again, then told the doc what was happening. She looked at his papers and frowned.
"Damn incompetent help. This says you were 10 centimeters taller and more than a stone heavier when you were in here the other night. They just can't seem to get anything right on the night shift. The tests don't show anything that's going to kill you, at lest not right away, so I'll give you some quinine for the cramps and some stuff to slow down diarrhea and let you get some rest. Just stay in bed and be sure you get enough fluids. Dehydration is a real problem with diarrhea and that can kill you, so take it seriously. How's the cast?"
"It itches, but I haven't really noticed, I feel so lousy."
"I suppose there's a little good in everything. Let me see." The doctor checked the cast. "This thing is so loose it's about to fall off. Are they complete idiots on the night shift? Forget I said that, I don't want to start a fuss. I'd better replace the cast with one that fits and you can get out of here."
By the time they reached the hotel both of them were as weak as kittens. The agony continued unabated as they fought for time on the pot. The housekeeping staff were not amused in the morning, the place stunk like a sewer. At one time Brett wouldn't have cared what they thought, but he and Carl had to live with the stench. So much for the nose learning to ignore odors after a while.
Brent's mother Claire politely ignored the odor and worried about the children. Should she call Carl's family and let them know? They both looked so weak and faded. What would telling them do besides make them sick with sorry, she was doing enough worrying for both families. She was even worried enough not to mind the wreck of her carefully crafted travel schedule. Brent's father had gone on ahead so he could attend the meetings he had scheduled, so she called him and gave vent to her worries.
Brent was doing his own worrying. He wasn't about to tell his mother just how sick he felt, he knew he would have to go back to the quack at the hospital again and he didn't want to do that. Besides all the other shit, his nipples were starting to itch like mad, and he sure wasn't going to discuss THAT with his mother!
At least he was feeling well enough by the third night to take a shower. With all the sweating and crapping he must smell like an ox. Not that he'd ever smelled an ox, but he had visited a barnyard and had a pretty good idea what one would smell like. At least someone had found some plastic to wrap his cast in so it wouldn't get wet.
The water felt good, but when he took his head out of the soothing stream the water dripped from his hair. The damn stuff was still growing, it had to be almost an inch long! For that matter, Carl's usual haircut was looking mighty shaggy. If he could figure out why, he could make a fortune selling it to bald old geezers.
He lathered himself up and scrubbed down his pits and crotch, but something felt wrong. Could food poisoning make your dick shrink? Hah — hair growing and dick shrinking. Would an old geezer be willing to put up with no prick if he could have hair? Some side effect!
Nah — he just must be so out of it from all the crapping he wasn't thinking straight. When the time came his little buddy would be right there with him. Not that he'd ever fired a live round, much as he'd tried. So far only solo war games. To bad he felt so lousy or he might have fun in the shower.
When he dried himself off he had to pat his chest dry. Dragging the scratchy hotel towel across his nipples just plain hurt! Damn cheap hotels. Couldn't they afford better linens?
He wasn't about to put his stinking pajamas back on, so he went out to the room and got a new pair from the suitcase. Carl was watching a DVD but turned to look at him as he came out. His face reflected his shock.
"Um... Don't take this wrong but unh... I mean are you noticing anything different about the family jewels?"
"Whatta mean?" Brent didn't like this one bit.
"Like, I mean does it feel like they're shrinking? Brent, I can hardly find my prick, and you don't look like you used to, either."
"What kind of shit is this? It's just 'cause we been sick. Nothing's changed, bubba. The girls are still in awe of whatever I give them, don't you worry."
But he did worry.
"Yeah, I guess it's just 'cause we're sick."
Brent put on the pajama tops but he could practically swim in them. The sleeves ended four inches below his fingers, for chrissakes. And the pants, he had to find a pin to keep them around his waist. He had to roll the cuffs half a dozen times to keep from stepping on them. And the cast was feeling loose again. What the hell was going on?
It was a bitch playing water polo with Neptune on the other team. The slimy bastard kept turning into a fish and swiping the ball. At least they had made him put down that damned trident before it deflated their entire supply of balls. Sheela-Na-Gig called time and decided threw in her ringer. Adaro was an oceanic daemon and ought to neutralize the old bugger. Adaro dove in and the ref blew the whistle. As soon as Adaro got the ball in his crablike pincers he created a waterspout and was at the opposing goal before anyone knew what was happening. Maybe she could get her hero to spout something else for her in the Orgy Room after the game, just as long as he kept those big horns away from her. Hah — she had plenty of experience at handling horny males, be they humans or deities.
The game was theirs after that. She deftly invited the old fish to the Orgy Room for a celebration and was blowing in his ear and looking forward to blowing other parts of him when Eros gave her butt a pinch.
"Looks like you're about to get something better than a lighter between those pretty little lips." He sneered. One look at Adaro and that was self evident. " What did you ever do to that creep that was trying to light your fire, Sheela baby?"
"He'll be finding out what I felt like in a few days, lover boy. Right now he should be smelling like a latrine and wondering where his dick went. Speaking of dicks, I have a good idea where yours can go, fish face. Come to mamma, it's spawning season!"
That night there were fewer trips to the bathroom, but they both woke several times feeling their bladders were about to burst. Brent made a vow that he would never again use the epithet 'piss on it' for the rest of his life. He had damn well pissed enough for the rest of his life.
This time when he showered, his hair was in his eyes. He scrubbed off his upper body but was reluctant to soap up his crotch. When he finally did it was obvious that, even left handed, that his balls were practically gone and his prick could hardly be seen. What was he going to do? He couldn't tell anybody about this, it was too embarrassing!
Carl had asked the other night, but how could he admit to him that he was a fucking eunuch? What was happening to Carl?
"Hey Carl!" he hollered, opening the bathroom door. C'mere a minute."
"I want you to swear you'll never breath a word of this to anyone. Swear it!"
"OK, I swear on a stack of dirty sweat socks. What's up?"
I mean it, Carl. What you asked the other night, you were right. Look at me!.
"Shit! Brent, me too. There's nothing there any more."
Carl dropped his pants and Brent noticed he had a pin in his waistband, too. There was barely a bump underneath Carl's pubic hair.
"How the hell do you piss? Brent exclaimed.
"I gotta sit down now. Brent, what's happening? They didn't tell us about this in Health Class."
"They don't tell you a lot of things in school."
"Man, we gotta go see that doctor." Carl was adamant
"Are you outta your mind. No way I'm showing some effin chick doctor my prick is shrinking.".
What the fuck? His voice had cracked like it did when it broke. That was years ago, what was going on?
"Yeah, maybe you're right but something is really wrong. Jesus Brent, what's going on? I know when you get as sick as this you lose weight, but you gotta be six inches shorter. I never heard of any disease that makes you shorter."
"Me either. And look at our hair! Yours gets any longer and you'll be an effin girl."
"Don't say that, Brent. It's bad enough my prick is shrinking but I don't want to be no effin girl!"
"Hey man, I'm going back to bed. I still feel like crap and I want to lay down."
"Me too. We gotta get better sometime. It's gonna be OK, we're just sick is all."
That evening the cramps started. It wasn't bad at first, nowhere near as bad as the last couple of days squatting on the throne and shitting their guts out. A dull steady ache that wouldn't go away, then slow, rolling waves across their bellies. The full bladder feeling intensified but neither on them could piss to save their lives. Sleep finally came but it was little more than restless unconsciousness.
Claire came in the next morning, hoping to find the boys feeling better. She was cheered that their room no longer smelled like an outhouse, they must be getting better. With a common bath between the bedrooms of the suite, she shared far too much of the sickroom odor.
"Good morning, boys!" she was determined to be cheerful. "Are you feeling better?"
"I still feel like crap, Ma." Brent was in too much pain to be diplomatic, not that his tough guy image led him to diplomacy very often.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Do you want any breakfast? You've hardly eaten anything since you got sick."
"Hell no!" moaned Carl. "It feels like my stomach is trying to climb out of my navel as it is. Ohhhh..." he moaned.
She went over to his bed. The boy looked so pale and shrunken, Brent did too. Carl's hair was all tangled and stringy from the effects of his illness, the poor boy looked like death warmed over.
Hair? My god, Brent's hair was a couple of inches long! She had just about killed him when he shaved his head. She knew he did it just to get her upset and it had worked. She and her husband had decided the best way to handle it was to ignore it and not let him get the satisfaction of shocking them. But now it had grown back in a mater of days. What was going on?
"I'm going to make an appointment for you at the clinic the hospital referred us to. I want you boys to take a shower and clean up. I'll let you know when they can take us. She kissed Brent, who was feeling lousy enough that he didn't even mind, and left the room.
"Still the same old Mom, ain't she?" Brent commented.
"Yeah, parents never change."
"They're gone, my family jewels are just plain gone."
"Mine too. What are we going to do, Brent?"
"I don't know. Maybe the doctor ..."
"No way. I ain't having no effin doctor treat me like a freak and poke things into me." He was trying to sound tough but the groan that followed his outburst diluted the effect considerably. "Christ! I feel like there's an effin alien growing in my guts and trying to get out!"
"I was thinking someone was trying to blow up a basketball in mine, but I like the alien bit better. Everything aches."
"Well, at least we aren't fighting over who has the shit the worst any more."
"I guess that's a good thing. Your Mom's right, I do need a shower. See you in a few, Brent."
He went off to the bathroom and closed the door. He couldn't help it, he had to look at himself in the mirror. He was enough shorter now that he had to step back from it to see his whole body. His face looked different, rounder and fuller, which was strange with all the weight he had lost. His crotch was as smooth as any porn star chicks he had seen in the DVDs his dad thought he had hidden in the garage. For that matter, there was no doubt that his hips were much larger and his waist was much smaller. There was no way to deny it, the mirror didn't lie. He shuddered as he sat down and tried once again to piss in vain.
The hot water felt good, especially on his chest. It was all puffy and red and itched. When he lathered his strangely smooth crotch he wondered what he was going to do. He could feel the little hole where he was supposed to piss out of. If he could ever piss again, that is. It was right above a crease that his finger could slip into just a little bit. This was getting too weird for words.
He felt better after the shower. Rather than put on the sweat soaked pajamas he wrapped a towel around himself. Not that Brent hadn't seen him naked before, but he was suddenly ashamed of the way his hips looked, well, like a girl's. Fortunately Brent went into the shitter as soon as he left, so he didn't have to figure out how to change without him seeing.
His clothes just plain didn't fit any more. He could barely get his underwear on over his enlarged hips and he had to pull his belt to the last notch to get the pants to say on him. What had once been baggy jeans were almost tight on his hips and very loose in the waist. The now oversized T-shirt hid most of that, but what was he going to do?
Brent repeated the scene in the bathroom almost exactly as Carl had, the only difference being he had to use his left hand to explore himself while his too loose cast was covered in plastic. He hadn't even thought about the broken arm with all the rest of the shit he had gone through in the last couple of days. It didn't even hurt any more. He must not have been careful enough wrapping it in the plastic, it had gotten wet and felt all slimy. With only a little bit of effort it slid right off his arm. They might not be able to cure the shits over here, but they must know something about treating broken arms if it healed this fast.
He was relieved to see that Carl had left the room, little realizing that his buddy had gone through the exact same exercise only minutes before.
When he got to the living room of the suite his mother took one look at him and turned white. "Brent!" She grabbed him and hugged him, which was completely unnerving. He had long since grown to tower over his mother, now she was taller than he was. "Your cast! Bent, where's your cast?"
"It fell off Mom. It doesn't hurt. Really."
"What's going on, Brent? This is all so crazy!"
Sheela-Na-Gig was relaxing in the Lounge watching "The Gods Must Be Crazy" for about the millionth time. Ever since it came out it had become a favorite in The Home. Just as the bottle went flying into the air she felt a pair of strong hands of on her shoulders.
"Ohhhhh.... Let me hit the pause button but don't you dare stop!"
She had no idea who it was but as a goddess she realized the power of worship.
"I abase myself before the power of your mighty hands, my Lord. Pray shower thy servant with your blessings and move a little more to the left."
Her prayers were granted as the powerful fingers found the exact right spot. Maybe those pesky Christians were right about Heaven after all. As she relaxed into the massage she felt breath as hot as an Egyptian desert wind caress her ear, followed by a nuzzle on her ear lobe.
"Petbe, you old devil, you haven't been around in an eternity! How does a poor, little Celtic goddess of fertility rate such treatment from the God of Revenge?"
"Why, to express my admiration for your creativity and panache, dear lady. The word has gotten 'round about your little payback on those two JDs. I couldn't have done better myself."
"Not bad for spur of the moment, if I do say so myself. I just kind of lost it with those twerps. Flick me with a Bic, will they? Right about now they should be looking up the work 'eunuch' in the dictionary, that is if the buggers know how to read. Might be almost better if they had to ask their mommies what it means."
"Sweet, my dear. Almost as sweet as your lovely melons." His hands descended to her breasts and checked their freshness."
"Mmmmm. Just a little to the right, big boy. Yes! Just one thing, my Pet."
"And that is?"
"This is a personal interest and not professional?"
"I intend to get quite personal, my dear. You deserve a reward for your aid to my cause, as it were."
Unlike many of his colleagues, Petbe was a God of his Word.
Sitting in the waiting room of the clinic wasn't any better than the waiting room of the hospital, but at least he didn't have to run to take a shit every fifteen minutes this time. Neither one of them had wanted to leave the hotel room, but Brent's mother had insisted. It was embarrassing to go out looking like this, people were going to laugh at them. One thing sure, the damned doctor wasn't going to be taking a look at Brent's crotch. Where the hell had his cock gone?
They were sitting there waiting for the doctor when Carl's stomach started to growl and he suddenly felt hungry for the first time in days. He tried to ignore it but, damn he was hungry.
"Hey mom, you got any change?" Brent asked. "I'm getting hungry all of a sudden."
"Me too!" added Carl.
In no time the two were attacking the vending machine and loading up on fatty snacks, much to the dismay of Brent's mother. They should be eating healthy food after days without a meal, but the vending machine was all that was available. She even had to ask the receptionist for change when they weren't satisfied.
When the doctor finally saw Brent he had some difficulty keeping his professional face intact, if this was a boy he must have flunked gross anatomy. Goddam Americans, they were all insane. Well, no matter, the workup said the kid had broken his arm. In order to satisfy the mother he had to order an x-ray, but as far as he could tell the arm was in fine shape. Overprotective woman, that break had to be months old. Other than that the kid looked as good as she should after a bout of the flu.
On the way back to the hotel, Claire stopped and fed the boys, who ate like ravenous wolves. They must have been starving after being so ill for so long.
"Milk? You haven't had a glass of milk in ages, Brent." Claire was agast.
"It just tastes good, Mom. See, Carl is having milk, too. I'd forgotten just how good it was. Can I get another glass?"
"Me too!" Carl requested between forkfuls of mashed potato.
It was nice to have the boys feeling more like themselves, but it still wasn't right that their illness had changed them so much.
The scene was repeated at dinner time, and again at breakfast, both of the boys guzzling milk and eating an amazing amount, even for teenage boys. If they didn't stop soon Brent wouldn't fit into his pants, he was already awfully tight about the hips and so was Carl.
As the boys sat and watched yet another DVD, Brent couldn't help but noticing Carl kept shifting position and wiggling in his chair.
"You gotta shit again? We can hit the pause button." Brent offered.
"Nah, I just ache like hell. Must have eaten too much, I'm getting all cramped up again."
"Me too, but it ain't so bad. Not like last time. Better than the shits."
"I don't know. Feels like something's kicking inside my gut."
"Ignore it, we don't want to have to see no effin doctor again."
"Too right! What did the doctor do to you?
"Just looked at me funny. I don't know how it happened, but my arm is as good as new."
"Well, the rest of us is awful damn new, too. What are we going to do when we get home? If we take our clothes off in PE we wouldn't get out of there alive!"
"Jesus, I never thought of that!" Brent exclaimed.
"Brent, we look like fucking girls down there. All we need is boobs and we're doomed.
"Christ, Carl, don't make things worse. We got enough trouble already."
"We're both shorter than your mom now, Brent, and I don't think I'm going to be able to wear these jeans much longer. What the hell am I going to wear?"
"You can wear mine, I was bigger than you before ... before ... well, before whatever it is that happened to us."
"Brent old buddy, you barely can pull those jeans around your fat ass any more, either."
"Shut up and start the movie again. I don't want to talk about it any more.
Their appetites continued unabated for the rest of the day, both of them craving milk and cheese and high fat goodies. Brent convinced his mother to order room service so they wouldn't have to go out of the room and she humored them. The cramps lessened but didn't go away, and by the time the boys went to bed both of them were scratching their chests and getting mighty sick of the itching.
They slept restlessly and Brent was the first to get to the bathroom. When he sat down to piss he knew something was very wrong. Gingerly he prodded his crotch and felt his finger slip between the folds of flesh below the spot where he had been pissing from. His finger went in up to the first knuckle!
Carl, who had been the more laid back and accepting of the two boys just plain lost it.
"Brent! Jesus Brent, help me!"
Brent came running through the bathroom door.
"Brent, I got a fucking slit! We're turning into girls, Brent. I got a fucking goddam slit and I can put my finger in it!"
"You're fucked up, man. It can't happen."
"The hell it can't! You checked yourself out yet? It's happening to both of us. Go see what you got down there if you don't believe me."
"You know I ain't got shit down there any more. I don't have to look."
"I bet you got less than shit now, Brent." He got off the toilet. "Sit down and see. Go ahead."
"Wanna bet you're just completely fucked up?"
"No way. I won't look if you want." Carl turned his head away and tried to be as tactful as a 17 year old boy could be.
"Look all you want, old buddy. Brent confidently probed his crotch with a finger and it slipped inside without any effort."
"Holy fuck. This can't be happening!"
"BOYS!" Claire was knocking on the bathroom door that opened on her part of the suite. "Are you boys all right?"
"We're fine, Mom!" No way he was going to admit this. No effin way!
"You're sure? You're making a lot of noise in there."
"Just horsing around. We're fine."
"OK, then. Get dressed for breakfast, I'm getting hungry."
"OK Mom. Just a minute."
They quickly left the bathroom so Claire couldn't hear them talking.
"I'm starving again, let's figure this out later. Like after breakfast." Carl said.
"Suits me. Let's get dressed."
But that presented its own problems. There was no way either one of them could fit into their old underwear, their hips were too big, nor could they get their pants over their hips. They finally struggled into them and left them unzipped, hoping to cover them with long T-shirts. How long that would last they didn't know, but what else could they do?
Brent pulled off his pajama tops and groaned
"I don't fucking believe it. What's happening to us Carl? I got fucking boobs."
Carl looked at him and sure enough, there were small but definite breasts on Brent's chest. Not liking what he knew he was going to find he removed his own top. Sure as shit, there were a pair of little breasts on him, too.
"We can't hide this much longer, Brent. We're going to have to tell your Mom sometime."
"Not a chance! Are you out of your mind?"
"Yeah, I'm out of my mind. How else could we be turning into goddam girls?"
"Let's worry about it after breakfast, I'm starving again."
Claire didn't know what to say when the boys came out of their room. It was all wrong, they both had hair down to their shoulders and their clothes didn't fit right. They didn't even walk right. If she didn't know that it was her son she would have taken them for a couple of girls who had absolutely no fashion sense. This just wasn't right!
But Brent was so prickly she didn't say anything to them, she didn't want to start an argument. What was she going to do when Harold got back? He was going to be terribly upset!
So she just took them to a place a couple of blocks from the hotel for breakfast and they again ate like lumberjacks, drinking glass after glass of milk. They immediately retreated to their room when they got back to the hotel. She ordered room service for lunch in order to keep them happy, but she was determined to get a decent meal for dinner. With trepidation she turned a deaf ear to their pleading and told them to get dressed for dinner or else.
They couldn't do it. Like the proverbial elephant on the table there was absolutely no way they could politely ignore the changes that were happening. By dinner time there was simply no doubt that her son was in desperate need of a bra when he sheepishly came out of the bedroom.
"Brent! What's happening to you?"
"Nothing!" he growled, or would have if his voice were not changing so radically. No matter what was happening to his body his spirit was that of a rebellious young man who knew he couldn't give an inch without loosing face.
"Don't hand me that crap, Brent! Something is happening to you and Carl. It makes no sense but you're both changing so much!"
He just stood there, mute and sullen.
"Brent, we can't ignore this any more. You look like a girl, Brent! You have breasts and your body..." She dissolved into tears, unable to say any more.
Without thinking Brent dropped his tough guy attitude and came over to his mother. He put his arms around her and held her, something he hadn't done in years unless she made him. Her tears had been the catalyst to unlock his own fear and doubt and they held each other, crying until the tears were all released. Carl just stood around feeling very uncomfortable and not knowing what to do.
"Oh dear, what are we going to do?" Claire wailed.
The weight room was quiet today and Sheela-Na-Gig was pleased with that. She was going to have to cut out those all night sessions with Quetzalcoatl if she wanted to keep her figure. Ever since the old boy gave Chocolate to mankind he had used it to lure dozens of goddesses to his bed. A night with the Big Q certainly included a good deal of pleasantly sweaty exercise, but not enough to burn off all those truffles he always had on hand.
She was working on her thighs when Pandora came into the room.
"Sheela! I've been looking for you all over"
Bad news that, the woman was always poking her nose in where it wasn't wanted. Why had the Board of Trustees ever decided to let legendary Mortals spend eternity in The Home along with the Gods?
"I just can't wait to hear about your little disciples! You wouldn't be trying to drum up a new following and leave us, would you?
That might not be a bad idea, at least it would keep the Her Nosiness away from an honest, hardworking goddess.
"I have better taste in disciples than those two. I'm just teaching them a lesson in respect. Pretty soon they'll know what it's like to have every Tom, Dick and Harry shoving things up their twats. Damn, it felt good to use The Power again, even if I had to borrow most of it from the boys at the table. Those two are going to find out what being a Fertility Symbol is all about!
"How curious! I'm dying to hear what happens next. What was the Escape Clause?"
"It hardly counts, but if either of them should manage to stay virgin until they consummate a marriage of love then the curse is kaput. Otherwise they spread their pretty little legs for anyone who wants to hold their nose and screw 'em silly. 'Course, being cursed by a fertility goddess should have them dripping and panting any time anything male comes within fifty meters."
"How clever!. By the way, have you heard what Baldur and Xaman-Ek have been doing?
Pandora might like to call it curiosity, but Sheela-Na-Gig knew gossip when she heard it.
"Take off your shirt, son, and let's see what's happening."
"I saw everything there was to see when you were a baby."
"That's what you think. It's not there any more."
"What are you talking about?"
"It's true, Mrs. Markwood. We're both turning into girls."
"This can't be happening, it just can't be happening!"
"Yeah, then how come I got a cunt?" Bret was still trying to reclaim his Defiant Youth status.
"Brent! The proper word is vagina, and I'll thank you to use it."
"Well, whatever it is you want to call it I got one, along with boobs and hips. None of my clothes fit any more!"
"I figured out the clothes part myself, Brent. I'm not blind."
"What are we going to do, Mrs. Markwood? Nobody is going to believe this. What am I going to tell my parents?"
"I just don't know. How are we going to tell Harold when we meet him in Paris?"
"Oh Jesus, Dad's going to go apeshit!"
"Watch your mouth! It's bad enough for a boy to use language like that but if you really are a girl it's all that much worse."
"Hey, aren't you the one whose always complaining about double standards?"
"Brent, in case you haven't noticed you're smaller than I am and I could have a try at bending you over my knee again."
"Yeah, you and what army?"
That was an old family joke, one that came from Brent and his sibling's attempts to gang up on their parents. It hadn't worked very well then but it did diffuse the tension of the current situation.
"Let me get my tape from the knitting bag, we're going to have to measure you both before I can find any new clothes for you." She found the tape and returned. "All right, child — off with the shirt. Oh, my! I... Oh Brent, it's really true!"
"I told you so, Mom."
"Of course you did but I didn't want to believe it even when I could see it. Hold still a minute. There... Leave the tape alone, I have to measure to find out what cup size you need in a bra."
"No way! I ain't wearing no bra!"
"Child, with a C cup, you are going to need the support or you'll be aching all time. Believe me, I know!"
Brent didn't want to think of his mother's breasts in that way.
"I can take it. No bra for me."
"Brent, we might not have a choice." Carl offered. "We didn't have breasts this morning, and now look at us. What will we look like by tomorrow?"
"Oh dear, I never thought of that." worried Claire. Perhaps I should find a simple sports bra for now and we can get something permanent whenever all this stops. Carl, I don't want to embarrass you, but I should measure you, too."
"Go ahead. These things are already aching. I don't really want a bra either, but if it will help me feel better I'll try it."
"Well, at least one of you is being sensible." She measured Carl and wrote down the results. "That's funny, you both have exactly the same measurements. Stand together a minute, won't you?"
"Nonsense, I want to see. You are exactly the same height. You're even starting to look a little bit alike, too."
"Just what I need, a twin sister. I was getting to like being an only child with the rest of them gone."
"Brent, the way you act sometimes, I'm looking forward to having no children at home. Be that as it may, I need to go out and get you some clothes that fit. I'm not going to survive on room service for the rest of my life."
Brent and Carl were vastly relieved when his mother returned with the new clothes. By the time she returned they had managed to work themselves into a state about having to wear a dress or something. Claire had realized she needed to find something as close to their regular attire as possible, anything girly would have been greeted with derision.
She still couldn't understand how this could have happened, but there no doubt that her son was now shaped like a girl. She was frankly afraid to ask for the ultimate proof of his femininity. That would have to wait, maybe forever.
"I'll let you two figure out how to put these on." she said as the placed the bags of clothes on table. It's not all that hard. When you're dressed, we really need to find some dinner, I'm starving."
They retreated to their bedroom and opened the packages. Plain, white cotton panties, white sports bras, black slacks and a white, simple blouse. Clothing that any woman would wear just about any place in the world.
That was just he problem: any woman.
It was the hunger pangs as much as anything else that drove them to put the things on. They had to help each other snap the bras, an act that reduced the two friends to helpless giggles. Very feminine sounding giggles at that. They sheepishly emerged from the bedroom. Claire almost started crying again when they did, how could these two young women be the boys she had known all their lives?
"Your hair is a mess. You're going to have to learn how to brush it if you want to keep it that long.
"You can shave mine off any time!" growled Brent.
"Here, let me show you how."
"Jeez, Mom. I ought to be able to figure out how to use a brush." He took it from her with ill grace and ran it through his improbably long hair, then handed it to Carl.
"Ready? Then let's eat."
The boys were hesitant to leave the comfort of the room dressed as they were, but Claire wasn't stopping and they had to follow. To their immense relief she didn't take them to the restaurant in the hotel, that would have been too much. They ate at a Chinese place a couple of blocks away. By the time they reached the place they were not exactly comfortable with being two young women walking on the streets of London, but starting to adjust.
"Boy — Ladies, if you have the kind of appetite you have had recently, please remember that a lady needs to eat politely in public. You don't want to attract any special attention to yourselves."
"Yes, Mrs. Markwood."
"Good, then let's see what thy have.
They woke up the next morning, but neither one of them was eager to find out what changes had occurred overnight. From the weight on his chest Brent knew that his breasts had to be a lot bigger. How long was this going to go on?
Carl was the one to get up first. "Come on, Brent. Get up and let's see who's got the biggest boobs this morning."
"Got to hell. I'm sleeping."
"Sure. You hungry?"
"Maybe that means we won't be growing any more boobs. Damn, they're heavy! I feel like I'm going to fall over."
"Go ahead, maybe they'll cushion the fall."
"Jesus Mamma! You ever want to meet Pamela Anderson?
"Not like this."
"Well, I think I just met her tits, and they're on me."
"Go to hell!"
"I'll probably end up there looking like this. Hey, my finger goes all the way up my twat this morning."
"Don't let Mom hear you say that. The proper word is 'vagina'," he sneered.
"Whatever. I wonder if that blouse will still fit?"
"Jesus, listen to you. You'd think you liked all this shit."
"Well, not exactly like, but it is interesting. Didn't you ever wonder what it would be like to be a girl?"
"You're sick. I want to be a guy. Fuck this shit."
"Careful, your mamma wouldn't approve of such language from a young lady. I'm going to need a new bra, my cups do overfloweth mightily."
"I suppose I could get fucked now, but you aren't going to be the one to do it."
"You wouldn't do that, would you?"
"Why not? It ought to be interesting."
"No way, Jose."
"Well, the guy would have to be a lot more polite than you before I opened up to him."
"That's gross. Shut up, will you?"
"Only if you let me see your boobs. I bet they're just like mine.
"I told you, I don't bet. I'd lose that one, anyway. Jesus they're big.
"Kind of hard to drool over them now, isn't it? I bet you dreamed of big tits like these while you wacked off. Now you got 'em."
"Let's get dressed. What's Mom going to think about this now?"
"You'll know in a minute
Claire had been nerving herself ever since she woke up for the changes that the boys would have gone through overnight. How long would this last? How was she going to cope? How the devil could she tell Carl's parents? This was supposed to be a vacation, dammit. Relaxation, not more worries.
Her son was a girl! Her son was wearing a bra and needed it!
"Hi, Mrs. Markwood."
"Good morning, boys. Oh my God, I don't believe it."
"It is kind of hard to believe, isn't it? I don't know how it happened but there's no doubt I'm a girl now, Mrs. Markwood. Brent is too, but he doesn't want to admit it yet."
"How can anyone deny it? I can hardly tell you two apart. You look like identical twins!"
"He's the stupid one," Said Brent, pointing to Carl.
"Look who's talking."
"Enough, boys." Cried Clair. "Oh my, I can't keep calling you boys. What am I going to do?"
"How 'bout we eat breakfast, and figure it out later?"
"I suppose that makes sense. You um, girls seem to be feeling much better this morning."
"I don't feel sick like I was, but I'm not sure I feel much better, Mrs. Markwood."
"No, I suppose not. Maybe things will look better after breakfast."
From the way both girls wiggled and struggled with their bras at the meal it was obvious they needed to go shopping very soon. Claire was rightly worried about taking Brent into the store for new clothes, as she was sullen and uncooperative through the whole meal. Carl, on the other hand, seemed to exhibit an interest in looking good in her new condition. That wasn't too much of a surprise. Carl had always been happy to get dressed up for a special occasion while Brent had to be coerced to wear anything but jeans and a T-shirt.
Since the two girls were virtually indistinguishable, Claire found herself helping Carl, while Brent sat sourly on a bench and glared at them. After a little while she almost forgot that this was her son's best friend she was shopping with. It was like having her grown daughter back for a time.
"Mrs. Markwood? I don't understand much about girl's fashions. I don't want to look like a frump, but I wouldn't want to look too girly, either."
"Please Carl, uh Carla, if you're comfortable with it, call me Mom. You and Brent are so much alike now it would seem strange if you kept calling me Mrs. Markwood."
"I'll try, Mom. That seems as funny as Carla, though. I guess it makes sense."
"It's going to take a lot of getting used to, isn't it? You'll be safe with a pair of black slacks in just about any situation outside a formal party. You can wear just about any top with it and look pretty nice. I'd stay away from anything low cut or with lots of frills. With your, um, endowment you might want to be careful how much attention you attract to your breasts. You're going to have to cope with far too many men who talk to your cleavage as it is. That's a fact of life for a woman."
"That makes sense. That guy in the checkout line at the restaurant was looking at us awful closely, wasn't he?"
"I don't think he was looking at me, Carla. I don't suppose you would like to look at skirts yet?"
"Uh, no thanks, Mom. I think I'll need a little time before I go there. What about shorts? It gets hot here in the summer."
"Are you willing to keep shaving your legs?"
"I hadn't thought about that. Is it hard?"
"No harder than shaving your face, I would think. It's just a pain sometimes to keep them shaved smooth. You only need to do it a couple of times a week, or before something special."
"I didn't even have to shave my face that often yet. Will you help me pick out some shorts?"
"Certainly. No — not those. You would attract as much attention to your crotch with those as your top will be getting."
"This is too weird. I can't believe we're talking like this Mrs. — Mom."
"I'm not sure I have all my faculties in working order either Carla, but what else are we going to do?"
"What am I going to tell my real parents, Mom?"
"Oh dear, I've been trying to figure that out since you got sick. I just don't know. If it took me so long to let myself see you were becoming a woman while I watched you change, then how will someone else ever believe it?"
"Well, they probably won't even let me back in the USA with a passport that doesn't look like it belongs to me. Those Homeland Security geeks will lock me away forever."
"This is going to be awfully complicated. Harold thinks I've gone out of my mind and I haven't told him half of what's happening to you. How are we going to convince the government?"
"Well my old man thinks that anyone who works for the feds have to be completely incompetent anyway. Maybe we should just lose my passport and try to get a new one."
"Let's talk to Harold about that. He knows how to handle those things."
"I guess so. Should I try these on?"
"It would be a good idea. You will remember to use the women's changing room?"
"As if I could forget."
Carla went off to try on the clothes while Brent sat and glowered, working up a truly magnificent foul mood. He had never believed that the world was fair to him before, now he damn well knew that everyone was out to get him. Even his own mother was trying to turn him into a goddam bitch while his best friend pranced around with boobs bigger than anyone he had ever seen, and was actually happy about it. It completely escaped him that his own breasts were identical to Carla's. He wasn't going to let facts get in the way of a good tantrum.
Jesus, now they were over there and looking at bras. He hated the bra he was wearing but it never occurred to him that it bothered him so much because it was way too small in the cups after last night's marathon growth session. To him it was a symbol of how unfair the world was. He hated wearing a bra, dammit.
Now the salesbitch was over with them and it looked like she was going to pad her commission by selling Carl everything she could. Not Carl, his mother. His own effin mother was buying an effin bra for his best friend, and he was going along with it!
They disappeared in the changing rooms for a while, then Carl came out and his boobs were sticking out even farther than when he went in. What did he think he was doing? Oh Christ, Mom was coming at him with an effin bra in her hand.
"Brent, I think you'll be much more comfortable if you try a bra that fits you properly."
He just stared at her like she was some kind of freak. She was some kind of freak to be going on like this."
"Please, darling. Don't be upset. I'm only trying to help you."
He grabbed the damn thing and went in the door, if he didn't he'd never hear the end of it. He knew how his mother could ride a subject forever and grind it into him until he was sick to death of it. It didn't help that she was right, the bra did feel much better, but he shouldn't need an effin bra. He was a guy! His own mother was treating him like an effin bitch. Any minute now she was going to make him put on some frilly piece of shit and make him even more girly.
He wasn't going to do it! She was over with Carl picking out stockings or pantyhose or something. While she wasn't looking he faded into the aisles of the store and beat it out the nearest exit. No way he was going to let her treat him like a girl.
"Those look very nice on you, Carla. Your sandals will only go so far."
"I know. My old sneakers don't fit me any longer, either.
"Then we should get you a new pair. Harold is going to have a kitten when he sees the bill, but you have to have clothes to wear."
"I don't know what to say, Mrs. Markwood."
"Mom, remember? You should be good for a while with your new wardrobe. At least you and Brent can share your clothes and make them go a little farther. Where did he go?"
"Still in the changing room? I'll go check."
"Thank you, Carla, that's sweet of you. He doesn't seem to be taking this too well."
Just as they had all been slow to accept the transformation, the realization that Brent had run away came slowly. Claire was worried sick when she returned to the hotel, hoping Brent would be waiting for them. The suite was empty and cold. The cleaning staff had straightened things up and it looked like nothing had been touched.
Claire called Harold on the cell, he was just about to enter the chunnel and return to England. There was nothing they could do but wait as the train made it's way over the rails to London.
Lunch was completely forgotten in the turmoil and dinner was a morose affair, once again from room service because Claire didn't want to take the chance Brent would return without her being there. At last the door to the suite opened and Harold came in. Claire ran to him and engulfed him in a desperate embrace.
"None, he hasn't called. Harold, the boy hasn't even got a shilling on him. What's he going to do?"
"Whatever he damn well wants to do, just like usual. Sometimes I wonder how he managed to stay alive with all the bonehead stunts he's pulled."
"Harold, you need to meet Carla, maybe you'll believe me now."
"Hello, Mr. Markwood. I'm sorry that all this is happening to you. I don't want to be a burden to your family."
"Is that really you, Carl?"
"It's really me. I don't know how this happened but whatever made me so sick has changed me to a girl. I mean completely, everywhere. It shouldn't be possible but it still happened."
"I hardly see how it could be your fault, my dear. I doubt you went out of your way to rewrite the laws of genetics just to cause trouble for us. When we find Brent it would be interesting to have a genetic analysis done and see just how complete this change really is."
"It's complete, sir. I have everything a real woman is supposed to have as far as I can tell. I think that means you're going to have to teach me about how to handle a period, Mom."
It wasn't very funny, but they all needed something to break the tension.
"When the time comes, dear. Harold? Should we call the police? I hesitate because how can we explain how our son is now our daughter. They'll want his passport, I'm sure."
"I don't know. I don't like the idea of him wandering around London very much, but it might make things worse if we treat him like a child. He's so close to 18 as not to matter and you know how sensitive he was about that. We could end up driving him away if we guess wrong."
"Mr. Markwood, I have an idea. I met some girls in the emergency room the other night and got their number. I guess I'm not going to use it the way I hoped to but they're from around here and know the area. I could tell them that I'm my sister or something and maybe they can help."
"That sounds like as good an idea as any. Give them a call, Carla."
It was getting late and Brent was tired and hungry. His feet hurt from the too big sandals he was wearing, and this back hurt from the weight of his damned boobs. Why hadn't he taken his wallet or swiped some money from Mom's purse before he took off? Stupid.
The area was looking pretty seedy, but he hadn't the faintest idea of where he as. In the distance a sustained roar told him a motorcycle was approaching. Approaching too damned fast for these narrow streets. As it got louder it suddenly idled down with a throaty roar.
"Hey chickie, you lookin' for a ride? Wanna sample my hog?"
I bet he thinks he's real smart with that line. He wasn't sure what movie he heard it in but he knew it wasn't original. He was riding a real hog, however, not one of those effin put-puts that everybody seems to drive around here. Gleaming chrome and black leather, on both the bike and the rider. What the hell? He would only freeze to death if he stayed on the streets any longer.
"Depends on how much sauce your hog can make, buddy." May as well let him know they had both watched the same movie.
"Saddle up, chickie, I'm gonna take you for a ride!"
At least his sandal shod feet were getting warm from the exhaust. He would bet that the biker was getting hot from his breasts as Brent leaned into his body. Stupid fuck, little did he know.
"May I speak to Barbara?"
"Speaking. Who is this?"
"Hi, my name is Carla, you met my brother Carl in the emergency room the other night."
"Oh yeah. His buddy had gotten his arm banged up, right?"
"That's the one. He's gone home early, but when I talked to him he thought you might be able to help us. I know this is kind of a strange thing to ask, but my twin sister seems to have run away and we're getting worried about her. We don't want to call the police and cause a big scene. Is there any chance you and your friends could help us look for her?"
"Sounds like a job for Sherlock Holmes or something."
"Too bad he isn't real. I figure she went out drinking and got herself into trouble. She's done that before."
"Too right. Been there myself. I suppose we could force ourselves to do a bit of a pub crawl and see if we could find her, especially since that was what we were going to do anyway. You game to come along?"
"Of course. Where should I meet you?"
"You at the same hotel that Carl was at?"
"We'll meet you there in a bit, then. I'll round up the usual suspects and we can have a look. Be sure to bring your ID."
"I'm staying sober tonight. If we do find her I want to be straight enough to get her home."
"Your choice. Be there in a mo, Carla."
She hung up the phone and looked at Brent's parents, who didn't quite know whether to be pleased at the search, or upset about their young charge going out on a drinking spree.
"Has Brent ever gotten into real trouble drinking, Carla?"
"Do you really want to know? I had to tell her something."
"Is it wise for you to go out with a crowd you don't really know?"
"Maybe not wise, but what else can we do except call the cops? I really meant it, even if my ID were any good I wouldn't do any drinking tonight. I'm confused enough with this being a girl as it is."
"Hey chickie, fast enough for ya?" the burly biker hollered as they flew down the street.
"Floor it, man. Get some speed up!" Brent yelled back. He was thrown back into the seat rest as he hung on for dear life while the big machine accelerated. They wove in and out of traffic and left the city proper and found their way to the suburbs. At last the bike pulled into a house with dozens of hogs scattered on the lawn and driveway.
"Party time, Chickie. You sound like a Yank."
"I am, Hog Man. Is it true you guys drink your beer warm?"
"Wouldn't know. Don't truck with beer, chickie. I goes for the hard stuff every time. Let me show you around the place."
There was a major party going on inside; booze and bottles scattered around with abandon. There were bodies scattered around as well, some moving, some not, others moving together in an age old rhythm. One look and the lust the fertility goddess had gifted to her welled up within her. She didn't even see the powder that the burly biker slipped into her glass before he handed it to her.
At the fifth stop on the pub crawl Carla had decided there wasn't much hope of finding Brent. No one had seen her 'twin sister' anywhere they stopped. Her companions were getting pretty happy, but since they were walking between pubs there was no need for a Designated Driver, even if Carla could have filled the bill that night. Still, she didn't give up until closing time. As the group swayed it's way home Carla found herself clinging tightly to someone named Bill. A pretty nice guy, hardly even plastered. At least he could speak coherently, which was better than some of the others were doing.
He was an OK guy, but she couldn't understand why she was so strongly drawn to him. It was an almost primeval feeling, an urge to get him into bed and into her. It wasn't right, she wasn't that kind of girl. Hell, she hadn't been any kind of girl until just hours ago. She didn't like the feeling of some alien force compelling her to behave like an easy lay.
That's what it amounted to, but her best friend was in trouble and she wasn't going to do something stupid and lose him. Her. When Bill kissed her in the lobby of the hotel she almost lost her resolve, though. By the Goddess, he could kiss!"
Now where had that come from? As she lay in her bed in the hotel room her hands explored her new crotch almost of their own accord. One thing for sure, wherever she had gotten this body from it was fully functional. Her orgasm was unbelievable as she lay alone in her bed.
Brent awoke with everything hurting. He crawled to his feet in a dirty, stinking alley that was filled with garbage and other less identifiable things. He was naked, his crotch was on fire with pain and his body covered with bruises. The person who had kicked her was standing slack jawed at the sight.
"Holy Mother of God look at those dumplings!" the stranger exclaimed.
"Fuck you, buster!"
The lust of the fertility goddess again filled her. She settled for his shirt to cover her nakedness and enough for some food before she opened herself to him in the filthy alley.
The Markwoods gave up by the end of the following day and called the police to report their daughter missing. The police questioned Carla and Claire closely as to what had happened in the store before Brenda disappeared, but fortunately, nobody asked about passports or other proof that Brenda really existed.
Frankly, they weren't all that concerned, Brenda was an adult and had every right to go off by herself even if her parents didn't approve. They took Carla's picture and circulated it, but there nothing ever came of it. Eventually the Markwoods moved into a sublet apartment while they searched, but neither the private detectives or the police ever found a trace of the missing 'twin'. As the summer ended the Markwoods had to give up and return home.
Accounting for Carla was difficult, but not impossible. The right forms convinced the American Embassy that she had undergone sex reassignment surgery while in England, and she matched the photo on her new passport when she flew home with the Markwoods. It was far harder to convince her parents she was really a woman and that they should stick with the sex change story. She and her parents grew farther apart when she chose an all woman's college and took her degree in Theology. Her curiosity about the philosophy of religion was a complete shock to everyone as she had never shown the slightest interest in it previously.
When she was studying for her oral presentation for her ThD she was forced to leave the all female confines of the University that nurtured her for the first time in many years. By then her confidence in herself and her femininity was completely natural; Carl was a vague memory of many years past and Brent a distant sadness. In the research library she met a man who swept her off her feet, who valued her for what she was and listened to her with a seriousness that few men were capable of.
The wedding was small, her parents and the Markwoods joining a few friends in the chapel of the University as they exchanged their vows. The two academics had little money for a fancy honeymoon, but the lovely bed and breakfast by the lake in the middle of wine country pleased them both. Completely against modern custom she came to her wedding bed a virgin. She was pretty sure he was too, but a wise woman knows what questions not to ask.
He was loving and tender and as he entered her a passion welled within her that was unbounded....
"Goddess Sheela-Na-Gig, please report to the reception desk." A pause. "Goddess Sheela-Na-Gig, please report to the reception desk." The annoying voice of Eshu, the African God of Communication, rang out over the intercom.
Sheela-Na-Gig threw down her hand in disgust. "Sorry boys, I got to go and see what he old trickster thinks is important enough to keep me from skinning you all alive."
Not very likely, she hadn't crap in that hand but they didn't know it. She made her way to the reception area. Not many outsiders visited The Home these days, so she wondered just what was going on. When she got there she spotted a short woman with enormous dugs clad only in a filmy nightgown. She was looking supremely confused.
"Goddess, the computer tell me that you must pass judgment on this mortal who has fulfilled the escape clause from the curse you placed upon her." Eshu looked insufferably smug.
"What in the seven circles of the sweat lodge are you talking about, honey?"
"The computer tells me you cursed this mortal for being a part of shoving a flame up your twat, you old bag. When she consummated a marriage of love as a virgin, she broke the curse and now you have to release her."
Sheela-Na-Gig turned to start at the petrified mortal before her. "You actually managed to stay a virgin, toots?"
"Yes, Goddess. You are Sheela-Na-Gig, are you not, Goddess?"
She must be strong willed, few mortals would question the Gods in their own Home.
"You got it in one, chitlin. So you managed to beat me. Now you get a choice. You can go back and start over as your old self from the time I flung that curse at you, or return to where you left off. Either way you go home with my blessing, and will find that every deity of Luck from Fortuna to Sucellos will smile on you and your man. We don't send you home with some lousy consolation prizes and a new set of dishes up here, you know."
"Please, Goddess, I am so happy with him I would never look back. I thank you for the gift of being a woman so I can receive his gift of being a man."
"Damn, don't you just love happy endings, Essie baby?"
"I'm gonna be bawling like a baby any minute. That is until I collect my winnings. As I recall I bet against you in the pool back then. Good thing we keep that stuff in the computer." He hit a few keys and grinned. "Thanks, lady. You just made my century."
"Please Goddess, what happened to my friend Brent?"
"Believe me kid, you don't want to know. It would spoil your honeymoon. Oh yeah, I think you'll find there's a few more inches to your lover than there was when you left. Consider it a wedding present, you can't call me a sore loser."
She waved her hand and the scantily clad woman was gone.
... her joy was beyond belief. The crazy daydream that distracted her faded as her husband made very sure she knew that his love was for her alone.
The good Sisters at the charity clinic groaned when they wheeled old Hot Box Brennie in once again. The old woman had been their guest as regular as clockwork for more years than anyone could remember. Every nine months she delivered another child that would be taken away before she could do it any harm.
She raved and raged as usual, cursing everything and everybody she saw. They had tried to help, and so had the social services people, but she wouldn't have it. How anybody could bring themselves to get close enough to get someone as dirty and disgusting as Brennie pregnant, proved that miracles still occurred in the world. Even the Mother Superior could only grimace and tell her charges that God works in mysterious ways.
She didn't know the half of it. Not a one of them had noticed the ancient Celtic Goddess carved on the wall of the old building that housed the clinic.
Author's note: The seed of this story came from a visit to the Holy Database of All Known Gods at Godchecker.com. You wouldn't believe what some people have held as Holy.
There are some images of Sheela-Na-Gig at Goddess Gifts if the link is still good.
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