Edited by Kristine Roland

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This text is (c) 2009 by Melanie. All rights reserved.

Special thanks to Julie O., from whose concepts of magic I have borrowed a little. No Julieverse characters appear in this story.
 
 
One

The alarm went off at 6:30 am. Way too early. Well, nothing new there, it's always too early. Things one does for money!

I turned around and fumbled for the clock with my eyes closed. It wasn't there. Prying my eyes open, I saw that it was lying on the floor, and memory started coming back to me.

She was good. Really good. She had done things I had only read about, and some I hadn't. Damn, I never knew you could do that with your mouth!

We'd knocked the alarm clock off the nightstand somewhere during the passionate lovemaking last night.

I had picked her up in a club I frequent occasionally. They were running an “After Work Party” event on a Thursday night; usually it's all yuppies and brokers. Me, I'm neither.

I'm a reporter. Not a famous one, not even well known. I freelance, dig up stories, write them up and offer them to newspapers and magazines. I don't do too badly, but I have to work for it.

I'm 6'2”, sandy blond hair, in pretty good shape, but getting a bit soft around the middle as I head for my 40th birthday next month.

So, yeah, I felt like going out, and went to the club last night. I had never seen her there before, if I had, I would have remembered. There was something in her eyes, something wild, predatory.

I didn't pick her up, she picked me up. I don't think I had any say in it, and I don't think I minded.

Our sex was incredible, like nothing I had ever experienced before. She was the aggressor, demanding, controlling, but also giving me so much.

I turned to the other side of the bed and saw she was gone.

Swinging my legs out of the bed, I saw a piece of paper on the nightstand. In her handwriting, it said “Thank you. And, sorry!”

I shook my head. "Sorry? For what?"

I got up, and headed for the kitchen. The usual morning routine. Got some toast, dropped it in the toaster, pushed down. Hit the switch on the coffee machine.

Then I went to the bathroom. I used the toilet, and went to the sink. A look in the mirror showed me the usual. Male, not ugly, tousled hair that could use a trim... a trim? I had a haircut 2 weeks ago. It can't be that time again? “Damn, that's weird,” I thought as I reached for the shaver.

I ran the humming shaver across my face, but I found I really didn't need to. Right, I guess I shaved before going to the club, yes, that must be it.

I went to the bedroom, grabbed a new pair of boxers, my jeans from yesterday, a clean tee, and then I went to the kitchen to grab my toast and coffee.

The t-shirt felt loose on me; did I really burn so many calories last night? Thinking back, it made me smile... yes, I probably did, at that!

I sat down with my toast and coffee and planned my day. There was a visit to the archives of the local newspaper, to research some background on a human interest story I was working on. Boring, but it pays the bills.
The other lead I had looked like it would be a bit more exciting. I hadn't sold it to any newspaper yet, but I believe it has the potential to make me a bit of money. I had latched onto it while studying the various papers I get from around the area, plus a friend or two at the local police station.

Somehow, there were an unusual number of suicides involving young, attractive women. None of them could be identified, nothing. No history, friends, dental records. No fingerprints, they simply didn't exist. All were in perfect health, none appeared to be involved with the sex industry, the mob, or drugs. And many of them were virgins. Weird.

Well, I had to go off to the archives, another boring day.

Traffic was as bad as always and I was glad when I finally turned into the parking lot of the newspaper's building.

“Morning Stacy!” I called when I walked into the building.

Stacy was the pretty blonde receptionist there. I would have tried to date her, but the first time I tried to pick her up, she made it abundantly clear that I had no chance at all. We became friends, sharing lunch on days where I had to do much research and we talked. I had thought that she had a boyfriend or husband and pulled all my courage together one day, asking “Would your boyfriend not be jealous if he knew that you have lunch with me here?”

“No," she said, "I don't have a boyfriend, or a husband, for that matter.” She looked at me for a moment, and said “ and I wouldn't want one. I don't swing that way.”
We've been friends since.

I stepped up to the counter, and said “I have another boring day of research. I need a pass for the archives, for all day. Lunch, later?”

Stacy took a visitor's pass of the stack, scribbled a few lines, pushed it into a clear clip-on pouch and handed it to me with a smile “Sure, I break at one today, see you then!”

I clipped the pass to my jeans pocket and went through the turnstile into the newspaper's office, following my usual path to the elevators and down to the basement and the archives there. I waved hello to Joe, who manages the archives and went past him into the low, long room full of shelves.

I pulled the first month of papers off the shelf and sat down at a reading table with my yellow pad and pen to make notes with, and a roll of quarters to make copies of what I found and started to work.
Heavens, I sure was feeling a bit off today. A few times I caught myself drifting off and I did feel a bit lightheaded, too. I guessed I was coming down with something and I hoped it would at least wait until I was done here before really hitting me. Anyway, I didn't really get much done, only about 6 months worth of papers. Oh well.

My watch beeped at 12:45, and I quickly packed up my stuff for lunch. I felt famished and was really looking forward to my break with Stacy. She's a really nice girl and we mesh well. I stood up, took a step and my foot slipped out of my shoe! Slipping my foot back in, the shoe felt too big. At least two sizes too big! Feet don't shrink and, last time I checked, shoes also didn't grow. I pulled up my jeans, damn, they felt loose too, so I tightened the belt one notch. They were too long, as well, and my t-shirt felt more loose than this morning. The incredible shrinking man. Yeah. Right.

I headed out, walking carefully so I wouldn't lose my shoes, taking the elevator up to reception level to meet up with Stacy. She wasn't quite ready and I had a few minutes to think.

I seem to have shrunk, I mused. My shoes are too big, my jeans are too big and too long, my t-shirt is loose. That just doesn't happen. Not in real life. So, how?

Stacy finally got relieved and we headed to the Italian pizzeria restaurant around the corner, and managed to snag a small table at the back of the room. We ordered drinks and food and the waiter left.

My concerns must have been written on my face, because Stacy came straight out and asked me “Is there anything wrong?”

“Well,” I said, “there is, but it's really weird. It might not be anything at all, but I think I'm shrinking!”

She gave me a strange look as I went on, “When I dressed this morning, this t-shirt felt a little looser than last time I wore it. Now, it's two sizes too big, and so is everything else I'm wearing!”
She looked me over and said, “I see what you mean, but it's not just that. You look, well, different....”

“Different,” I asked, "In what way?”

My hand went to my face, and I felt something very different from what I am used to; there was no stubble. None at all. Less than what the morning's shave had left me with!

Stacy looked at me and saw the panic in my eyes and said “What...
“No stubble,” I said, “I don't have any stubble!”

I started to panic, jumped up to run to the restroom and a mirror. I did look different, and very much so. I looked like a much younger version of myself, like 10 years had been taken off me, and totally smooth. This was so strange, I felt like I had slipped into the twilight zone as I ran my hands across my totally smooth chin.

I remembered where I was when the door opened and another man passed behind me on the way to the urinals. I turned around and left the restroom, heading back to the table and a very concerned looking Stacy.

“I need to get out of here. Something isn't right. I might be getting sick or something,” I said.

“You look different,” she said, “younger. How?”

“I don't know. I have absolutely no idea. I have to see a doctor, I guess.”

By this time, I had calmed down a bit inside and at this moment, the food arrived. I decided that I could always panic later, with a full stomach, and tucked in. Hey, a guy's gotta eat, you know?

I was really famished, and finished my pizza in record time. Nothing much was said as we both tried to make sense out of what was happening to me. I decided I would not go back to my research today, but go home instead and try to find out what was happening to me, and maybe make an appointment with a doctor. Stacy, of course, had to go back to work. We said our goodbyes and parted at the entrance of the newspaper, and I picked up the car from the lot and drove home.

When I got home, I dug out my tape measure and checked my height. Damn! 5'10”! I'm not 5'10”! I'm 6'2”! I checked again, but the tape stubbornly refused to come up with anything different. So, that means I must be 5'10” now. Now, that's some serious shit! I got on the internet and googled for losing height, height reduction, etc., but, apart from a few very complicated medical procedures, all I found was fiction.

I used my tape measure to take some more measurements, chest, upper arms, thighs, and wrote them down on a piece of paper.

By the time I finished with my measuring and internet research, it was 4 pm and I was feeling unusually tired. I undressed to my shorts and got into my bed because I couldn't seem to keep my eyes open any longer. Sleep came quickly.
 
 
Two

I felt somewhat disoriented as I rolled over and brushed my hair out of my face. I stretched like a cat, yawned, and then my mind started operating. Hair? Yeah, I remembered I needed a trim? What? My hand went to my head and grabbed a handful of the stuff.

I sat bolt upright in my bed and felt my shoulder length hair on my neck and back. Something was very wrong, very wrong indeed! Frantically, I jumped out of bed and went for the bathroom and the mirror there. I felt strange, unbalanced as I moved across the room with my eyes half open, found the bathroom door and turned on the light.

I looked into the mirror and a stranger looked back at me. The world turned black and I didn't even feel my head hit the wall as I slid to the floor in shock.

Sometime later, I came to and found myself on the bathroom floor, memory returned and with it came panic. I remembered what I had seen and got up cautiously to take another look in the mirror. I didn't recognize my own face; I didn't look anything like the person who had gone to bed this afternoon. I looked at my wrist, looking for my watch, but not finding it. My gaze went to my body; rather, to the two protuberances I knew I didn't have before. Breasts. Pert breasts that would look great on a young woman. One like the one that looked back at me in the mirror.

She was pretty, in an androgynous way. Unkempt shoulder length sandy blonde hair framed a somewhat squarish face that looked vaguely like the face I remembered seeing this morning. Suddenly, my mind went into overdrive as I looked down the front of my body for my little friend.

Relief flooded through me, he was still there. However, he wasn't quite as big as I remembered which made me panic again. What if I was really turning into a woman? What if I lost my manhood? What could I do?

I left the bathroom and grabbed my t-shirt, which was much too large now. A quick check with the tape measure put me at 5'6”. How can that be? I stepped out of my bedroom and saw the message light on my answering machine. I pushed the button and waited for the tape in my old fashioned answering machine to rewind.

Whirr! Click! Beep! “Hello, my name is Steve and I'm calling on behalf of First City Bank. I would like to interest you for our new....”

I hit the skip button and the tape moved forward. Beep!

“Hi, this is Stacy. I'm a bit worried, when you get in, please call me back! My mobile is 555-5750. Bye!”
Beep!

“Hi, Stacy again! Where are you? Call me! Anytime, day or night!”

Beep! Click!

I headed back to the bedroom and found my watch in my bed; it had slipped off my arm while I was sleeping. The watch looked huge in my hand! Its dial read 6 am. I grabbed the phone off the nightstand and dialed Stacy's number. She answered on the first ring and I said, “Hi Stacy!”

My voice sounded strange to me, much too high and Stacy might not even recognize me.

Sure enough, I heard “Who's there?”

I said, “Stacy, it's me!” Of course I didn't realize that she wouldn't be able to make anything of that. “I changed! My body changed! You wouldn't recognize me now, I look like a woman!”

“You sound like a woman. Who are you? Are you winding me up?”

“No, Stacy! Check your caller ID,” I said.

“What? Ron? How?”

“Yeah, or what's left of him”, I answered. “I'm a mess! I look like a young woman. I don't know how that can happen! I just slept and woke up like that!”

“Sit tight! I'm coming over. Don't panic! Ok,”, she said, sounding like she was about to panic herself.

“Yes,” I said, “and thank you. See you soon!”

“Bye”

Click.
 
 
Three

I went to the kitchen to root for some food, I was feeling like I hadn't eaten in days. I grabbed some bread and bologna and made up some quick sandwiches. I found a can of coke in the fridge and greedily ate all of it, washing it down with the coke.

I sat back and took stock. One, I was changing. Two, I was changing into a woman, or at least changing to look like one. Three, I was getting younger. That doesn't fit in with what I know about the world, it's wrong on so many levels. Aging is a one way street and people don't change sex!

Well, ok, not spontaneously, anyway. I was starting to feel tired and hoped Stacy would already be here, because it had become hard to keep my eyes open.

Just when I was thinking about simply going to bed, the doorbell rang and I looked through the peephole and saw Stacy. I quickly opened the door and closed it again after she stepped inside. I turned to see Stacy stand there, staring at me.

“Ron....”, she said, “I can't believe that's you! What happened?”

“I don't know”, I said, “I haven't got a clue. And I am so tired.... just so tired, as if I hadn't slept in days!”

“Lay down,” she said, “I'll stay here, it's Saturday and I don't have to work. Sleep, and when you wake up, we'll see what we can do.”

I dragged myself back into the bedroom, fell into my bed and barely managed to slip under the covers before dreamless sleep took me.

When I woke up, the room was bathed in sunlight. I looked at my alarm clock and saw that it showed 3pm. My eyes moved over to the side of the bed, and I saw Stacy in the chair, reading something. I stirred, and she looked up.

“Stacy,” I said, and realized that my voice had changed again. My hands went under the covers, into my shorts — I screamed! “It's gone,” I cried and started sobbing.

I felt Stacy by my side, she was holding on to me, whispering things I didn't understand. Inside, my world was coming apart at the seams, if I wasn't myself anymore, who was I? What was I? Why?

An eternity later, I realized that I lay curled up on my bed with my head cradled in Stacy's lap. She was softly stroking my head and saying that things would be alright. I wished I could believe it, but it did feel good.

I stirred, and she looked at me. I pushed my hair out of my eyes and felt it cascade down my back. Huh?? When I went to sleep, it was shoulder length! Whoa! Now, I had panicked, I had cried, and I had calmed down again, I was able to think. I said “Stacy.... I think I'm a woman now. I don't know why or how... but I have to get up. I need to know!”

She let go of me and I got up from the bed and went to the closet. The closed had a full length mirror on the inside of the door. Not something I normally used, but this would be better than the one in the bathroom. I opened the door and stood in front of the mirror.

I saw a pretty young woman, around 20 years old. I had changed again while I slept; my face had lost the remaining masculine traces and was now soft and feminine, with a pert, slightly upturned nose, large blue eyes and a full mouth. My hair was now honey blonde and fell in soft waves halfway down my back. I was wearing a pair of men's boxers that hung low on my hips and a far too big t-shirt that covered what seemed to be fair-sized breasts.

Stacy sat on the bed and stared at me, her mouth hanging slightly open.
 
 
Four

I looked at Stacy and said “Would you mind if I undressed?”

She answered “I don't mind at all, if you're comfortable with it, then I am, too.”

I thought for a moment and decided that I would just do it. I awkwardly pulled the t-shirt up, got it stuck under my breasts and tried pulling my arms out of the sleeves.

Stacy smiled and said “That's not how you get out of a t-shirt. Not with that body, anyway.” She was wearing a layered look, a short sleeve top with a scoop neckline over a long sleeved one with a higher neckline, so she crossed her arms, took hold of the bottom of the upper top, and pulled it up and over her head in one smooth motion. “That's how we do it”, she said, “try it!”

I wrestled my arms back into the sleeves, and grabbed the bottom of the t-shirt with my crossed arms and tried to pull up. I stopped short of tying my arms in a knot, and threw a helpless look at Stacy, who visibly had difficulties not to burst out laughing.

Giggling, she said “Now, look again”, took hold of her other top the same way and slowly raised her arms, moving her right elbow out of the way to let the left slip past, and raised her arms over her head, dropping her top on the ground. She stood there, in her bra, looking at me with a smile on her lips and a challenge in her eyes, “Now you do it!”

I crossed my arms, pulled up and forward, brought them past each other and the t-shirt slipped upwards and off easily. I tossed my head to get my hair out of my face and, for the first time, looked at my new body. I was well proportioned, trim but feminine, with a small waist, high, medium-sized breasts and a flat tummy.

With a sigh, I pushed down on the waistband of my shorts, which slid down my slender legs and I stepped out of them. There was no doubt, none at all, that I was not male anymore. A dark blonde triangle pointed down towards a slit between my legs, showing clearly that I was now a woman. I started to run my hands over my body, then realized Stacy was there and stopped.

Stacy gave me a strange half smile, and I blushed and picked up my ill-fitting clothes. Blushing, I never used to do that! Funny, really, I mean, I was still myself, right? I had to turn the t-shirt right side out, I guess that's a side effect of this novel way of taking off one's shirt. When I mentioned it to Stacy, she just smiled and said that that doesn't really matter to women, because they usually don't put something worn on again.
“They”, I guess it was “we” now, really.

I really surprised myself with not cracking; I would have thought I'd react more strongly. I knew I was going to face some demons over this, and just hoping I could cope. I was not a depressive or suicidal person, but if I were, I'd probably be dead now. I'd be a dead woman. A dead young woman. A dead young, pretty woman who is a virgin. And has no papers. No records. Damn! That case I was looking into researching? I think I just cracked it wide open!

My mind went into overdrive. I would have to find out more. Find out if the dead women corresponded to male disappearances. And, where there were casualties, there had to be survivors. I knew what I had to do.

When I laid it out for Stacy, she agreed, it made a lot of sense. Something was turning men into attractive young women. But why? An old investigative reporter's strategy came to mind: “Follow the money”. Find out who profits from something, and you have the story. I needed to find out who this happened to, what they had in common, what made them turn into women, and why. And who gained from that.

I suppose, I had my job cut out for me.
 
 
Five

Stacy, of course, had to pop my bubble. “Ron”, she said, “you want to run off in all directions at once, but you can't even leave your house!”

“Why?”, I asked.

She answered, “You haven't got a thing to wear!”

Well, duh. It wasn't like I could wear what I used to have. Also, Stacy pointed out, my hair had no discernible cut or style, my nails were unkempt, and I knew nothing about the essentials of female behavior and dress. I was reminded of Ellen Barkin in “Switch,” where she, a good looking woman, moved and acted like a man. That was funny, yes. In a movie. But this was real life, and to top it all off, it was my life. I sure didn't want the stares, the embarrassment.

“Stacy,” I said, “I guess I need to enroll for Woman 101”.

She laughed and said “I guess you do. And I have a feeling I know who just got volunteered for teacher”.

She took a step towards me and hugged me. That really surprised me; she'd never done it quite like that before. I looked at her questioningly, and she said “It's a girl thing.”

We cracked up and it felt good to let out the tension. We wound up holding on to each other so we wouldn't fall, and the holding turned into a hug, then into an embrace, and suddenly Stacy kissed me! On my mouth! I was blown away; I was so surprised I kissed back before I knew what was happening. A few moments later, we broke the kiss and I gave Stacy a puzzled look.

She smiled and said “Remember I told you I don't swing that way? Well, I could sure swing your way the way you look now....”

End of part one

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To Be Continued...