Note to readers.

In the text the Devil is referred to as the Devil or sometimes as the stranger. This is because that at least in the beginning Mr. Abercrombie does not appreciate who his companion is and so in those contexts where he is thinking of him the word stranger is more appropriate. You, dear reader, are aware all along of his identity and such is used in more narrative moments. Sometimes it is a grey area and I have used my own fallacious judgement. Apologies for when you think I have indeed got it wrong.

The Devil smiled down on the young man.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

The young man in question looked up startled.

He wasn't in the mood for company. Uninvited company particularly. He glanced around in a rather pointed fashion. There were various tables and chairs scattered round the lawn that ran down gently to the river's edge. All empty apart from one about thirty yards away where two elderly ladies sat enjoying late afternoon tea. Normally of a fairly diffident nature he was searching for a way to put this to the stranger without being actually being offensive when the Devil spoke again.

“You're Simon Abercrombie aren't you?”

The Devil's hands stroked the back of the empty chair that faced Simon's own. The chair shifted slightly under them as if confident of a favourable response. Rather thrown by this unexpected claim to acquaintanceship and caught between a guilty feeling that perhaps he should know the stranger's name and a natural reluctance to offend someone with a possible social connection, Simon uttered a strangled

“Yes”.

Whether the Devil took this reply as a invitation or merely assumed that correctly identifying Simon made him welcome was not clear but his smile broadened as his hands completed the movement of the chair and with one smooth movement he sat facing Simon.

“I took the liberty of ordering you a drink,” he said. “They told me at the bar that you were drinking Timothy Taylor's Landlord, a favourite tipple of mine also. The waitress should be along with a couple of pints shortly. I do hope you don't mind?”

Simon did mind. He closed his eyes in quiet exasperation, regretting that he had not reacted more quickly, more positively, when the stranger had first approached him. Accepting a drink put him under am obligation to be civil. But it was all too late.

“Of course not. It is very good of you”.

The Devil nodded, accepting his acceptance.

There followed a silence in which neither seemed to know how to proceed, both glancing from time to time towards the inn as if waiting for the promised drinks to appear.

The Devil coughed quietly by way of restarting their conversation.

“Er … They said you would be here. I knew your father you know.”

As far as Simon was concerned this clouded rather than clarified the situation. His long dead father was no recommendation for friendship and who were the they who knew he would be here.

“Then you have the advantage of me, I didn't. He deserted my mother when I was four months old and we rarely saw him again. I gather he made a lot of money, none of which came our way, and then lost it again. He was hardly a formative influence.”

The Devil nodded sympathetically. “It is true that he was a rather wayward sort of chap. I can indeed imagine that your memories of him will not be of the happiest, but he had his good points …” Here the Devil paused as if about to enumerate them but thought better of it and finished rather lamely … “He was all too human I am afraid.”

Simon was slightly nettled at the stranger's rather sanctimonious glossing over of his father's behaviour. A father who was generally reckoned to be the most appalling shit that ever breathed by everyone else he had met.

“You knew him personally or through business?” he asked somewhat tartly.

The Devil waved his right arm rather aimlessly as if gathering the correct description of their relationship from out of the air. .

“Well neither and both really. Let us say we had an arrangement.”

Simon's hope of an elucidation of such arrangement was interrupted by the arrival of their drinks. Two pints of Timothy Taylor's Landlord born on a tray carried by the most gorgeous girl, absolutely dripping sex appeal. She was wearing a tee shirt that moulded perfect breasts and her nether regions were enhanced by a skin tight capri pants that ended mid calf. They were made of a silky stretch material that seemed to caress the skin

She stood next to the Devil and leant forward to place her tray on the table presenting Simon with a close view of her perfectly inviting cleavage. Desperately tearing his gaze away from the alluring sight presented, Simon was somewhat shocked to see the Devil fondling the girl's left buttock in a casual, proprietary way. The Devil noticed the direction of his eyes, smiled, and, whilst unabashedly continuing his manipulation of the handily placed rear, offered an introduction.

“Simon this is Lucinda. Lucinda, Simon.”

Simon managed a somewhat strangled “Hi Lucinda … Er ... So pleased to meet you” and was rewarded by a wink from joyously sparkling blue eyes, a smile that parted cherry lips to reveal the whitest of teeth.

“Simon … I saw you arrive and knew I just had to meet you. I know we are going to be the greatest of friends. Thanks to Harry of course.”

She flashed a winning smile at the Devil.

“Not yet Lucinda sweetie. Not yet. All in good time.” He delivered a final parting pat on her bottom. Just keep an eye out and I'll give you the nod if we need anything else.”

Lucinda picked up the tray and with a final wink at Simon accompanied by a slight pouting of lips that could have been an invitation to a kiss, swayed off back in the direction of the bar.

“Such a sweet girl,” sighed the Devil.

The last exchange rather puzzled Simon. It didn't quite make sense. However it did contain one bit of information.

“She called you Harry,” queried Simon.

“People do,” said the Devil. “Sometimes. That and Nick.”

“What exactly is your name ? I don't think you told me when you arrived. You know mine but yours? I feel at a bit of a disadvantage. Harry Nicholas what?”

“It is not exactly like that,” the Devil said evasively. “Different names for different people. Horses for courses you know. It doesn't really matter.”

Simon felt a growing impatience. This stranger had intruded upon his afternoon with no excuse beyond an alleged and ill defined relationship with his late and singularly unlamented father. Apart from that he knew absolutely nothing concrete about him other than that he had an equally ill defined relationship with the waitress who had called him Harry.

“What did my father call you?” Simon wasn't himself sure what had prompted him to pose the question. It had just popped into his head.

The stranger seemed disconcerted. He took a long sip of his beer and sat there just looking at his glass. The silence seemed to stretch out. One of the old ladies at the far table had wandered to the water's edge and was feeding a mallard with left overs from her afternoon tea.

The Devil sighed.

“I suppose you had to know sooner or later. In fact sooner really otherwise ... well you need to know … otherwise … well we're wasting our time. It just wouldn't work.”

There was another pause. The mallard had been joined by a whole family of mallards. There was a considerable quacking and dabbling.

“Lucifer,” the Devil said. “He called me Lucifer.”

Simon nearly choked on his beer.

“Lucifer? Lucifer? Nobody's called Lucifer. Just nobody. Why on earth did he call you Lucifer?”

The stranger seemed miffed. He straightened his shoulders and said with a certain dignity, “There is nothing wrong with Lucifer. It is a perfectly good name. Admittedly it may not be in the top ten boys' names in 2014. But it is my name. So that is what he called me.”

“You're really called Lucifer?”

“Yes.”

“Lucifer what?”

“Just plain Lucifer.”

Simon stared at the stranger. “But you must be Lucifer Smith or something. But even then nobody surely would call their son Lucifer? Traditionally Lucifer is the Devil's name. No-one else is called Lucifer.”

“Exactly,” said the Devil. “I am he. The Devil. Work it out for yourself. Common logic. Only the Devil is called Lucifer. Nobody but he. I am called Lucifer. Ergo I am the Devil.”

Simon smiled. The man was mad of course. Completely of his rocker but he seemed civil enough. No trace of violence and, apart from the liberties taken with Lucinda's rear, his behaviour had been largely acceptable. And he had bought the beer. And Lucinda hadn't seemed to mind so perhaps it didn't count.

The only problem was how to respond to his claim.

“You don't much look like the Devil if I may cay so.”

The man, or the Devil, opposite him was of medium height, of a pleasant open countenance, dark hair, longish and slightly curling where it was brushed back over his ears. Green eyes under a broad brow. Quite good looking in an unremarkable way. Rather a boyish appearance though a touch of grey at his temples indicated that he might be older than he looked. Mid forties perhaps but it was difficult to judge.

“Do you expect me to appear before you with horns, a pointed tail, cloven hooves and covered with metallic scales, holding a pitchfork and smelling of brimstone and sulphur?” The Devil asked with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

“No … No .,. It is only that if you want to convince people that you are the Devil it might help if ... if … well if you looked a little devilish. Not the whole hog of course but perhaps a little …?”

The Devil shook his head wearily. “On the contrary it would be a fundamental error. To function at all one has to fit in. How otherwise can one operate? The last thing I want is for people to run a mile in the opposite direction as soon as they clap eyes on me. You know what people are like. They have a built in distrust of anything that does not conform to their own self image. Look how they view immigrants and foreigners in general.

Simon nodded. He could see the sense in the stranger's reasoning. It didn't reduce the man's obvious nuttiness but it provided a sound argument to shelter behind when his diabolic credentials were questioned.

“Operate?” Simon asked. What exactly do you do? I mean aren't you involved in the promotion of evil in general.

The Devil winced. “The human race itself is quite capable of perpetrating all imaginable evil. The world is over brimming with it. I would only get in the way. Anyway I long ago lost interest in evil for evil's sake. Nowadays I aim for a more balanced approach. Good and evil so often depend on one's point of view.”

“Oh I see,” said Simon. Although he didn't. “I don't believe in God myself. So I am not qualified to judge these matters.”

“You sound exactly like your father. God has nothing to do with this matter. Whether He exists or not is not relevant. We are not like Laurel and Hardy you know. We are quite separate. You really shouldn't believe everything you read. Media gossip is not at all reliable.

Simon closed his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to be subjected to a religious rant by a complete fruitcake.

“So what do you do,” he asked, desperately trying to steer the subject into safer waters.

“I trade things,” the Devil replied. “It is my way of doing good. I get people what they want at a price they can afford.”

“And what do people want,” grinned Simon. “Sex I suppose. And money of course, although with one you can always get the other.”

The Devil smiled his approval. “Well done. You are quite right. Sex is only a side benefit to a wise choice. And also of course there is a lot of it about nowadays that you don't even need money for. So it hasn't much currency value. No, power and money have both stood the test of time. Interchangeable to some extent of course. But money is easier to convert and generally more durable.”

“My Father didn't find it so. His money disappeared soon enough.”

The Devil shrugged. “The money was durable enough. Your father just converted into other less durable assets.”

“And what do you get out of it? What do you get in return?”

Simon took another drink. As soon as this pint was finished he determined to leave. He owed this madman a round but he wasn't going to sit and share it with him. The only odd thing was that the beer in his glass seemed almost inexhaustible … the level was still obstinately high.

“Traditionally it was the other beneficiary's immortal soul. But,” and here the Devil shook his head sadly, “there is very little market demand for souls nowadays.”

“Why?” Simon regretted asking as the words left his mouth.

“Well firstly the whiole sector has attracted a lot of bad publicity,” explained the Devil. "The Dr. Faustus case for example. It was a gross misrepresentation of the actual facts of the case but it upset a lot of people. But the real downer you yourself have already referred obliquely to. The decline in religious belief in our target market. May I ask you a rather personal question Simon?”

“Go ahead. Ask away.”

“Thank you. Well do you believe you have an immortal soul?”

“No. As I said I don't believe in a God so it follows that ….”

“Just so. If you don't believe in it it is difficult to trade in it. If I were to offer you a million pounds for your immortal soul it would be quite unethical for you to accept. It would be a moral fraud on your behalf. Irrespective of the actual existence or not of the item you would intend to profit from an illusion. And even those people who think that they do have an immortal soul don't value it as people did in times past. All in all the immortal soul market is dead in the water.”

“So what do you trade in?" It really was getting beyond a joke. David took another swallow from his glass which still seemed to be around half full.

“Various things” said the Devil airily. “All depends on what the other beneficiary values. In your case I noticed the way you looked at our delightful waitress Lucinda. She really is a bit of a sex goddess isn't she.?”

“Those breasts, those thighs, and her face! To echo dear Dr Faustus surely her face would launch the mythical thousand ships? Your reaction was that of any normal male. Imagining the bliss that a closer acquaintance might entail. There would of course be a down side. There always is. It might involve you in considerable expense. Even if you achieve your bliss which is certainly not a given, it would almost inevitably end with mutual recriminations and heart break. A jealous boyfriend might take violent objection to your interest. So many snares and pitfalls line the route.”

The Devil paused allowing Simon to consider his words.

“Still it would all be worthwhile or so your masculinity would insist. Fun whilst it lasted. ”

He leant forward a little across the table.

“Now knowing how much you prize this masculinity of yours I might be prepared to offer you a rather exceptional deal on it. Shall we say three million pounds … a seven hundred and fifty thousand pound down payment and the rest spread over three years at the rate of seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds per annum?”

Simon was lost for words. The absurd idea came to him that he might be the subject of some embarrassing television hoax programme and he glanced around but even the old ladies had abandoned both tea and mallards and departed. They had the lawn to themselves.

The Devil smiled understandingly at his evident confusion.

“Just think about it for a moment. Think what you could do with three million pounds. Three million pounds to weigh against what? What have you to lose? I promise you that you would retain all your sexual prowess, activity, and enjoyment. Indeed as a bonus I could guarantee a significant increase in all three.”

“And on top of all that ... as a special clincher … I will provide you with an introduction to Lucinda and facilitate all the sexual bliss with her that even the most lascivious heart and loins could desire. Long term and no strings attached.”

He has finally flipped thought Simon. He noticed that his beer glass was in fact nearly empty. It had all been an hallucination. All this devil talk was beginning to get to him. All he had to do was to walk away …

He looked up to see the stranger's hand outstretched towards him.

“Shake on it,” the Devil said. “Shake on three million pounds.”

Simon hesitated but a fraction of a second. This was his chance to get away from what was turning into a boring conversation with an obvious candidate for admittance to the local funny farm. He reached out, took the proffered hand and shook it.

A curious tingle ran up his arm. The scene seemed to shift slightly as if jarred by a sudden shock. So slight but the mallards seem to feel it also and there was a sudden splashing from the river as they took flight in alarm.

Nothing else happened.

With a flurry of wings and some quacking the mallards returned.

“A deal is a deal,” said the Devil. “It is a pleasure to do business with you. A real pleasure.”

“And with you,” said Simon. “But I really must be away now.”

“Not yet surely. So many things to discuss. I must explain payment details for a start. I promise it is all above board but you will need to know what it involves. I should hate you to think later that I hadn't divulged anything that you should know. They do say that the devil is in the detail but that is a calumny that I am anxious to avoid.”

“No,” said Simon firmly. “I must go. I don't want to be rude but I am already late.”

The Devil looked at him considering. Then he sighed.

“You don't believe any of this do you?”

“Well,” said Simon, “you must admit it sounds a little far fetched.”

“You don't believer that I am the Devil, or that you are now seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds better off now than you were a couple of minutes ago?”

Simon prevaricated. “Look ... It has been most ...er … interesting and … er ... pleasant talking to you. And I am indebted to you for the drink but since you ask I must confess that ... Well frankly no.”

The Devil regarded him with what could almost be taken for compassion. Almost to himself he murmured. “It is my fault I suppose. Religious teaching although pernicious in many aspects did at one time at least encourage a belief in me. A case of bad publicity being worth more than no publicity at all. So very different nowadays.”

Simon felt a little guilty. The stranger might be, well definitely was, a complete nutter but he seemed harmless enough.

“Harry, I don't want to offend you in any way as I know you mean well. And I have enjoyed out little chat … and of course the pint of Landlord that you so generously bought me, but perhaps you should consider consulting someone about this idea you have about being the Devil. If you could perhaps talk it through with someone better qualified than I, you would find a more rational …”

The Devil interrupted him.

“Simon don't worry. I am not in the least offended. I quite understand your position. I would like us to part as friends. Just grant me a couple more minutes of your time, just a couple I promise, to settle the matter one way or the other. It will save so much time in the long run.”

Simon sighed. “Just a couple of minute then. No more.”

The Devil fished in his back trouser pocket and extracted a small wad of money from which he peeled a twenty pound note. This he placed in the middle of the table.

“My twenty pounds says that you will have breasts, feminine C cup breasts, in under one minute. One minute starting from the time your money is laid on the table.”

“Come on,” he continued, “It is a no-brainer from your point of view. You put your money down, wait a minute, then pick up both notes and, perhaps best of all, walk away without any further need to put up with my ridiculous claims.”

Simon gave up. He was past caring about being understanding and civil to uninvited mental cases who had long outstayed their welcome. He put his twenty pound note on the table on top of the Devil's.

There was again a curious jolt as if the earth 's spin had for a millisecond been obstructed. It was so quick that as soon as it had occurred Simon thought he had imagined it. The mallards quacked loudly and fluttered their wings but this time remained water bound. Perhaps they were getting accustomed to it.

The seconds ticked away. In spite of himself Simon looked at his wristwatch.

19...20...25...26...27...28...

There was a sudden flutter, a squirming, on Simon's chest. A curious rumbling sensation such as one experiences in one's tummy when one has indulged rather unwisely. Only it wasn't in his tummy but in his chest.

29…30...35...36...37...38...

There was a sudden urgent sensitivity in his nipples, a curious stretching sensation.

39...40...41...42...43...44.

Internal movement ceased.

The Devil reached out and picked up both notes.

Simon felt a weight where no weight had been. A weight, a presence, on his chest held tight by a constraining band. He looked down and saw his shirt front deformed by two breasts thrusting out. Through the shirt's material he could see a dark band of colour and where the buttons gaped he glimpsed a lace adorned bra cradling a sweet curve of flesh.

“Breasts!” The word was breathed out rather than spoken. Incredulity jostled with despair, with shock.

“Yes,” said the Devil. “So now you know.”

“But you can't ...”

“But I just have.”

Silence as Simon struggled to come to terms with it all. Struggled to believe what his eyes told him was true.

“I threw in the bra as a freebie,” said the Devil helpfully. “It is quite the latest style; sexy yet really supportive.”

“If you still don't believe your eyes why don't you fondle them? I understand that the nipple area is particularly sensitive. That should convince you that you are indeed the proud possessor of two of the loveliest boobs you could ever wish for.”

The last thing Simon wanted to do was touch them. His hands had at first moved towards them but then he had pulled them back and they were now white knuckled, gripping the arms of his chair. He stared at them in horror as if they were a pair of venomous serpents whose very touch meant painful death.

"You don't look very pleased with them,” said the Devil with a hint of reproach in his voice. You won't find a better pair I assure you. They really are the most perfect example of their kind. I do so think that the C cup is quite the best size. Anything bigger smacks of ostentation and anything less invites pity”

Simon found his voice at last. “Can't you get rid of them? Please. Oh please. You have made your point. I have been so very pig headed, so very stupid. I admit it. I acknowledge that you are indeed the Devil. I am so sorry if I offended you. Please. Please reverse … reverse whatever you did.”

The weight on his chest shifted and swayed as his chest heaved with emotion.

“Of course I can remove them. Naturally I am sorry that you don't like them but if you really prefer … If you really want me to remove them all we have to do is to make another bet. Rather like before. You bet me I can't and I bet you that I can. Shall we play for fifty pounds this time?”

“Fifty pounds? But it was twenty last time ...” Simon spluttered and his breasts moved to echo his protest.

“It is only to add a little interest,” said the Devil. “A sort of incentive to make it all worthwhile. Hardly worth bothering for less, but if you'd rather we didn't? … Well it is up to you.”

“Of course, of course. To make it worth while, of course. It is just that I don't know if ...” Simon hastily fumbled for his money and counted it. There were only three notes. A twenty and two tens. A search in his pockets produced a few coins which added another thirty five pence.

“Couldn't we make it f ..f..f..forty. I don't seem to have any more than this.”

Panic plain and raw in Simon's voice.

The Devil's voice was soothing, benevolent.

“My dear chap, please. What is money between friends? I may count you amongst my friends I hope? An I.O.U. would more than amply suffice. And even that is hardly necessary. Such a trivial amount. Especially considering your future prospects.”

“An I.O.U.? Of course. With pleasure. I ...er .. you haven't a pen on you by any chance have you?”

The Devil obligingly produced an expensive looking ballpoint and a small leather bound notebook from which he carefully tore a page. These he handed to Simon.

As Simon scribbled an I.O.U. the Devil placed a fifty pound note on the table and pronounced the bet. “My fifty pounds says that you will have no female breasts, C cup or any other size, in under one minute. One minute starting from the time your money or equivalent is laid on the table.

His hand shaking, his breath rasping in his throat, the bra straps tugging at his shoulders as he stretched forward, Simon placed the hastily written I.O.U. down on to the table next to the Devil's note.

Again the curious sensation as if the world fractionally hesitated. One of the mallards reared in the water and flapped its wings as if considering flight but then thought better of it.

It seemed an age. Time crawled by each second seemed a minute.

Simon glanced at his watch. Only 15 seconds had passed.

16...17...18... His hand, his watch were shaking.

He daren't look. Surely it should have happened by now … surely?

He forced himself to look.

25...26...27...28...29

But last time … last time it had already started by now.

Sickness in his stomach. Please. Oh please.

30...31...32...33...34...35

Bile rising in his throat. Mouth dust dry.

40...42...43...44...45

And then he felt the sensations, the feelings, again. The breasts rippled internally. It felt as if they were being massaged and a strong sexual excitement coursed through him.

46...47...48....49...50

Relief flooded through him. Hid breasts already felt lighter. Less substantial.

51...52...53...54...55

His shirt seemed less stretched. Not his imagination.

56...57...58...59

The sensations died away. The Devil's voice pierced his consciousness.

“Quite a close run thing . I thought you might win that time. Only another second and you would have walked away with my fifty pounds.”

Smilingly he picked up Simon's I.O.U. along with his own note.

“I should have known better,” he said. “It is always so much more difficult to subtract rather than add. And of course there was the added complication of doing one straight after the other. Always a recipe for disaster.”

“Thank you,” was all Simon could find to say. He had a feeling that it was all the Devil's doing in the first place. He didn't know quite why he was thanking him but his whole body was so overwhelmed by relief that he had to thank someone. His heart was starting to resume its normal rhythm as he looked down at his chest. All back to normal. The only reminder being the bra which was visible under his shirt as a dark shadow.

He looked up to see the Devil smiling benignly at him.

“I left you the bra,” he said. “It seemed such a waste not to. Good ones like that are quite expensive. And it was such a good fit. It is bound to come in useful later.”

Simon looked up puzzled.

“Later?”

“Yes later.”

“I don't understand.” A sudden doubt assailed him. A sudden lurch in his stomach.

A smile of beatific sweetness curled the Devil's lips. “But it is is quite simple. You surely haven't forgotten our little arrangement have you? I would have thought that the prospect of three million pounds would have been a sufficient inducement to register our little deal in you immediate memory even if the loss of your masculinity isn't.”

Simon stared at him aghast. “But I thought … Well I didn't realise … I thought you meant masculinity in the sense of … well I thought macho behaviour … I thought a masculine approach to things … I didn't think …”

His voice tailed off.

The Devil shook his head reproachfully. “The truth is Simon that you didn't think anything at all did you? Or if you did it was how to continue to be civil to a raving loonie suffering from the delusion that he was the Fiend Incarnate.”

Thoughts tumbled in wild profusion through Simon's mind. It was all too true. He tried to seize them, Tried to put them into a coherent sequence so that he could explain, could seek a solution. No words seemed suitable.

The Demon saw and understood. He nodded. “Let's try again Simon. But this time for your own sake I beg you to pay attention. The concept of money is clear I take I? The details of how it will be yours we will come to. The immediate problem seems to be your misunderstanding of the concept of masculinity and how it applies to you so we'll deal with that first. It is really quite simple. Elementary indeed. Each and every mammal is either masculine or feminine or somewhere between the two. I believe indeed some creatures are both. However if one removes all elements of masculinity one is left with pure unadulterated femininity with all the physical attributes that such a state entails.”

“To put it another way. I have purchased your Y chromosome. I couldn't leave you with just one X chromosome could I? It would have been very wrong of me. Quite unethical. You would no longer be. So I added the second X. All part of the service.”

Simon fought down the panic that threatened to consume him. He desperately tried to recall the details of their earlier conversation.

“But...but you said that I would retain all sexual prowess and activity and … and … you even inferred it would be better.”

“Indeed I did and indeed you will. I didn't say that it would be necessarily the same sexual prowess and activity though. As for it being better there is much anecdotal evidence to suggest that for females such is indeed the case. Of course one cannot be absolutely sure as to be so would entail that one could make a direct comparison and such is of course impossible.”

The Devil smiled encouragingly at Simon. “Well nearly impossible. You will be in the unique position of being able to settle the argument once and for all. Your experiences will be of considerable interest to the scientific world as well as to those persons of a more prurient disposition.”

“But you promised that Lucinda and I would … well would enjoy a sexual liaison and ...”

“Oh don't be so naïve Simon. Work it out for yourself.”

Watching the enlightenment spread across Simon's face he added, “Such is indeed the girl's personal preference although professionally she casts her net rather wider. As you would expect from such a good hearted girl.”

There was a pause during which Simon stared into the abyss with ever increasing sick horror.

The Devil watched the mixed emotions of bewilderment, fear, and despair fight for ascendancy in the face opposite.“ I know it may all have come as a bit of a shock and that at the moment you may be filled with regrets,” he consoled, “but you need to look on the bright side. Be positive."

“First of all you have a total of three million pounds as recompense. A considerable amount of money even in today's terms. And secondly you will be the most gorgeous sexy creature that you can possibly manage. Of course you were a fairly handsome young man and it would only be fair to that you would find yourself re-created as an attractive bubbly girl but the payment terms entail that you become a quite exceptional beauty with a personality to match. You will never be short of ...”

“How long?”

The question, flat and expressionless, cut across the Devil's exposition of compensatory benefits.

“I beg your pardon?”

“How long? How long have I got before … before all this happens? Before I become female?”

“Oh that,” said the Devil. “Well it is difficult to be precise about these things. So much depends on body weight, amount and strength of the existing masculinity, ambient temperature even. And of course there isn't much existing data to guide ...”

“How long?” The voice dull; all emotion drained away.

The Devil sighed his impatience. He disliked interruptions at the best of times and certainly ones that were to his mind trivial and to which he was unsure of the answer.

“As I said it is difficult to say. Too many variables. Perhaps several hours, Possibly even twelve. One took seventeen but he was very much the exception. With you there is of course an additional complication.”

“Complication? With me? What complication?”

“The bet we had. You growing breasts.”

“But I gather that was a separate incident unrelated to the deal and besides you removed them,”

“Indeed it was and indeed I did, but their creation involved you receiving a huge hormonal surge. Quite massive and certainly sufficient to trigger subsequent changes. So … So everything may well be radically speeded up. It could be already beginning. It is not going to be as sudden and dramatic as the simple acquiring of boobs of course. It is altogether a deeper, more profound operation, but you could expect to notice differences any time now.”

“Any time now?”

“Yes, any time now.”

There was no reaction from Simon. He seemed numbed. His eyes closed as he retreated into his own thoughts.

The Devil, who has an eye for such details, noticed that his eyelashes seemed longer. Time was indeed running out and he needed to dot the i's and cross the t's.

“As I was saying, you will be quite astoundingly attractive. Men will be but putty in your hands. And this for a very good reason. I need to honour my part of the bargain.”

The Devil glanced across at Simon. The latter now had his eyes open but still seemed lost in his own little nightmare world. He was staring intently at his beer mug and at the hand that gripped it. The Devil tapped the table. Simon looked at him, eyes wide under long lashes.

“Do pay attention Simon. It's important. It is for your benefit.”

Simon managed a nod but his eyes returned to a study of his beer.

“The payment terms of a quarter down and the rest spread over the following three years are dictated by the need for you to receive the money legitimately, well arguably legitimately, without drawing upon yourself unwelcome attention from Her Majesty's tax authorities or indeed the police. In many ways it would be easier for me to just arrange for you to receive a single payment for the full amount now and have done with it. However the sudden appearance of three million pounds in your bank account for no good reason would excite curiosity. People would start to ask questions about its provenance. Questions to which you could give no believable answer. It would get messy. So ...”

Simon nodded. He heard the words and indeed understood what was being said but it all seemed unimportant. Unimportant compared with the fact that his beer mug, still obstinately a quarter full, seemed to have become distinctly bigger in his hand.

“... So far better that you receive the initial amount in the form of a lottery win. You might ask why you couldn't win the whole amount this way and the answer to that is that you are not the only client I have and I can't monopolize the lottery winning tickets to that extent. I have to exercise discretion. It is one of the easiest methods of transferring money at my disposal but I can't milk it.”

“Christ!” said Simon and followed it with a noise that sounded like a muffled sob.

The Devil visibly winced. “Please don't swear like that Simon. It's upsetting. He frowned. “Not to mention unladylike. What is the matter now?” he added.

“It's my hand.”

“Your hand?”

Simon brought his other hand up, looked at it closely and then he clasped it with the other round his glass.

“My hands,” he corrected himself. “My hands are getting smaller, more delicate. Not like my hands. And the nails they …” another muffled sob.

“It is not a problem really,” said the Devil with a sympathetic air. “You will soon get used to it and for now you have practically no beer left and can ask for smaller glasses in future. Or indeed a different drink completely. A pint of bitter isn't perhaps the most appropriate refreshment for a young lady.”

“Now were was I? Ah yes. The first payment will come in the form of a lottery win. And after that the idea is that I have arranged for you to have the attributes to earn the annual instalments with the minimum of inconvenience to yourself. In fact the sum of seven hundred and fifty thousand per annum is a low end figure. A far more substantial amount will be yours for the picking up as it were. I will provide you with a list of contacts to get you started and of course the estimable Lucinda will be there as mentor and friend. What she doesn't know about the business isn't worth knowing.”

As the Devil's words filtered through the darkness of Simon's thoughts he was conscious of the abyss deepening.

“You mean your friend Lucinda is a prostitute and you expect me to be one too? That to get the money which was your side of this wretched bargain I have to … to … become a whore?”

The Devil threw up his hands in horrified alarm. “Prostitution? Become a whore? Where on earth did you get that idea from? I must say I am deeply distressed that you think so ill of me as to even begin to imagine that I would be capable of anything like that. And as for poor Lucinda … How can you malign the dear girl so. It is really quite wicked of you. She only came here today, admittedly at my urging, out of the goodness of her heart to help you.”

Simon looked at him in blank despair. It was not just his hands now. His whole body felt different. Diminished. The very table at which he was sitting seemed larger, further away. There was a heaviness in his chest and on his hips. No physical symptoms as when he had grown breasts but a feeling that the body that he had grown up with, that he just took for granted, had somehow become different. Alien. There was an overall lightness, a frailty, that he did not recognize. He felt detached from the present and from his surroundings, and the Devil's reassurances came to him filtered by distance.

“Anyway,” the Devil continued, “prostitution is on a lower plane of financial gain completely. I am talking of commerce with only the very rich, only the very cream of society. No sordid one night stands. Nothing remotely like that. Long established relationships are the thing. Let your swains travel hopefully before arriving. Favours granted for favours received. And if those favours are of a sexual nature … well such can be ultimately pleasurable to both parties. Money follows sperm, or rather as Lucinda would doubtless correct me, sperm follows money. You need to see the colour of the money first. And of course there are always side, albeit potentially very lucrative, benefits such as alimony etc.”

David glanced down at his shirt. The dark shadow that was his bra was no longer quite so crumpled. There was a beginning of soft fullness and the straps of the bra itself seemed to have straightened. Beginning to take the strain. Down, down there, in the deep of his groin, a slight warmth.

“The world my dear,” finished the Devil, “will be your oyster. And a very productive and enjoyable oyster you will find it to be.”

The 'my dear' spurred Simon out of his paralysis. It was a vocal tocsin of change. It was the clang of the condemned cell door.

“Can't it be reversed. As with the breasts?”

“Please,” he added.

The Devil looked startled. “Reversed? You mean you want to buy back your masculinity? Embark on a reverse trade?”

“Please,” said Simon his voice sounding high with desperation.

The Devil considered. “Well,” he said at last, “nothing is impossible of course. Although … well of course it couldn't be done until the present transformation is completed. Oh dear me no. I couldn't even contemplate it before then. I owe a duty of care to all my clients and so much could go wrong if we tried to juggle with your DNA in such a cavalier manner.”

“But then when I become a girl ... a female, you could do something? You could make me … make me meagain?

“You will always be me as you put it. Having a pair of tits and a pussy won't change that. But yes what you ask is indeed possible in theory at least.”

His nascent breasts felt heavier now. He daren't look but felt their weight and pull when he moved. The chair on which he sat felt strangely cushioned too.

His mind leapt at the hope that all was not yet lost. Femininity for a few hours, days perhaps a week was something that … that he could endure, might even find interesting, enjoy indeed. Knowing what it was like to be a woman, just for a little while, might give him an insight into the mysteries of what women truly felt, truly wanted. In spite of his situation a little thrill of sexual excitement ran through him and he was even more conscious of the burgeoning warmth between his legs.

He became belatedly aware that the Devil was still speaking,

“.....theory yes, but of course there are a few little details to iron out first, a few snags. Such as the time lapse. If that is too great then the masculinity then available may not be the one that you traded in. That might have long since been traded on. And although in theory they are all supposed to have the same value, the same properties even, it is rather a grey area. So when I said that you would always be the same me I could not guarantee it in such circumstances.”

“But there wouldn't be a time lapse. I want it done as soon as possible. You could surely keep the one I lost, traded in if you like, for me for a day or so.”

“Indeed I could my dear. Of course. Anything to oblige a friend. You need have no fears that your interests would not always be given priority as far as I am concerned. Once you are fully female the timing of any reversion is entirely in your hands. I am, as always, at your service. Anything, anything at all to oblige a pretty lady.”

“Then I don't understand the problem?”

“There isn't really a problem. Not one that cannot be resolved anyway. It is just that, and I hesitate to bring sordid considerations of a commercial nature to worry your pretty head, the said masculinity would need paying for. And that might take some little time.”

There seemed to be something obstructing one side of Simon's vision. He put up his hand to sweep in way and found it to be his shoulder length hair. His hand encountered something heavier that swung out of the way with a tug at his earlobe and then caught his hand again as it swung back. An earring.

“But if the trade is reversed? Naturally you would reclaim the three million pounds which indeed is not in my possession yet. Nor will it be. I don't need to touch the seventy five thousand down payment and ...”

The Devil shook his head with every outward sign of sorrow. “My dear I greatly fear that the purchase of masculinity carries a rather higher price. And deeply though I sympathise with your predicament, the best price I could possibly do is five million pounds which would leave you with a considerable shortfall.”

“Five million! Five million but … that's absurd. I mean it was three million half an hour ago and …”

The Devil intervened gently. “Three million was your Selling Price. You surely don't expect your Buying Price to be the same? I have expenses to cover, apart from having to scrape a modest living. And you must take into consideration the degree of interest in the article concerned. It is something that you now desperately want. When you sold it you showed little interest in the deal. So much so that you barely listened to my explanation. Hence the article has appreciated in value considerably. The old market forces at work.”

David sat back stunned. His world, all his hopes in dust at his feet. Feet that he now knew were encased in elegant high heels. His breasts, full and luscious, nestled warm in the now barely adequate bra. Their warmth released a perfume that hung heavy on his skin. There was a greasy tackiness on his lips when he spoke. And down there, down there, there was a hungry emptiness.

There was silence between them. Simon tried to object but his few halting words came out in a husky contralto that only served to make meaningless his protest, only served to emphasise his evident femininity.

The Devil, soft spoken, resumed. “It is still possible you know. It you really want it. You could still earn it. Men are largely fools and the richest of them tend to lose contact with the value of money. So with application it is still possible although it will take a little time. A few years perhaps. I promise I will keep the offer open. But by then of course you may not want to pay it. You may, and I believe you will, discover that the life, the gender you have is preferable to that which you now consider as lost.”

He fished in the inside pocket of his linen jacket and produced a soft red leather notebook with thin gold corners which he placed on the table, his hands contrasting with the tapered crimson tipped elegance of Simon's.

“Inside the cover is the lottery ticket. Last Saturday's. It is worth nearly eight hundred thousand.” He smiled. “Even I cannot control just how many punters will buy tickets so I tend to err on the conservative side. There is also new driving licence and generally useful documents showing you to be Simone now. I hope you like the name. It is so much easier for me to have just an 'e' added in official records of course but also the name does have a rather Gallic overtone which should suit your new life style. In the book itself there are the contacts I promised you. They should enable to you to make a flying start towards earning the additional sums I promised.”

Simone picked up the notebook. By her right hand side there rested a clutch bag with a diamanté clasp. She was sure that it hadn't been there a second ago but now ... . Resignedly she opened it and slipped the book inside.

“Thank you,” her soft husky contralto intoned. Why she did not know. There just seemed nothing else to say and manners took precedence over silence.

The Devil looked over his shoulder and, following his glance, Simone saw Lucinda sashaying towards them holding a tray on which rested another beer and two wine glasses.

“Lucinda is she .. is she like me? Is she also one of your beneficiaries?”

The Devil looked scandalised. “Really Simone what a question! I couldn't possibly comment. And you should know better than to ask. Client confidentiality and all that. How would you like it if I relayed your own private history to any casual enquirer? It is a subject that you might care to broach with Lucinda when you get to know her more intimately but … .” The Devil shook his head in reproof at Simone's temerity as the girl in question joined them..

Lucinda placed her tray on the table before drawing up a third chair onto which she gracefully subsided.

She smiled at Simone. “Hi poppet. You look gorgeous. We're going to have such fun. I could see that your silhouette had changed radically, very much for the better as I am concerned, from across the lawn so I brought us all a drink to celebrate. A beer for Harry and a blanc de blancs each for us girls. ”

She turned to the Devil. “Sorry if I was a bit premature earlier Harry. Mea culpa and all that but I thought she knew. Anyway it is you who owes me the apology. She is absolutely superbly glamorous and I am madly jealous. If I did not know that we were going to be bosom friends and more …”, she winked at Simone, “I would scratch her eyes out.”

“And with the two bosoms in question being as they are, the friendship should be something to behold,” added the Devil with a clumsy sexual gallantry that was quite out of character.

“He is such an old sweetie really,” confided Lucinda to her new friend.