|The Transformation Story Archive
|The Other Sex
1. The Package
"A package came for you today, Mom," Charles said as his mother hung up her jacket.
Karen Ford had just returned home from a day at the bank where she worked as a manager. Charles, her twenty year-old son, was a college student. It was June, and Charles had moved back home for the summer. He'd hoped to find a job to keep him busy, but nothing had turned up so far.
"A package?" Karen replied. "Oh, it's that stuff the lawyer called about. My inheritance from Aunt Susan."
Karen had never met her great-aunt and had quite forgotten about her when the attorney had called the week before. When Susan passed away at age one hundred, she had no relatives left except Karen and Charles.
The lawyer had worked for two months to locate Karen. Once all the fees and taxes were paid, he'd said on the phone, Karen would receive a check for more than $100,000. In the meantime, he had sent the package containing "personal items and miscellany."
"Open it, Charles," Karen said. Charles fetched a pair of scissors and cut away the wrapping. There was a small cardboard box, heavily taped. An envelope was attached to the top; Charles handed this to his mother. Karen opened it while Charles started cutting the tape.
"This is from the lawyer, confirming what he told me before about the money. Well, Charles, you don't have to worry about finding a job now. Aunt Susan's estate is going cover your tuition."
"Great," said Charles, who had the box open now.
"What do you see in there?" Karen asked.
"Not much," Charles said. The contents were disappointing. There was nothing particularly "personal," no photographs or letters. There was a pair of large candle holders; some of the brass coating had worn off, exposing grey metal underneath. There was a short chain which looked like a necklace. There was an old fountain pen which had seen lots of use. There was a piece of metal, about three inches long, cast in the shape of a leaf. It was heavily tarnished.
"It all looks like junk to me," Karen said.
Charles studied the leaf. "I wonder what this is made out of," he said. "It's soft enough to be gold. I'd have to clean it up to find out."
"I doubt that it's worth anything, Charles. The lawyers had everything appraised, and the valuable stuff was all sold off at an auction."
"Yeah, probably. Maybe I'll get the gunk off it anyway, just to see," Charles said.
"You can do it after dinner. What did you make for us tonight?"
2. The Leaf
When Charles had finished doing the dinner dishes, he placed a glass bowl in the sink and poured in some liquid tarnish remover. He dunked the leaf. Tarnish started to come away in clumps. Since he didn't want to damage the thing, he resisted the temptation to rub it. Instead, he just shook the bowl until all the brown flecks had come off. He poured the liquid down the sink and rinsed the leaf under running water. He dried it, then went to see his mother in the den.
"Well, it's just pewter or something, not gold," he said.
"Boy, you did a good job cleaning it," Karen replied. "You can even see the little veins on it."
"It was probably hand-made," Charles said. "There's a lot of detail. Look, there's writing on the back." Charles pointed to a thin line of tiny embossed lettering down the center.
"I can't make it out," said Karen.
"I can't either. I'll set up my old microscope. Maybe we'll be able to read it then," Charles volunteered. He went up to his room and rummaged through the closet. He found the wooden case containing the microscope. He took it downstairs and set things up on the kitchen table.
He switched on the microscope light and positioned the leaf under the lens.
"Can you read it now?" Karen asked.
"Here, take a look," he answered. Karen moved to the eyepiece. The writing, though nearly all worn, was clear. It said, "Clasp me tight and make a wish."
"It must be a good-luck charm," said Karen.
"Go ahead, make a wish," Charles instructed.
"Okay." Charles handed Karen the leaf; she held it firmly in her right hand.
"I wish I was vice-president of the bank where I work," she intoned into the air.
"Gee, Mom, I though you were in line for that job anyway," Charles said.
"Not any more, dear. They gave it to Jack Bedford today."
"Not that jerk? Mom, you're a lot smarter than he is," Charles said.
"I know, dear. But they're not going to make anybody a vice-president who has worked her way up from being a bank teller," she replied.
"Are you still thinking about a lawsuit, Mom?" he asked.
"Oh, who has the time or money for that stuff? But I'll tell you something. Five vice-presidents at the bank and still not one woman among them. It's pure sex discrimination. Maybe Julie or somebody else will get mad enough to take them to court. I don't have a husband to support us, and that check from Aunt Susan isn't going to last very long with your college bills. I can't afford to risk my job, even though I'm right about this, and they're wrong."
They had been through all this before, and Charles was sorry that his mother had failed, again, to get promoted. She was just thirty-eight years old, still very attractive. She'd raised her son alone, without any contact with the husband who'd abandoned them after Charles was born. She had a lot of her career ahead of her; perhaps something good would happen in the future.
3. First Difference
The next day was Saturday. Charles was still on his college schedule, so he didn't awake until almost ten o'clock. He threw on a robe and trudged down to the kitchen. A man was sitting there.
"Gee, I'm sorry, I didn't know Mom had company," Charles said sheepishly. The man was good-looking, perhaps forty years old, and was wearing a denim shirt and jeans. Charles wondered whether his mother had a new boyfriend. It had been a long time, he thought. This must be somebody from the bank; he seemed vaguely familiar.
"Hi, Charles," the man said. "Why don't you sit down?"
Charles hitched up his robe a bit and sat down. The man looked him square in the eye.
"Charles, it's me, Karen, your mother," the man said.
The words made no sense. Who was this guy? What was he talking about?
"Remember the leaf, Charles, and the wish I made last night? It came true. I'm a vice-president now, and I happen to be a man now, too."
Charles was speechless. This wasn't funny. "Where's my mother?" he demanded.
"I'm telling you, it's me! The leaf must be magic, because my wish came true. Not the way I expected, obviously," the man said.
"I don't believe you. This is a joke, right?" replied Charles.
The man leaned back in his chair. "Go ahead, ask me something. Ask me something that only your mother would know about," the man said.
Charles bit his lip. "Okay, what's my full name?"
"Charles Anderson Ford," came the answer.
"When's my birthday?"
"Who lived in apartment 4-E when we lived on Beckman Street?"
"Nobody. It was vacant for the whole year."
Charles asked a dozen more questions; the man answered all of them correctly. Nobody except his mother could know all those things, could they? His mother couldn't have revealed every possible detail about their lives, could she?
"Come with me," the man instructed. "I want to show you something."
By now Charles was scared out of his wits. What if this guy had done something to his mother? He followed the man upstairs to his mother's room. Somehow the room had changed overnight. Every vestige of a feminine existence was gone, replaced now by male clothes, male accessories. Charles glanced at the closet. There were no dresses, blouses, or high heels; there were men's suits, men's pants, men's shoes.
Charles sat down on the bed. He was feeling weak in the knees. "What is going on here?" he asked.
"I already told you," the man replied.
During the next hour, Charles heard the whole story. His mother had awakened early. Something was very wrong. It took her an hour to fully realize what had happened to her. She had changed from "Karen Ford" to "Kenneth Ford." "She" was "he" now. It took Ken only a few phone calls to confirm that he was indeed the bank vice-president, having mysteriously usurped the very job Bedford had received the day before. Nobody seemed to know Karen Ford anymore, but everybody knew Ken.
All of Karen's belongings had been transformed, too: clothes, bills, driver's license, legal documents, etc. The old photo of her and Charles which had sat on the dresser was gone. Nothing seemed to be left of Karen except in the memory of Ken and Charles.
After Ken finished speaking, Charles sat in silence for awhile.
"What do I call you now?" Charles asked.
"Well, you can't call me 'Mom' because I'm certainly not your mother anymore. I'm not your father, either. Why don't you just call me 'Ken,' okay?"
"All right, Ken," said Charles, with difficulty. "You're going to wish yourself back to the way you were, right?" he asked.
Ken stared out into space. "Sure, Charles," he said, "but not just yet. This is a big opportunity for me, and I'm curious about a lot of things. Besides, we don't even know if the leaf will work again."
Charles was disturbed to hear this. His mother had been the only person in the world he was close to. The thought of not having her around, even for a little while, made him unhappy. Was it going to be this way forever?
"Why do you think the leaf changed you into a man?" Charles asked. "Couldn't you have been a female vice-president?"
"Well," said Ken, "I suppose that there simply couldn't be a female vice-president at the bank, the way attitudes there are now. If I was going to be a vice-president, then I'd have to be a man."
"Are you really a man? I mean, in the biological sense?" Charles asked.
"I seem to have everything in the right places, Charles," Ken responded, without a hint of embarrassment.
Charles spent the weekend trying to accept the new situation. He didn't see Ken much; most of the time, Ken was working at the computer in the den. Early Monday morning Charles awoke and came downstairs just as Ken was preparing to leave for the office.
"Okay, kid, I'm off," said Ken. "Wish me luck on my first day."
"Good luck," Charles said.
"And Charles, would you mind doing some housework today? There's a pile of laundry in the basement, and the kitchen floor is pretty dirty."
"I'll take care of it," answered Charles.
"Thanks. I guess I don't have time for that stuff now. See you tonight." Ken went out the door.
Charles ate breakfast and showered. There were a lot of dirty clothes, so doing laundry took most of the morning. In the afternoon he pulled out a bucket and detergent and began to scrub the kitchen floor.
Charles was on his hands and knees for almost hour, and he began to feel resentful towards his mother, or, rather, towards Ken. Why should Ken be able to go off and enjoy his high-status job while he, Charles, had to stay home and clean house? Maybe Ken could afford a maid now. Charles tried to put these thoughts out of his mind, hopeful that things would return to normal soon.
He had dinner ready, as usual, at five-thirty, but Ken did not arrive home until nearly seven.
"Gee, I'm sorry I was late, Charles," Ken said. "There were so many things to do today. Tomorrow I'll call you when I know what time I'll be home. Can you just make me a sandwich or something now?"
Charles made a chicken salad sandwich for Ken and took it to him in the den, where Ken was once more in front of the computer screen.
"Thanks," Ken said without looking up.
Charles stood there for a moment. "How was your first day, Ken?" he asked.
"Fine," said Ken absently. Charles went back to the kitchen and read a magazine.
An hour later, Ken emerged from the den. He sat down at the kitchen table, across from Charles, and proceeded to fill him in on the day's events.
"It's amazing, Charles," Ken said. "Whenever there's something I need to know, I just seem to know it. It doesn't matter whether it's some bit of factual data, or something about Ken's history, or just something that Ken ought to know. I think about it for a second, and it's there."
"Are you saying that Ken, I mean you, have a whole life story?" Charles asked.
"Yes, I do, somehow. I still remember being Karen, but I seem to remember being Ken always, too."
Charles heard all about Ken's position at the bank. It was surprising how men were treated differently than women, Ken told him. In the business world, men were really the upper-class citizens. "The situation wasn't so nice when I was Karen, but it's great for me now," Ken said.
Ken didn't want to talk about changing back, and he didn't want to talk about the leaf. Charles had looked around the house for it during the day but couldn't find it. Obviously, Ken was holding on to it.
The next day, Tuesday, proceeded in much the same way. Ken went to work early, and Charles did all the cooking and housekeeping. He was tired already of the grind; that night, he asked Ken about getting a maid. Ken, however, didn't want any strangers in the house, given the unusual situation.
At the bank, Charles was known now as the nephew who lived with Ken since Charles had no other relatives. Charles was not happy about this story.
Wednesday was as boring as Tuesday. That night, Charles decided to have it out with Ken.
"Ken, I want to go out and find a real job. I don't want to stay home all day doing housework," Charles insisted.
"What's wrong with the way things are?" Ken asked. "You have a good situation here. No meetings, no boss to worry about, no pressure. All you have to do is take care of the house. In the fall you go back to school."
"Ken, I don't want to be in the role of some damned housewife," Charles shot back. "You can afford to hire somebody to cook and clean for you. Why don't you just do it and let me find something better to do?"
"You don't think that maintaining the house is important, Charles?" Ken asked quietly.
"Well, I guess it is, but it's something for a woman to handle," Charles retorted.
Ken took a long time to reply. "Okay, I'll see what I can do."
Charles went to his room and didn't see Ken again that evening.
5. Second Difference
Charles didn't sleep well Wednesday night. He had bad dreams, and he awoke several times feeling hot. Finally, he'd had enough. He looked at the clock; it was six-thirty. It was still dark outside.
As Charles stood up he could tell that he wasn't wearing his pajamas. He didn't remember taking them off during the night, but he must have done so when he felt too warm. He fumbled around the chair near his bed and picked up a robe. He put it on and made his way groggily to the bathroom.
The light in the bathroom was blindingly bright. He couldn't avoid a glance in the mirror. Something was wrong. He looked different. His light brown hair came down to his shoulders. His face was thinner, more like a girl's than a boy's. He wasn't wearing his usual flannel robe; he wore a white, satiny one instead.
Charles gasped. He undid his robe and looked down. There was no hair on his chest or his legs. His waist was smaller, his hips wider. He had what appeared to be a girl's body now, except that he had no breasts and his penis was intact.
Charles looked more carefully at his face in the mirror. He had always had his mother's fine bone structure, but now he was genuinely pretty. He felt around his chin and his cheeks; the skin was perfectly soft and smooth, without any trace of beard. He noticed he had long, tapered fingernails now. There were small holes in his earlobes.
Charles knew what had happened to him, but he didn't know why. He went downstairs to face Ken.
Ken was reading the newspaper in the kitchen. "I've been waiting for you," he said to Charles.
"My God, Ken, what's happening to me? Why did you do this?" Charles demanded.
"Relax, and sit down," Ken answered. Charles sat, reluctantly.
Ken smiled at him. "You haven't been happy with things this week, right? I thought a little change was in order. I need you, Charles, to take care of things around here. Since you weren't willing to do that as a man, then perhaps you simply need to be a housewife."
"A housewife! What do you mean?" Charles asked.
"Just that. A housewife. My housewife," Ken said.
"Ken, I can't..."
"Don't worry, you'll get used to it. I used the leaf last night and made a careful, explicitly worded wish. I didn't want to upset you too much with the change, so I instructed that it would take three days. The physical changes will happen only when you sleep, so you shouldn't feel anything uncomfortable. Let's see. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday... when you wake up Saturday you should be all ready."
Charles didn't know what to say. He was embarrassed and angry, and he was scared, too. He was going to be Ken's wife. He would be married to the man who'd used to be his own mother. It was outrageous.
Ken stood up and put on his coat. "I'm leaving now. I promise I'll be home at six-thirty sharp, so make something good for dinner. And fix yourself up, okay? Pick out a nice dress or something. By the way, you're 'Charlotte' now."
Ken charged out the door, leaving Charles sitting there in shock. Charlotte, he thought. My name is Charlotte now.
Charles went up to his room. None of his things were there. The closet was empty. This must be a guest room now, he thought.
He entered Ken's room, which had changed once again. In one corner there was a dressing table covered with makeup items and jewelry. One closet was filled with stylish women's clothing. These must be my things, Charles thought. The bed had grown to a king-sized model. "No way I'm sleeping here tonight!" Charles said out loud. In the bathroom there were his-and-her sinks and vanities. The "her" vanity was packed with feminine things.
Charles took off his robe explored his new body some more. Right now I'm in between, he thought. He had all his old male apparatus. He hadn't lost any height; he was still five foot-ten. His voice hadn't changed, either. In body outline, though, he looked female. His hair, his face, his nails were all feminine. He was sure anyone would take him for a woman if he did something about breasts.
He left the robe on the floor in the bathroom and returned to the bedroom. He began going through woman's closet. A black leather purse hung on the doorknob. It contained everything to be expected in a purse: makeup, a wallet, a hairbrush, etc. Charles opened the wallet. There was some cash and a stack of credit cards. All the cards were made out to "Charlotte Ford." Charles found a driver's license. "Charlotte" again. The picture was very much like the way he looked now, except the person in the picture was wearing makeup and her hair was nicely done. He looked at the date of birth. He was losing eight years; Charlotte was twenty-eight, not twenty.
Charles was surprised that he didn't feel more outraged than he did. Was he was beginning to accept his fate already? Perhaps he was simply too tired to stay angry. His stomach made little noises; he realized he hadn't eaten breakfast yet. He should get dressed now, he thought.
He went to the dresser. Ken's things were in the top two drawers, and Charlotte's were in the bottom three. Half-heartedly, he pulled out a pair of Ken's jockey shorts and tried them on. There was no way they would stay up; his waist was simply too small now. He found a pair of simple white panties in the bottom drawer. He tried these on. They weren't designed to accommodate a penis, but in all other respects they fit perfectly. He pulled on a pair of knee-high stockings, and almost caused a run with his long nails. He wondered about a bra, but since there would be nothing for it to hold up he decided against it. He browsed through the rest of the underwear in Charlotte's drawer. There were some very provocative things here.
Charles put on a plain white t-shirt and tugged his long hair out from around the collar. He went to the closet for jeans. Charlotte had several pairs. He selected the black ones and pulled them on. They felt tight around his ass, but not in the waist. It was tricky to snap them with his nails. Long nails are a pain, he thought, but they do look good. He searched for shoes to wear. There were thirty or more boxes in the closet. The first box he opened contained simple black pumps with three-inch heels. What the hell, he thought, and he slipped them on his feet. Walking in heels was not as difficult as he'd thought it would be.
He sat down at the dressing table and began to brush his hair. He seemed to know exactly how to do it, and it didn't feel strange at all. Perhaps he was acquiring some of Charlotte's "memories" just as Karen had acquired Ken's. When he finished, he took stock of himself in the full-length mirror.
"Is this really me?" he said to himself. He had no tits, but he looked wonderful nonetheless. Charlotte's body was fit, and it was beautifully proportioned. He was curious to see how he'd look with breasts.
Charles slung the purse over his shoulder and went downstairs. He made a light breakfast and put on a pot of coffee, although he hadn't ever been a coffee drinker. As he drank his coffee he smoked one cigarettes he'd found in the purse, although he'd never smoked before, either. Afterwards, he went into the den and turned on the television. He sat down in the big leather chair, kicked off his high heels, and fell asleep.
He didn't awaken until noon. Suddenly, the events of the morning came back to him. He reached down and felt his crotch; his male equipment seemed unchanged. He pulled his t-shirt up and looked at his chest. No breasts yet, but his nipples looked bigger and darker.
Charles wondered what he should do for the rest of the day. Ken wouldn't be home until six-thirty, so dinner was a long way off. He'd done so much housework the day before that there wasn't anything that needed doing just now. The television was still going; an exercise program was on. Three beautiful young women were doing the most complicated movements. Charles wondered if he could keep up with them. He pulled off his jeans and his knee-highs and got down on the floor. He started to do what the women on the show were doing. It was easy; Charlotte seemed to be in great shape.
Charles stretched and hopped and pushed up until the program was over. He was flexible enough to do a split now, which would have been unthinkable a day earlier. He'd hated exercise before, but not now. He enjoyed getting out of breath and perspiring all over.
He was smelly, so picked up his clothes and went upstairs to the his-her bathroom. He showered and washed his long hair with the expensive shampoo-conditioner he found in the vanity. It took him twenty minutes to blow-dry his hair and brush it out.
Time to get dressed; what to wear? This question occupied Charles for the next three hours. He went carefully through the closet, trying on nearly everything. It all fit him perfectly, and it all looked great on him. Charles finally picked out his outfit for the evening, but he decided to start dinner before getting dressed.
He through on his white satin robe and went down to the kitchen. He looked through the refrigerator and the cupboards, trying to choose the perfect meal for Ken. He chose to serve steaks and fresh vegetables. He cleaned the vegetables and set the meat out on the counter to warm up.
By now it was nearly five o'clock, and Charles returned upstairs to dress for dinner. He put on lacy black panties and a black garter belt with six straps. He pulled on a pair of sheer black stockings. The sensation of nylon against his soft legs was wonderful, but it did not seem exactly new. He fastened the garters without trouble; he was growing accustomed to having long nails.
Charles found a matching black bra, fastened it on, and filled it out with some pads he found in Charlotte's drawer. Now he appeared to have small but reasonable breasts. He sat down at the dressing table. There was no question about what makeup to apply or how; it all seemed quite normal. Charles outlined his blue eyes with liquid liner and highlighted them with a heavy dose of grey shadow. He brushed several coats of mascara on his lashes. He rouged his cheeks, then applied a long-wearing lipstick in deep red.
Charles looked through the jewelry box. He affixed dangling gold earrings to his pierced lobes. He slipped a solid gold bracelet over his right wrist and fastened the black and gold Movado watch to his left. There was a gold wedding band in the jewelry box. Brazenly, suggestively, Charles put it on his left ring finger. Another gold ring, this one with a ruby stone, went on the other hand.
For the final step, Charles applied three coats of red enamel on his lovely nails. He smoked a cigarette while they dried. Satisfied with the results, Charles walked to the closet and pulled out a long-sleeved red dress. It had a wide black patent belt which drew attention to his slim waist. Charles decided to forego a slip. He stepped into the dress, zipped it up, and pulled the belt tight. He gazed in the mirror. No surprises here. He looked good, exactly as he expected.
The dress fell to just below the knee. Charles had planned to wear black patent sandals, but his legs felt chilly in stockings. It was unseasonably cool outside, and some of the cold air had begun to seep into the house. Charles decided to wear black leather boots instead of sandals. They'd keep his legs warm, and they wouldn't give Ken quite so much to look at. The boots he selected came to his knees, and they had three-inch pointed heels. Perhaps they weren't quite as sexy as sandals, but they were sexy in their own way.
Charles went over his hair a final time and returned to the kitchen to make dinner. He put on a white frilly apron to protect his dress. Cooking went without a hitch, and Charles found a bottle of cabernet to go with the meal.
Ken, as promised, arrived home right at six-thirty. When he heard the car pull up in the driveway, Charles suddenly became very nervous. Okay, he said to himself, don't panic. I'm Charlotte tonight, he thought, and I'm going to try to keep Ken happy.
7. Dinner and Afterwards
Ken walked into the kitchen.
"Charlotte, you look fantastic!" he exclaimed. He walked over to her and took her hand. Charlotte thought he was going to kiss her, but she did nothing to encourage him. Instead, she gave him just a slight smile.
"Thank you," she said softly. "Would you please open the wine, Ken?"
"Of course," he replied, releasing her hand.
Charlotte had made a superb dinner, and Ken was acted happy and outgoing. He told her all about his day at the office. He smiled a lot. Charlotte smiled, too. She was not nervous at all now, and she enjoyed the attention she was receiving. They had strawberries and whipped cream for dessert, and they finished the bottle of wine.
Charlotte poured coffee and pulled out a cigarette; Ken lit it for her.
"Thank you," she said.
"Your welcome," he replied. "Why don't we have our coffee in the den? We can watch the news."
"All right," said Charlotte. They stood up. Ken walked over to Charlotte and put his arm around her waist. Charlotte didn't know what to do.
"Thank you for the wonderful dinner, Charlotte," Ken said as he looked deep into her eyes. She started to answer, but he kissed her on the lips. It was more of a peck than a kiss, really, but it sent Charlotte's head spinning. This was not what she had in mind, or was it? She could tell that her nipples were erect. Her cock was erect, too; perhaps she should have clamped the thing down somehow.
Ken released her. They picked up their coffee cups and went into the den. Ken sat down on the sofa, and Charlotte sat down next to him; where else would she sit? However, she made sure there was plenty of room between them.
They drank their coffee and Charlotte smoked her cigarette. Ken set his arm so it rested lightly on her shoulders. Charlotte didn't object, but she was apprehensive. Her legs were crossed, and the dim light of the television glistened off her leather boots. They sat that way for awhile.
Ken moved a little closer to Charlotte and placed his hand on her knee. He slid her dress up enough so that he could pat her thigh without the dress getting in the way. If he pulls it up any further, Charlotte thought, he'll see my garters. Ken massaged her thigh softly, slowly. Charlotte's cock, firmly ensconced between her legs, was rock-hard. She looked at Ken's crotch. Obviously, he was hard, too. What, Charlotte wondered, is going on here?
Ken leaned over and kissed her cheek.
"Do you mind?" he whispered.
"Ken, don't do this, I'm not a... I'm not a woman yet," Charlotte muttered.
"I know," he said. "I don't care. I just want to play, to see what it feels like to be a man. You look so beautiful, Charlotte."
Charlotte was surprised by this last comment. "Do I get you excited, Ken?" she asked.
Ken took her hand and moved it to his crotch. She could feel his hard cock easily, even through his pants.
"Does that answer your question?" he asked. He held her hand firmly, sliding it rhythmically across his crotch.
"Why don't you unzip me?" he asked.
"Go ahead. You'll enjoy it," he said.
Charlotte didn't know what she wanted to do at that moment, but she felt she had to do whatever Ken wanted. She reached over with both hands and tried to unzip his pants. It was treacherous with her nails, but she succeeded. Ken reached down and plopped his cock out. God, he's big, thought Charlotte. Her own cock was still on fire.
Ken wrapped her hand around his cock. The cock felt like hers, she thought, only bigger. Since she didn't know what else to do, Charlotte began to move her fingers, searching for the same pleasure spots on Ken's cock that she liked to feel on hers. She flicked her long nails about the tip; Ken seemed to enjoy that.
Ken told her to lie down. She did, so that her feet were in his lap. He positioned his cock between her boots. Charlotte rubbed her legs together; Ken moaned softly. Obviously, he liked the feel of leather on his cock.
Ken moved out from beneath Charlotte's feet, pulled down his pants, and lay down on top of her. He kissed her passionately. When she felt his tongue deep in her mouth, she began to kiss back. All the while, Ken's cock was under him, grinding back and forth along her thigh. She wondered how long it would take him to come, because she wanted to come herself, and she wouldn't do it in front of Ken.
Ken kept at it for a long time, but he couldn't reach an orgasm while lying on Charlotte that way. Soon he stopped moving around and just lay there. Charlotte didn't mind. She liked the feel of his weight on her.
"I guess we'd better stop," Ken said in her ear.
"Why?" she asked.
"I'm not getting anywhere. I've never done this before," he said. He moved off Charlotte and stood up. His thick cock protruded straight out in front of him.
Charlotte swung her legs down off the sofa and knelt down in front of Ken so that his cock was aimed directly at her face. She held it with both her hands and started to move her slender fingers about.
No matter how hard I work, Charlotte thought, he isn't going to come this way. She could only think of one thing to do. Half of her was revolted by the notion; the other half was desperate to try it. She steeled her nerves.
"Okay, lover, see if you like this," she said in her huskiest voice. She kissed Ken's cock and began to lick the tip. She took Ken in her mouth, gingerly at first, then deeper and deeper. She'd never looked at a cock from this angle; she could see only Ken's pubic hair and her own red nails wrapped around his shaft. I'm sucking a man's cock, Charlotte said to herself. The idea was horrible, but the sensation was so thrilling that she wouldn't have stopped for anything.
She didn't have to work very long; Ken came in less than a minute. Charlotte felt the semen rush in her mouth. Not knowing what else to do with it, she swallowed it. It felt thick and salty on her tongue, but she liked it, in a strange way.
She kept her mouth on Ken's cock until he pulled her to her feet. She grabbed him hard about his shoulders. They kissed a while, then she darted into the bathroom. She pulled her dress up and her panties down and watched her own semen sail into the toilet.
Charlotte declined Ken's invitation to sleep with him that night. He seemed to understand. She took her nightgown and robe to the guest room, the room which had been her bedroom just a day before.
The evening's activities were so remarkable that Charlotte had difficulty accepting them. "Did I really do all those things?" she asked herself. Dazed and fatigued, she fell asleep quickly.
8. Second Day
Charlotte did not wake up until eight-thirty. By then, she knew, Ken was long gone. She stayed in bed and relived in her mind each detail of the previous night. She felt guilty and humiliated by her behavior with Ken. She resolved not to let it happen again, although she couldn't forget about the feel of Ken's cock in her mouth.
Ken would change them back soon, she was sure. If he didn't, she would somehow wrest the leaf from him and change them back herself. For now, it seemed that going along was the only course.
Charlotte got up and took stock of herself. Her penis remained intact, but it looked positively meager now. She had grown breasts now, real breasts, nice breasts. She was smaller, shorter, perhaps five-eight instead of five-ten. She looked even rounder in the hips. She said, "Hello!" into the air; her voice sounded distinctly female now.
Charlotte loved the way her breasts bounced when she walked. She even loved the way they felt when restricted by a bra. She tried on clothes again, mainly to study the effect made by her new breasts. At ten o'clock she put on a leotard; she was pleased to see her nipples pointing firmly through the fabric. She exercised for an hour then took a shower.
Charlotte need things for a Japanese dinner, so she decided to go out. What to wear? Jeans? Possible, but not terribly interesting today. A short skirt? Yes, perfect. She pulled a black leather mini from the closet.
She got dressed. It remained cool outside, so she wore a white cashmere sweater over her skirt. She put on the black pumps with high heels. Daytime makeup, a big gold necklace, a quick brush of the hair; she was ready. She wondered if she was overdressed for the mall. No, she would shop only at the upscale places today, places where everybody dressed up. Ken was a vice-president, after all.
She grabbed her purse and her keys and walked out to the garage. I didn't know I had a BMW, she said to herself. As she pulled out of the driveway, her nerves acted up again. Would anyone suspect she was not quite what she seemed? Could she look and act her part convincingly? She drove to the new mall across town; during the whole trip she was afraid to make even the slightest eye contact with other drivers.
She pulled into the parking deck and turned off the engine. This is it, she thought. She locked her car and walked towards the elevator. The mall was busy, and there were lots of women going to and from their cars. Some seemed to stare at her, but nobody said anything, nobody seemed surprised. Charlotte told herself that the other women were just checking her out.
Charlotte shopped without incident, and she began to relax. Nobody will find me out, she thought. I look good, even if I'm not quite right yet. After buying the spices and other things for dinner, she decided to look around for herself. She was drawn to the lingerie stores. In one of them she saw a racy black bustier; she wanted it.
"In a 36C," she told the salesgirl.
"Do you want to try it on?" the salesgirl asked.
Charlotte paused. Better not. "No, I don't have the time," replied Charlotte. "It should be all right."
Charlotte was walking towards the parking deck when she noticed a shoe store. In the window there was a pair of black leather thigh boots with fabulous heels. She wanted those, too.
"Size nine," she told the salesman. He brought out the box.
"Try them on?" he asked. Why not? She slipped her pumps off and started to pull up the boots. She allowed the salesman to help her. He enjoyed it, she was sure. The boots were perfect. She took them off, paid for them, and went to her car.
It was only one o'clock. Charlotte had no desire to go home yet; there was too much to do outside. Since she'd skipped breakfast, she was hungry. She pulled up to a fashionable little restaurant, the kind of place where the drinks were more important than the food.
She went inside and got a table for one. The place was nearly filled, mostly with businessmen taking long lunch hours. She finished her salad and had a cigarette with her second glass of wine. A man walked over to her table.
"Hi. Don't you work at Smithers?" he asked her. Charlotte didn't even know what 'Smithers' was.
"No, I don't. Sorry," she said, smiling.
"Oh, I thought you might be the new girl I heard about," he said. Charlotte noticed she had left her wedding room home. God, he thinks I'm single, she thought. He was no more than twenty-five, probably less, and a bit shaky with his pick-up lines. He just stood there, leaning on the back of a chair.
Her turn, she thought. "You can sit down," she said. They talked, he paid her bill, and she accompanied him to his car. I shouldn't be doing this, Charlotte told herself over and over. The man, Jim, drove a big, new Oldsmobile with tinted windows.
"Company car," he told her.
"I only have a few minutes," she said.
"Okay," was all he would say. Charlotte climbed in the car and sat close to Jim. He drove out to the warehouse area of town and parked on a side street. Nobody was in sight.
"We're safe," he said. "No one can see in."
Charlotte didn't wait for him. She unzipped his pants and went for his cock. He tried to kiss her, but she had her mouth down on him too quickly. She gave him a slow, deliberate blow job. He was so helpless that he couldn't do anything except come. She sucked him dry and even licked the last few drops from around the tip of his cock.
She looked up at him and smiled. "Like it, baby?" she asked.
"You are fantastic," was Jim's clever response.
"Drive me back," she ordered. "I've got to get home." Jim started the car, and Charlotte fixed her makeup. She looked presentable by the time they reached the restaurant parking lot.
"Why don't you give me your phone number?" Jim asked as Charlotte left the car.
"Why don't you give me yours?" she replied. He recited his number. "I'll remember it," she said. Jim sped off, and Charlotte got into her car.
As she drove, she felt ashamed on several counts. She had done something only a woman should do, though she wasn't really a woman. Moreover, she had done something that no married woman should ever do. How guilty can a person feel? Ken will never find out about this, she told herself.
When she arrived home, she tried on her new things. The bustier pushed her tits up; they looked even bigger than 36C. The thigh boots were incredible. She loved the way she looked in them, so evil and dangerous. She loved the feel of the soft black leather on her thighs.
She put her miniskirt back on and replaced the sweater with a long-sleeved red blouse. This would be her attire for dinner.
9. Second Evening
Ken was home at six-thirty. Dinner was a smashing success again, and once again they drank quite a bit of wine. Ken wanted to go into the den.
"Why don't we go upstairs?" Charlotte asked.
"Okay," he replied.
"Give me fifteen minutes first. Amuse yourself in the meantime," she said.
Charlotte went up to the bedroom to get ready. Her new bustier, sheer stockings, and bikini panties were all in black. She pulled her new boots up as high as they would go. Her hair, which had been tied in a smart ponytail, she let fall loosely about her shoulders. She went crazy with the eyeliner and shadow, and she looked vaguely Oriental when she finished her face.
She lay down on the bed to wait for Ken. The outline of her little penis was just visible through her panties, but she didn't care. She didn't think Ken would care, either.
Ken came in, looked at her, and stripped off his clothing without a word. He was on top of her in a flash. He kissed the tops of her tits as she rubbed her thigh boots against his cock.
"I wish I could come inside you," he whispered.
"I wish you could, too, but you can't," she said, trying keep him away from the bulge in her panties.
"There's another way," he said, and he climbed off her. He went to the dresser and pulled something from one of his drawers. It was a vibrator, about ten inches long, with a gold metal tip.
"God, Ken, where did you get that?" Charlotte gasped.
"I bought it yesterday. I was wondering if we would need it. Want to try?"
Charlotte felt that curious mix of revulsion and excitement again. He's going to fuck me in the ass, she thought. Part of her wanted to say no, but that part couldn't speak. The part that could speak said "Yes, yes."
Ken found a tube of K-Y jelly. He opened it and covered the tip of the vibrator with the clear goop. Charlotte got up on her hands and knees. Ken pulled her panties down just far enough to get to her asshole. He smeared jelly there, too.
"Just relax and enjoy it," he ordered. Charlotte waited as the motor clicked on. She made no effort to see what Ken was doing. She felt the cold tip of the vibrator against her bottom. It was soothing, and it seemed to free up all the muscles through her ass. Ken began to press harder into her asshole, and Charlotte felt pain.
"You've got to loosen up in there, baby," Ken said, without sympathy. Charlotte tried to relax even more. Suddenly, she knew, the vibrator was inside her, and there was no pain any more. Ken moved the vibrator in and out and slid it from side to side, as if trying to enlarge her opening. As Charlotte became accustomed to the new sensation of being invaded from the rear, she became more and more aroused. Her whole body felt hot, and her nipples were positively burning. Her tiny penis wanted to burst.
Ken had lubricated his hard cock while he stimulated Charlotte with the vibrator. As he pulled the vibrator away, he tried to insert himself into her asshole. It took a while to find the proper angle, and Charlotte had to relax herself again. Finally, he was inside. Charlotte let out a long moan.
"Fuck me," she told him. He IS fucking me, she thought, and I hope he doesn't stop. For Charlotte this was even better than the vibrator, since she knew she was being fucked by a man, her man.
Just like the night before, Ken could not last long. His sperm began to pour into Charlotte; he pulled out and let the last bit flow over her back. Charlotte reached around with her hand, wiped the sperm off, and licked her fingers. Then she flipped over onto her back. Ken lay down next to her. He fondled her tits while she kept her hand wrapped firmly around his cock.
Ken got up to use the bathroom. He closed the door behind him. Then Charlotte got up, walked down the hall to the other bathroom, and relieved her aching cock. She went back to bed and lit a cigarette. Charlotte and Ken played with each other for an hour after that, though neither one had another orgasm. Ken slept naked; Charlotte just wore her bikini panties.
10. Third Day
Ken was still sleeping soundly when Charlotte awoke early Saturday morning. Immediately she reached down and felt between her legs; no penis there now, just a moist slit instead. In her excitement, she started to grab Ken to wake him up, but she caught herself. Quietly, she climbed from bed, threw on her robe, and went down to the kitchen. She made an elaborate breakfast. She when it was ready, she put everything on a tray and carried it upstairs.
Ken was still asleep. Charlotte set the tray on the floor. Carefully, she pulled the covers away from her husband. Ken was on his back. She climbed in next to him and began to massage his cock with her tongue. He started to grow hard even though he was asleep. Amazing! She sucked, and he couldn't stay asleep any longer. When he opened his eyes he tried to take hold of her. She jumped away.
"Not now, honey," she said. She flipped on the light and brought the breakfast tray into bed with them. They talked, they ate. Charlotte was halfway through a doughnut when she realized she couldn't wait any longer. She gave Ken the best blow job he'd ever had; at least, she assumed it was the best one he'd ever had. I wonder what he does on his lunch hour, Charlotte thought.
As Ken started to come, she pulled her mouth away and let his sperm dribble out onto her doughnut.
"Cream-filled," she said, and she ate it.
Ken fucked her four times that day. Charlotte was sorry he didn't have more endurance.
In the months that followed, Ken tried to use the magic leaf many times. He found that it couldn't influence world events, couldn't change the weather, couldn't heal the sick. In fact, it didn't work on any persons except him and Charlotte. He had no further professional aspirations, so he never again wished for anything related to his job.
Mostly, Ken used the leaf to change Charlotte. One night she might be a big, dominant redhead with huge tits. The next night she would be a demure, bookish type with an eager mouth. At Christmas they spent a week in the Bahamas; Charlotte went as a gorgeous, willowy black woman.
Sometimes Ken thought about the first time he had transformed Charlotte. His meticulous wish had changed her psychologically as well as physically. Now she'd always be a contented housewife and a willing sexual partner. Charlotte will never know, Ken thought.
Charlotte showed no interest in the leaf anymore. Why should she? During her initial transformation, she realized that Ken had altered her mind as well as her body; how else could she have accepted everything so easily? It didn't matter, for she was happy. She was a housewife, yes, but she had hardly any work to do since they'd hired a maid. Tall, blonde Lisa came in on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and Charlotte would fuck with her every time.
Ken will never know, Charlotte thought.
The Leaf copyright 1996 by Liz M..
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