Explanations -- A Short Political Gargoyle
By Ellie Dauber © 2020
Yes, this is another politically biased story. I just couldn’t resist the notion.
The President slammed the report down on his desk. “Too damn many pages,” he muttered. “I’ve told them, and I’ve told them no more than two pages… and large type.”
He leaned back in his chair. The TV remote was in the top drawer of the desk. It wouldn’t do to have it out where it might be photographed. He reached for it, then stopped. He didn’t feel like Fox. He wanted something more, something special. He flipped the intercom. “Genna, no calls – no nothing for the next two hours.”
“Yes, Mr. President.” Staff was used to such requests. They came on a weekly basis, sometimes – especially these days -- more often.
He stood up and walked over to a small door set in the south wall of the Oval Office, barely noticeable next to a bookcase and half-hidden by a curtain. He opened the door and walked through, carefully closing it behind him. He turned the small knob that locked it.
“The Nap Room,” he called it. It was a small room, probably a closet originally; no furnishings except a lamp on a small dark wood bedtable, a rack for his jacket and tie, and a very comfortable couch. A watercooler and a supply of paper cups stood next to the door. It was someplace for the President to take an hour or so to just rest his eyes and his mind. If he got the chance.
He smiled as he took off his jacket and draped it over the rack. He unknotted his red silk tie and set that on top of it. Then he glanced over at the door – just to be sure. Locked. With a sigh of relief, he kicked off his shoes and dropped his pants. He was careful, very careful to straighten the pants as he lay them down atop the jacket and tie.
He opened the drawer of the bedtable. He pushed aside the wind-up timer and the spare cellphone. The pills were in two bottles in the back of the drawer. The first were the big white ones that everybody knew about. The second were the tiny purple ones, the special activator pills that Jeff Epstein had stumbled on during a trip to North Africa. The combination wore off abruptly, returning him to his Presidential self in about ninety minutes, unless he took another “Activator” pill. He took one of each, washing them down with a cup of water.
The effects hit immediately, a sudden chill that ran through his body. He began to shrink, shedding inches of height and pounds of body fat, vanished by the magic of the pills. In moments he was a foot shorter, barely five feet tall, and weighed about 110 pounds. His shirt was like a tent; the sleeves falling far past his hands. His undershorts slid off his hips and sank down around his ankles.
Now more changes hit. His hair darkened to amber and grew down past his shoulders. His face rounded as the wrinkles and creases of age melted away. Wrinkles and signs of vanished from his body, as well. The figure was now no more than fifteen years old.
And feminine.
All body hair disappeared, except for a patch at his groin. He felt a stretching on his chest as his nipples rose, pushed out by small mounds, breasts that swelled to a pretty, perky 32 B. His arms were slender, supple. His fingers now thinner, bit longer, too. When there’d been time – like on Jeff Epstein’s island -- they might be manicured and painted.
His waist narrowed as his hips swelled out and his butt inflated to the inverted heart-shape of a young female. He felt himself grow hard, but then there was the delight – it almost felt like a caress – as his member soften, shrank away. It sank down between the two lips that had been his scrotal sack. The caress seemed to move into him as his male organs became their female counterparts.
She was Dawn now. She pushed up her sleeves past her hands and quickly unbuttoned her shirt. She stepped out of her briefs and took off the shirt, tossing it onto her other masculine clothes. She could see her legs, now long and coltish, with rounded, inviting thighs.
Hurrying now, she arranged herself on the couch, head raised to watch better, legs spread for better access. She reached down, three fingers together caressing her tender, new clit. The rest of her hand moving in and out of her new opening. It felt so good, even when she was alone. When she was with another girl – or girls – or even with a man (in this form she liked men), the sensations that flooded her body were… unbelieveable.
The delight, the warmth of arousal, spread through Dawn. Her other hands kneaded her breast, playing with one turgid nipple. As she reached the first of what would be several orgasms this afternoon, she screamed in pleasure – the room was soundproofed. “Oh… oh, G-d, I LOVE chloramphenicol!”
