How I Met Your Mother-In-Law

An Altered Fates Story
By Iolanthe Portmanteaux

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Inspired by the title of the TV show How I Met Your Mother,
which ran in the US from 2005-2014.

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What happened to me is a little complicated and very hard to believe, but it’s all true, exactly as I tell it. I hope that some day I'll be able to explain it to my best friend, David. If I could, I'd sit him and down and say, "This is the story of how I met your mother-in-law."

It began last year, in the middle of August, with David Pommefre’s bachelor party. I’ve known David and his family my entire life, starting with kindergarten. I’ve met his fiancee, Julie Errison, a couple of times, but no one else from Julie’s family, especially not her mother.

When they decided to get married, David asked me to be his best man. Of course I very enthusiastically agreed. Wedding plans, however, are a complicated and sometimes very delicate web, and as they developed, David’s future mother-in-law, Mrs. Errison, insisted on giving them a destination wedding. The destination was on the Mexican Riviera. Or course, Mrs. Errison would pay for David and Julie, but not for the entire wedding party.

I had to tell David that I couldn’t be his best man. It was beyond my reach financially. I don’t want to go into detail, but it just wasn’t possible for me. Not only could I not be his best man; I couldn’t go at all.

So David asked Julie’s brother, Phil, to be his best man.

“It won’t be the same without you, dude,” David told me.

“Yeah, sorry, but I just can’t--”

“I know, I know, it’s cool. But my future mother-in-law is insisting on the destination wedding thing, and she’s one of those woman who must be obeyed.”

“Damn, man,” I said, half-joking, “are you going to be able to deal with that? You know she’s going to be your mother-in-law for the rest of your life.”

“I’m marrying Julie,” he replied tersely. “Not her mother.”

The first time I met David’s future mother-in-law was the middle of August. It was the night of David’s bachelor party, about a month before the wedding. We planned a pub crawl of all our old haunts -- with a few extra spots thrown in. It was your typical bachelor’s bash, with a pair of strippers, lots of drinking, and gag gifts (a fake ball and chain, etc.). We rented a stretch limo so we could safely overdo the drinking. No one would need to drive.

It was four in the morning when we finally quit, and one by one the limo dropped everyone at their respective homes. Finally, only David, Phil, and I remained. At that point, Phil suggested, “Hey, guys, why don’t you crash at my place? We have plenty of room. Nobody will even hear us come in.” At the moment, I was more than a little drunk, and didn’t think about the fact that when Phil said “my place” he actually meant his parents’ house. David told me later that he didn’t want to run into Julie in the state he was in. And he especially didn’t want Julie’s mother to see him. But he didn’t say so at the time. He just said he wanted to go home. I was tired of the limo, and just plain tired, so I did what seemed like the easiest thing: I went along to Phil’s house, even though I didn’t know Phil very well.

He showed me to a small guest room with its own bath and said, “See ya in the morning or whatever.”

Left to myself, I pulled down the shade, stripped down to my underwear, and crawled into bed under the sheet. I slept like a rock. I was dead to the world.

Next thing I knew, I was wakened by the sound of the shade being whipped opened in one vigorous sweep. I opened my eyes, blinking in the light, and saw Phil’s mother, Mrs. Errison, at the window. She took a few steps toward me. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know you were there! I came in because I wondered why the shade was closed.” She smiled, and her eyes drifted slowly down my body.

I realized, to my alarm, that I was completely naked and exposed. My underwear, and the sheet that had covered me, were gone. In fact, they were nowhere to be seen. Not only that, but I had a big erection sticking straight in the air. Morning wood. I tried to cover it with my hands, but given the fact that I was lying down and she was standing near my feet, there was no way I could hide it. I would have put my pillow in front of me, but that was missing as well. Mrs. Errison’s smile widened. “Now what is your name, and how did you end up in my bed?”

“Ya-ya-ya-your b-b-bed?” I stammered. “I uh-uh-uh d-d-d--”

“Of course, you’re not in my bed,” she said, in a coy tone. “You’re in my guest bedroom.”

“I’m a friend of Phil’s,” I said. “My name is Mo Rabberly.”

“Oh, you’re the boy who was supposed to be the best man!”

“Yes,” I confessed, “but the destination, uh… you know, it was too pricey for me.”

“Oh, that’s too bad!” she said, and then changing subject: “Now that you’re awake, I guess you’ll be needing a shower and some breakfast.”

“Yes, uh, I guess so. Yes.”

“There’s a bathroom here, just for you. But the shower is a little tricky to use, so come and let me show you how it works.”

I saw a few drops of precum on the head of my cock, and I saw her look at them as well. I wanted to get out of this embarrassing and uncomfortable situation, so I said, “Thanks, but I’m sure I can figure it out.”

She frowned at me. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Are you sure? Well, I’m not. So let’s make sure, why don’t we?”

I found myself obeying. I stood up and looked around. My clothes were gone. Just plain gone. There was nothing I could cover myself with -- not even the smallest towel. Not even a handkerchief. Mrs. Errison took my hand and led me to the bathroom.

To be honest, the taps in the shower were a bit complex, and in my muddled state it would have taken me a while to arrive at a hot shower. She waited until I started rubbing shampoo into my hair, and then she left.

I was trembling with nerves, embarrassment, confusion, and the anticipation of having to walk downstairs and see her again -- wearing what? It had to be her who took the sheet off me in the night, and I know I didn’t take my own underwear off. A shock ran through me when I touched my penis: it was slick. I froze, with my hand gripping my cock. I want to say that I didn’t know what to think, but I DID know what to think: Mrs. Errison had undressed me and done… something… okay: it's obvious. She took a ride on my cock while I was unconscious. I washed myself carefully, and felt my butt, to make sure nothing had happened back there. I kept glancing at the door to see if she had come back. At last, I finished the shower and dried myself. As I was rubbing the water from my hair, I saw my clothes in a neat pile on the bedroom chair. It was one of the most chilling sights I’ve ever seen in my life. I know they weren’t there when I woke up, or even when I walked into the bathroom.

I didn't feel raped exactly, even if that's what it was. I felt surprised, embarrassed, and confused. She was a pretty good-looking woman, and honestly, if she gave me the chance when I was fully awake and sober, I would have gone for it. But finding out that I'd been used... I'll admit, it unnerved me.

After putting my clothes on, I went downstairs. It was only seven, and no one else was awake. Mrs. Errison made me some eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee, and it was all very good. She chatted with me about how I knew David, and how well did I know Julie and Phil? She asked a lot of questions: what I do for a living, where I worked, and how much I get paid. Where do I live, what rent do I pay? Do I have a girlfriend? How do I spend my free time? I didn’t want to, but somehow I ended up telling her everything she wanted to know.

Now that I was dressed and feeling slightly less awkward, I got a good look at her: she had conservatively-cut caramel blonde hair. She was in her late forties, with a good figure and a nice face. She emanated an aura of command. I was quite intimidated. At the time, I might have attributed that to my experience in the guest room that night, but since then I’ve seen her interact with other people, and I know that she intimidates everyone.

As I was leaving the house, Mr. Errison, Julie’s father, came down the stairs. He was a white-haired guy with glasses, about the same age as Mrs. Errison, but he looked a lot older. He was wearing a tie on a Saturday and somehow made it look casual. Mrs. Errison introduced us, I shook his hand and nervously stammered that I had to be going. Before I got out the door, Mrs. Errison said, “Wait -- I have to kiss you goodbye!” Mr. Errison chuckled as his wife grabbed me and planted a warm, wet kiss on my lips. It wasn’t a short smack, either: it must have lasted ten seconds or more. At the end, I felt her tongue sweep across my lips. I gasped through my nose. Mr. Errison seemed to get a kick out of my confusion. I stumbled down the walk from their front door, and as soon as I was out of sight I started running and I didn’t stop until I passed two coffee shops. I went in, sat in a corner, and waited for my heart to stop pounding.

Of course, I didn’t tell ANYONE what had happened.

A few days later, I got a phone call from Julie inviting me to a party at “her house” -- again, meaning her parents’ house. I’d never really spoken to her before (aside from hello and congratulations and nice to meet you), and I was surprised by how lovely and likeable she was. In fact, she was super-nice. Her voice was so warm and charming that she instantly put me at my ease. “The party is mainly for people who can’t come to the wedding -- for whatever reason, and out of everyone we especially want YOU to be there.”

How could I possibly say no?

I’m sure you’ve already guessed that this was the second time I met David’s future mother-in-law.

The party was great. It was massive, under a tent in her backyard. There was a DJ. There was an enormous buffet. There were servers roaming through the crowd with appetizers and champagne. It must have cost a fortune, but David had told me that Julie’s parents (who were footing the bill) were loaded -- both of them. Her mother was wealthy in her own right -- born into a rich family. Her father was a surgeon, but he also owned -- or had an interest in -- several local business. He seemed to have the golden touch: every thing he invested in, paid off.

Initially I was nervous about the party, but after about a half an hour, I relaxed. Julie’s parents were nowhere to be seen. All of the guests were around my age, and more than half were attractive, interesting, friendly women. I was having a great time. A really great time! I mingled, I danced, I ate and drank, I met people, I flirted and made connections… it was honestly the best party that I’d ever been to.

Yes, it was the best party... until I needed to use the bathroom. In retrospect, it would have been wiser just to pee in the bushes. As embarrassing as it might have been to get caught doing that, it would have been infinitely preferable to what really happened.

I left the tented area, crossed the patio, and entered the house through the french doors. I found myself alone in a lovely sitting room. There were two doors to choose from, so I took the far door. It took me to the front of the house, near the stairs. From there I knew how to find the guest room and its bathroom, so after a quick glance around me, I ran up the stairs and back to the bedroom where I’d first met Mrs. Errison.

Stupid me, I didn’t close the bathroom door before I opened my pants and started peeing. Why didn’t I close the door? It was the alcohol. That’s my excuse. I'd been drinking and thought I was alone up there. I closed my eyes and sighed as the warm stream flowed out of me into the bowl, relieving the pressure on my bladder. When I opened my eyes, I nearly jumped out of my skin: Mrs. Errison was standing right next to me, watching me urinate. I didn’t actually jump though; that’s just a figure of speech. But I was pretty damn startled, I can tell you.

“You’re just an exhibitionist, aren’t you?” she whispered to me in a confidential tone, as if we were sharing a secret.

“N-n-no, I’m not!” I stammered, and in my nervousness, I turned slightly toward her, and peed all over her left leg, soaking the pants she was wearing. She slapped my face and said, “You are a bad boy!” She grabbed my cock and aimed it at the toilet. When I was done peeing, she vigorously shook the last few drops from it, then dried the tip with a piece of toilet paper. Still holding my penis, she surveyed the damage done: miraculously I hadn’t peed on the wall or on the floor, or even on the outside of the toilet. It all landed on her leg. She flushed the toilet and said, “Come with me.” She pulled on my penis as if it were a leash, and led me down the hallway, into her room, and into her en suite. She stepped into her shower, which was an immense space with glass walls. “Take off my shoes,” she commanded. I began to fumble my penis back into my pants, but she slapped my hands and said, “NO.” I didn't move, so after a moment, she huffed and said, “Take off all your clothes from your waist on down.” So I did. I don’t know why I did. I have no idea why I obeyed her. Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was my embarrassment. I don’t know. I really don’t know. In any case, I wasn't able to NOT obey.

Now I was barefoot, and wearing nothing but a polo shirt. I don't know why she let me keep my shirt on, but somehow it gave me a sense of being punished. “Kneel down and take off my shoes,” she commanded, so I bent down to do so. To steady herself, she rested a hand on my head. “Now take my pants off,” she told me. I took a deep breath and carefully worked the pee-stained pants down her legs and helped her step out of them. I have to say, her skin was remarkable, without a blemish, firm yet soft, and the shape of her legs would give a model envy. Except for the fact that her left leg glistened with pee. “I should make you lick it off,” she said, and smiled at the alarm I showed in my face. But rather than have me lick her, she told me to take the shower's spray attachment and carefully rinse her leg. (“Do not get my underwear wet, or you will suffer dire consequences,” she warned me.) She told me to soap her leg with a flowery smelling liquid, then rinse a second time. After I dried her leg with a soft towel, I followed her back to her bedroom, watching her perfectly shaped ass the whole time. She was only wearing her panties and her top at that point, and I watched her from behind as the took her top off and changed into a completely different outfit: a light floral-print dress that stopped just above her knees. As you can imagine, I was as erect as I could possibly be. In fact, my cock was twitching.

She picked out a different pair of shoes and made me put them on her feet. After that, she changed her jewelry. I helped with the clasp on her necklace and bracelet.

“I’m all set,” she said with satisfaction, admiring herself in the mirror. “Now we need to finish with you.” With that, she folded her towel in half and set it on the floor in front of her chair. Then she hiked her dress up, all the way to her hips and sat down. My mouth fell open. I could see her naked legs, from her heels to her hips, and my eyes couldn't move from the elegant underwear that covered her crotch. I nervously licked my lips and swallowed hard. My mouth was as dry as a dust bin. I wasn’t sure what was coming next, so when she said an expectant, “Well?” I had no idea what to do. She took my hand and guided me, as though as I was empty-headed dimwit, down so that I was lying across her thighs, my ass in the air, my stiff penis pointing down between her open legs at the towel on the floor. I was 75% sure what was coming next. I reserved the 25% because by now I’d learned that Mrs. Errison was full of surprises.

“I can’t let you think that what you did was forgivable,” she said, and then smack! her hand came down hard on my ass cheeks. Smack! Smack! came spank after spank. At first it stung. Then it began to burn, and finally it hurt so badly that tears came to my eyes. I found myself crying out for mercy, begging her to stop. I didn't know who could hear me, and at that moment, I didn't care. It wasn't me who was crying out; it was the pain. My poor buttocks were screaming on their own behalf.

She did pause for a few moments, but it was only to work my polo shirt off me. She took it off, dropped it to the floor, and got back to spanking the hell out of me. After a year and forever, she stopped, and rested her hand on my buttocks. “You’re glowing like an ember,” she told me. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes, ma’am! Yes!” I assured her. Then we remained in silence for a few moments. I was about to ask if I could stand up, when Mrs. Errison suddenly said, “Oh, my sister’s here! Just stay where you are, and please don't speak.” I didn’t dare move. I’ve heard the phrase embarrassed to death and I’ve used it myself, but after this experience, nothing else in my life even remotely qualifies for that title.

“Who is this?” a female voice asked, and I the stranger's finger experimentally touch my burning butt. I wanted to turn my head to look, but Mrs. Errison moved one hand to my head to keep my face turned toward the carpet. “This is Mo Rabberly,” my captor replied. “He’s a good boy, but he needed a little lesson.”

“I can see that,” the other voice said as her hand trailed over my ass. “Isn’t he the one who was supposed to be the best man?”

“Yes, he was.”

“So we won’t see him down in Mexico?”

“No.”

“Pity.”

They continued with small talk (unrelated to my ass) for two minutes or so. They spoke as if I wasn’t there, as if I wasn’t lying buck-naked with a red, freshly spanked ass. Neither of them spoke to me directly, but Mrs. Errison’s sister was quite interested in my butt. She played with it the entire time, stroking it, poking it, pushing it, spreading my cheeks... At last she excused herself (to Mrs. Errison) and left. After she’d gone, Mrs. Errison let me up, and told me, "As soon as I leave the room, you can get dressed. Then go down and enjoy the rest of the party.” With that, she was gone. I didn’t see her for the rest of the evening. I scooped up my clothes and ran, naked, as fast as I could, back to the bathroom where this all began. I couldn't help it, but I had to masturbate furiously, or I would have exploded and died.

I did get dressed and returned to the party, but not for very long. I had to leave (1) because I couldn’t stop blushing, (2) I kept having to hide inconvenient erections, and (3) because I had no idea what Mrs. Errison's sister looked like. Any woman there could have been the one who’d seen me bare-assed upstairs. There was no way I could recognize her voice; the music was too loud. Every time a woman smiled at me I couldn't help but wonder whether she'd been playing with my butt.

The third time I met David’s future mother-in-law was life-changing. I don’t use the term lightly. My life will literally never be the same. I will never be the same. It happened a little over two weeks before the wedding. In the days after my spanking, I did some thinking and some googling, and reconciled myself -- to some degree -- to Mrs. Errison’s various kinks. I’d never experienced anything at all like it before, and I don’t particularly want to repeat any of it, but she was obviously quite at home in that world. Whenever those experiences came back to mind, I’d unfailingly blush furiously and have to hide my erection. Sure, it was exciting. The memories would turn me on, but at the same time they'd make me feel anxious and guilty. I was afraid of Mrs. Errison, and it would be fine with me if I never met her again.

Imagine my surprise when I saw her at my place of work, talking to my boss! I saw her sitting in his office. She didn’t see me. My boss was smiling and nodding, and I lip-read him saying, “Anything I can do!” I felt certain it had something to do with me, and that the “anything [my boss] could do” would end up being something that I’d have to do. For sure, whatever it was, I wasn’t going to like it. I had the awful feeling that she was going to spank me in front of the entire office, then leave me buck naked with a red ass in the midst of my colleagues.

Of course, it wasn’t anything as crude or as obvious as that. In any case, she left without seeing me, so my ass felt safe for a brief moment. It was a very brief moment. Two minutes after, my boss called me in to talk to him. He asked how my work was going, but he didn’t settle for the usual “Fine.” He wanted to know in detail about each project I was managing, and he actually took notes. Usually he was very hands-off in his management style. Given the grilling I was getting, I felt fortunate that I was very much up-to-date on everything, and in most cases the ball was in our clients’ court. My boss was obviously very happy with my summary. He set down his pen, and with a huge smile on his face, rubbed his hands together in satisfaction.

“Mo, you devil! You never told me that you were friends with Vivianne Errison. That’s quite a connection to have!”

I shrugged and said, “Uhhhh...”

“I guess you know why she was here, then?” I shook my head. “Okay. Well, you know her daughter’s getting married… someplace in Mexico… and you told her that you couldn’t go to the wedding?”

“Right,” I said. “It’s a destination wedding on the Mexican Riviera. I can’t afford it.”

“No angling for a raise!” my boss said with a laugh. “It’s not in the budget.”

“I understand.”

“You may or may not know this, but the Errisons’ are -- and have always been -- one of our company's main source of funds. They provided the startup capital, and every time we've taken a big step -- when we had to get bigger offices, hire more staff -- they were always there, and they always believed in us: to the tune of millions of dollars. Millions. We owe them big time. BIG time. If they lost faith in us, if they pulled out... it would be a real struggle for us.”

I swallowed hard.

“As I understand it, this is your best friend's wedding, and you were supposed to be the best man?” I nodded. “Yeah, well that’s too bad. Anyway, though, she needs your help with something… something to do with the wedding, and she’s going to pay your way. You'll get to go to your friend's wedding after all! What do you think about that?”

What did I think about that? I thought it sounded like the beginning of a horror movie. I was scared out of my wits; that’s what I thought about that.

“She needs you with her full time for the next two weeks to get it all together. It sounds like you’ve got everything under control here, enough so that I can babysit your projects until you get back. Just one thing: don’t tell anyone, but I’m giving you extra vacation days to cover this. Okay?”

My throat was dry. I nodded, and had the presence of mind to thank him. “Yeah, don’t thank me -- thank Vivianne Errison. And listen, whatever she wants you to do, do it. Whatever it is. Do it. And don’t just do it, do it well. Put everything you have into it. If she wants you to kiss her ass, you push your face all the way in there and lick her butthole until she screams." My face went white at that, so he laughed. "Look at you!" he laughed. "I don't mean that literally, man! You know she wouldn't ask you something like that!" He laughed at his own humor, then shifted forward in his chair and said in a low voice, "But listen, if she asks you to put out--" he nodded significantly "-- you know--" he nodded again, and raised one eyebrow knowingly. "Worse things could happen to a man." He smiled. "She's a good looking woman." By this time, I was looking quite alarmed, and that puzzled him. "Okay, so... if she's not to your taste, or whatever... what's that expression? Close your eyes and think of England. Yeah. Except, don't think of England, think about this company and how your job depends on it.

"And remember this: If you’ve got the Errisons’ behind you, you’ve got it made. Yeah. You've got it made big time.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Unless you fuck it up, of course.”

I laughed nervously.

“So don’t fuck it up, Mo. Don't fuck it up for yourself, and don't fuck it up for us.” He stood up and shook my hand. “I won’t,” I assured him. I walked back to my desk, feeling on the absolute verge of a nervous breakdown.

It took two quick hours to straighten things up at work, to set my out-of-office notification, and to call a few clients to let them know that I’d be away. Then I got in my car, and, heart pounding, I drove to the Errison’s house. Mrs. Errison met me at the door and brought me into the sitting room for some tea and little sandwiches. “I guess your boss told you that I need your help,” she said. “There’s something -- or someone -- who is essential for Julie’s wedding, and they've let us down. I do hope you’ll be the one who'll step in and fill that gap.”

“Whatever I can do,” I assured her.

“I hope you really mean that,” she said. Her tone was different from the other times I met her. I could see she was genuinely troubled. She was nowhere near as intimidating as the other times I’d met her.

“The problem,” she said, as she toyed with her tea cup, “is that one of the bridesmaids, Rachel, has gone and broken her stupid pelvis.”

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “How did she do that?”

“Rollerblading,” Mrs. Errison replied with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if rollerblading was the most idiotic and irresponsible thing Rachel could have possibly have done. “Regardless of how she did it, the problem is that Rachel will be unavailable. And of course Rachel has an unusual body type: she is six feet tall and weighs 120 pounds. And she has enormous breasts, which are, I'm told, completely real -- as if that mattered. They say she looks like a supermodel. Or she looks like a pair of balloons on a stick, depending on your point of view. Consequently, her bridesmaid dress wasn’t just fitted; it was custom made for her.”

“Ah,” I said. “I think I get it: you need to find a girl with the same figure as Rachel.”

“Exactly,” Mrs. Errison replied. “And I believe you are exactly the person to help me.”

I cast about in my mind for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Errison, I think I know a lot of women, but I’m pretty sure I don’t know anyone who’s built like that.”

“Of course not,” she agreed, smiling slightly for the first time. “Neither do I. I don't think there are many women built like that. What I was hoping was that you could be that girl.”

That stopped me cold. Mrs. Errison had humiliated me before, but at least it was in private. In spite of what my boss had told me, I had to draw a line. “Mrs. Errison, I'm sorry, but I will not do that. There is no way. I’m not going to put on a dress and pretend to be a girl. I’m sorry that Rachel’s been hurt, but I’m not going to make a fool of myself.”

“You don’t understand,” she told me. “You wouldn't pretend. You wouldn't be a fool. You would be that girl.”

“No,” I said. “It won’t work. I know I’m not a football player, but I’m still a big guy. Look at my shoulders! Look at my feet! It just won’t work.”

She sighed and stood up. I automatically started to stand as well. “No, don’t get up. I know this sounds like it makes no sense, so let me show you, and then you’ll understand.” She opened a drawer and took out a cardboard box, which she set on the table. Inside the box was a cheap looking medallion on a chain. It looked like the kind of costume jewelry a little girl would own. “Would you do me a favor and sit on your hands for a few moments?” she asked. “I don’t want you touching something by mistake.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, but I sat on my hands. She carefully lowered the medallion around my neck. Then, from a little bag, she took a piece of light gray lingerie, a filmy, transparent, one-piece teddy, with spaghetti straps. “This is a teddy that would perfectly fit Rachel,” she said, and gathering it into a ball, she pressed it against the medallion on my chest.

I gasped as if I was having a heart attack. My entire body felt like it was on fire. A wave rolled up my arms and legs, up my torso and back, and swept over my head. I doubled over, but Mrs. Errison continued to press the piece of lingerie into my chest. It seemed like the medallion was burrowing into me, sinking into my core. I felt myself shrinking, compressing, slimming, but at the same time growing: growing taller, feeling a pair of breasts bud and swell on my chest, feeling the hair disappear off my body and increase on my scalp. My hips were changing: narrowing in width, but pushing out behind. My feet got so small, my shoes were like boats around my feet.

When the burning sensations finally stopped, when at last I stopped gasping and crying out, Mrs. Errison put the lingerie back in the bag. She took the medallion off my neck and put it back in its box.

“Alright,” she said. “This is what I’ve been talking about. Now you’re that girl. You won’t be humiliated or embarrassed. You’ll be praised and admired.” I was in shock, sitting there. Anxiously my hands roved over my chest, my ass, between my legs.

“What have you done to me?” I cried.

“It’s all reversible,” she assured me. “Don’t worry!”

“Don’t worry?” I repeated. “Don’t worry? What’s happened to me? Did you hypnotize me? Did you put some drug in the tea?”

“No, no, no, and no,” she replied. “It’s just magic.”

“Just magic? Just magic? There’s no such thing as magic!” I shouted. “This is crazy! Change me back!”

“I can’t change you back until at least 12 hours from now.”

I swore so vividly, Mrs. Errison actually went white.

“Look,” she told me, “I’ve cleared this time with your boss--”

“But you didn’t clear this with me!” I shouted, gesturing at myself. I stood up, and my pants and underwear fell off. They just just dropped right off me. My hips were so narrow, there was nothing to hold the clothes up. I fumbled with my overlong sleeves, trying futilely to grab my boxers as they fell. “What the hell!” I wailed. I felt so frustrated and confused, I was about to cry. I tried to take a step forward and nearly fell on my face, now that my shoes were too big for my feet. Mrs. Errison caught my arm and saved me from falling.

“You know, I hadn’t thought of this until now,” she said, “but maybe you should try on that lingerie I was just showing you.” I whimpered and fussed as she helped me out of my male clothes and into the teddy, but to my surprise, it was a good idea. A very good idea.

The teddy fit me like a glove. It felt amazing on my skin, which was now incredibly soft. What stunned me into silence was how beautiful I was. I stood at the mirror turning my head one way and other, looking at myself over my shoulder, trying to see every angle.

“Is this what Rachel looks like?” I asked.

“The body, yes. The build, the shape is identical. But the face is really your face, as a girl. Don’t you see it? It's you.”

I studied myself some more. I couldn't see myself in there. I didn't see myself-as-a-girl. The way I looked, I could be a sister or a cousin, but not exactly me.

Mrs. Errison let me admire myself for a while. She could see I was convincing myself that this change wasn't so bad. It was incredible how quickly I took to being a girl. She said, “Look at you! You like this, don't you. Maybe all your life you wanted to be pretty and sexy and amazing like this.”

“I guess,” I replied. “Maybe. Who will people think I am?”

“The daughter of a friend of mine,” she replied. “Someone who graciously stepped in at the last minute when Rachel couldn’t come. We’ll need to come up with a name for you. Do you know, you could be one of the Merrisets -- we were friends when I was a little girl. How do you like the name Chloe Merriset?”

“It’s pretty,” I said. “It’s cool. I like it.” Then a thought struck me. "What if someone who knows the Merrisets starts asking me questions or just flat out knows I'm a fake?"

Mrs. Errison took a breath, and slightly embarrassed, admitted, "There are no Merrisets. There is no Chloe Merriset. She was my imaginary friend when I was a little girl. I don't know how I came up with the name, but as far as I know there is no one with that name."

"I love it," I told her.

We went upstairs to try on my bridesmaid dress, which of course fit like a dream. Then Mrs. Errison had me take it off, and when she did, she was struck by a realization. “What an idiot I am!” she exclaimed. “I don’t have anything for you to wear -- other than the bridesmaid gown, which you can’t wear, and the teddy, which is hardly appropriate for anything but sleeping. Alright. Look: do you mind if I leave you for an hour or so, just so I can quickly pick up a few things you can wear tonight and tomorrow? Tomorrow we can go shopping, and get you some real clothes to wear.” I put the teddy back on, and she gave me a beautiful silk robe to wrap around myself. She left, and I settled down in a small sitting room to watch TV and admire myself.

After a half an hour I was so engrossed in what I was watching, I completely forgot what I was wearing. I’d almost forgotten that my body had changed! My robe had fallen open, and my breasts were perfectly visible through the filmy teddy. I had a lot to learn about being a girl.

That's when Phil appeared. He stuck his head into the room, expecting to see his mother, and did a double-take. He looked a third time, smiled and walked in. “Hello there, I’m Phil. I didn’t know we had a house guest.”

If he hadn't turned his full focus to my breasts, I probably would have left them out on view. But his eyes were so fixedly focused down there, that I blushed crimson, pulled the robe shut, and apologized.

“No apologies necessary!” he said with a laugh. “Feel free to... feel free! You can wear as little as you like, as far as I'm concerned. So what is your name and what brings you to my house? And you must tell me why you're wearing nothing but that fetching outfit.”

“I’m Chloe Merriset,” I told him, holding out my hand for him to shake, and congratulating myself on getting the name right. “I’m a friend of your… I mean, I’m the daughter of your… no, sorry! I’m the daughter of a friend of your mother’s.”

“Are you sure?” he laughed. “It sounds complicated.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“I have to ask you -- and this isn’t a line, I swear -- but have we met before? You seem very familiar to me for some reason.”

“No, I’m sure we haven’t,” I lied. “I’d remember.”

“Would you?” he said. “Well, that gives me hope.” At that, I blushed, and he smiled.

We talked and talked, and the time flew. By the time his mother came home and entered the room, Phil was sitting close to me and holding my hand.

“Mom!” Phil called, greeting her. “Have you met our guest, Chloe?”

“Yes, of course I have,” she replied in a dry tone. “In fact, I have some clothes for her.”

“Take them away!” Phil joked. “She doesn’t need any clothes!”

Mrs. Errison bit her lower lip and looked at the two of us. Phil was smiling and I was blushing. I wondered what she was thinking.

What she finally said was, “Alright, Chloe, come with me now. You can try these on, then we can all have some dinner.”

After Mrs. Errison shut the door on her son, and was sure that he was out of earshot, she said to me in a low voice, like a warning, “You’ve taken pretty quickly to being a girl.” If I thought I had blushed deeply before, right then I blushed so red I could feel it all over. “You even blush like a girl!” she exclaimed.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I asked. She didn’t answer. She just handed me some clothes to try on. Of course, they fit me perfectly.

When I came down to dinner, I was wearing a light summer dress, a pale beige with small blue flowers, and a pair of white sandals. Phil was enchanted. Mrs. Errison didn’t seem to know what to make of the situation. I tried to roll with it: I didn’t encourage Phil, but he seemed to not need any encouragement.

When dinner was over, Mrs. Errison wanted to play backgammon with me, and then cribbage. Phil kept trying to push his way in, but she kept blocking him. At one point Phil left to use the bathroom. Mrs. Errison took advantage of our being alone to tell me, “Tonight you’re sleeping in my bed with me. I don’t want any hanky-panky going on.”

I nodded, and -- thinking I recognized a look on her face -- I said, “Can I just ask one thing, Mrs. Errison, please? Promise me that you won't spank me.” She looked at me, wide-eyed, surprised and half-offended, but then when she opened her mouth to speak, she burst into laughter, and then she couldn’t stop. When Phil came back, he was astonished. I just shrugged.

Then it was Mrs. Errison’s turn to use the bathroom. Phil took advantage of the moment to ask me which room I’d be sleeping in. I told him, “Your mother wants me to sleep in her room tonight.”

“Whaaat?” he asked. “Are you kidding me? In her room means in her bed. You know that don’t you?” Then he paused, and a horrifying thought passed across his face. “Oh my God,” he said, “you two aren’t in some kind of… relationship, are you?” Then it was my turn to start laughing, and Mrs. Errison came back as I was trying to catch my breath.

“It looks like it’s time for bed,” she said. Phil’s eyebrows shot up at that. It was still pretty early.

“The answer to your question is no,” I told him. When Mrs. Errison and I got upstairs, she asked me what that was all about.

“He wanted to know if we’re sleeping together because we’re lovers,” I told her. She snorted and shook her head. “That boy has an overactive imagination.”

When I changed back into the teddy again, she looked at me and said, “I hope that’s not so sexy that it keeps you awake all night.” I shrugged and climbed into bed. In spite of the early hour, I fell asleep almost immediately. When I awoke, the sun was up, and so was Mrs. Errison. She was sitting in her chair, dressed for the day, and reading a newspaper on her laptop.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked me.

“No, I had nightmares all night long,” I replied. “Did you sleep well?”

“No,” she replied. “You were tossing and turning and moaning all night long. ALL NIGHT LONG. Tonight, you’ll sleep in one of the guest rooms. ALONE.”

“Okay, fine.” I said.

Phil was already gone. Mrs. Errison (who now said, “Call me Viv”) and I had a croissant and coffee and then were off to shop.

I know it’s weird, what I’m telling you -- that yesterday I was a man and today I’m a girl, and that I’ve taken to it like a duck to water, but it’s true. It’s like, I was half-alive before, and now I’m all the way alive. Or I was sleeping -- and sleeping badly -- and now I’m awake. I loved being a girl.

“It’s not all fun and games being a woman,” Viv cautioned me. “It's great to be pretty and wear nice clothes, and to lead men around by the nose, but you also have periods, pregnancies, and menopause to deal with. Also, men can be unmitigated assholes. You’ll see. And society itself is not built for women; it’s built for men. As I said, you’ll see.”

In the meantime, shopping was a ball. I had my ears pierced. I had my hair cut. We bought makeup and underwear (underwear!), a couple of dresses, and two pairs of shoes.

“You don’t need a whole wardrobe,” she said. “You just need enough for the wedding, and for these days leading up.”

After lunch, we did wedding chores. I didn’t realize that the bride’s mother had so much to do, but we had a list. Today, it mostly making calls. Calling to book, calling to confirm, calling to change, calling to cancel. There were late RSVPs to process, and the seating chart to revisit.

That night I slept in the same room where I’d first met Mrs. Errison, but she didn’t come in to try to catch me naked. This time it was Phil. I was half-asleep when he came in. He hadn’t been home for dinner, and so used that as his excuse for “coming to chat and catch up” with me. We talked in low, soft voices. He caressed me through the sheet, running his hand over my butt and down my leg. And then he left. We kissed before he left. A long, warm, wet kiss that left me with my mouth open and my mind empty. It was the greatest kiss I ever had.

The next day after breakfast, Viv and I went out to do some more girly things for me: nails and eyebrows. Then in the afternoon, more wedding chores. “While you’re here learning to a be a girl, you might as well help me,” she told me. Today there was a fitting for Mrs. Errison’s dress, and then a fitting for Mr. Errison’s tuxedo. Then, calls to re-confirm flight arrangements, hotel reservations, entertainment bookings.

“Do you know something?” Viv asked me. “If you were a real girl I’d hire you as my assistant. You’re really good at anticipating me and at getting things done. I really like the way you handled that call to the hotel today.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I like working with you and doing things with you.” After a pause, I said, “I wouldn’t have expected this a week ago. I was so frightened of you!”

“Frightened of me?” Viv said with a surprised laugh.

“Yes,” I said. “You’re WAY nicer to me as a girl than you ever were to me as a man.”

“Really!” she said. “I had no idea. I thought you and I were having fun before.”

I bit my lower lip and said nothing.

“Well, then, I apologize,” Viv said. “But in my defense, you never said no or stop or let me put my clothes back on.”

“I was afraid to,” I replied.

“Hmph,” she said, turning her attention to her menu. “Then I’d better make sure you never meet the friend who gave me the medallion. That's how she is with both men and women!”

That night Phil came again to visit me, and he ventured farther, slipping his hands under the sheets, then inside my teddy. I was very turned on. My body was hot. My pussy was wet and slippery, and he was touching it, making it even more so.

And then I figured why not? After all, I was only going to be a girl for two weeks. I might as well enjoy it. And believe me, I enjoyed it a great deal. Phil, as it turned out, was very well endowed and quite able sexually. We were at it for at least two hours, and we came three times. Afterward I had to take a shower to wash his sperm off my face, from between my breasts, and (the most copious stream) from between my legs.

The next morning over breakfast, Viv eyed me closely. “It’s nice that you’re having fun,” she said, “but remember that after the wedding you’re changing back. Please try to not break my son’s heart with your antics and your eventual disappearance.”

“His heart?” I repeated with a smile. “I think it’s another part of him that’s involved here.”

Viv glared at me for a moment. “Please remember that we’re talking about my son.”

“Sorry.”

“By the way, that medallion won’t be able to change you again if you become pregnant -- or, for that matter, if you’re on your period.”

“Period!” I exclaimed. “Do you think I’m going to have a period before I change back?”

“I have no idea,” Viv replied. “But if you carry on with unprotected sex you can certainly end up pregnant.”

“But it’s less than two weeks to the wedding. How can I miss a period if I’ve never had one?”

“Missing a period isn’t what makes you pregnant. You can be pregnant a handful of days after having sex.”

“Are you sure? That doesn’t sound right.”

“Of course I’m sure! What is it that makes you pregnant? A man’s sperm fertilizes your egg. Then the egg attaches to your womb. You've already had a man's sperm inside you, haven't you? And you're a girl now -- you must have eggs.”

I interrupted. “I'm sorry, but I don’t want to hear about the birds and the bees right now.”

“Fine. But I'm warning you: if you get pregnant, you’re going to be stuck the way you are. Please keep that in mind.”

I kind of kept it in mind, but I trusted my chances in the pregnancy roulette. Phil came to me every night, and every night we did something different. I was having more sexual experiences in these few days than I’d had in my entire life before. I also realized that as a lover -- when I was a man -- I left a lot to be desired. Phil was attentive in a way I never was, and he delivered in a way I didn’t know was even possible. I was cooked. I was caught. I was addicted. I was in love.

Thankfully, so was he.

We flew down to Mexico, and the wedding was beautiful and wonderful. Julie was effuse in her thanks for my stepping in at the last minute, and David came to thank me as well. Julie introduced me to him as the daughter of her mother’s friend. “Oh,” David said, “So how did you meet my mother-in-law?”

“That’s a long story,” I laughed. “A story for another time.” (He didn’t really want to hear it anyway. He was only being polite.)

The wedding ended, the couple flew off to their honeymoon, and we slept off the alcohol and the party.

Then we flew back home, and at the opportune moment, Mrs. Errison slipped the medallion around my neck and tried to change me back. She took the shirt I was last wearing as Mo, and pressed it against the medallion. Nothing happened. She tried again. Nothing. She tried using my underwear. Still nothing.

“So,” Viv concluded, sitting down and looking me in the eyes. “You’re not on your period, so it has to be the other thing.” And so it was. I was pregnant.

And that’s how I met my mother-in-law.