SRU Interview with the Wizard
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SRU: The Wizard's Wig free porn video
The Wizard's Wig (SRU)
by Jordan Hoelder
Mike was a bit puzzled. He was sure there had been a place in the Mall that
had Hawaiian shave ice. It was well over 100 outside, the Mall's air
conditioning was losing the struggle, and his part-time job in the cutlery
shop, while not overwhelmingly physical, still had sweat trickling down his
back. The proprietor's dress code of suit and long-sleeved white shirt made
sense in winter, but Mike wondered what customers would be impressed by
a sweat-stained blue suit while themselves wearing shorts and tank tops.
Ice cream was definitely too many calories for Mike; burning them would
heat him up again. He just wanted some of that flavored ice. Preferably
raspberry. Or maybe half raspberry and half banana. "They couldn't have
gone out of business," he thought. "Not in the middle of the summer
season." But every corridor Mike tried was wrong.
Finally, underneath the double escalator at one end, Mike noticed a
passageway that he hadn't explored yet. "They can't be down here, can they?
I'm sure I've been there before, and it was somewhere else." He decided to
try there anyway. The shops didn't seem to match those in the rest of the
mall--Chinese herbs, Fern's Incunabula, The Caltrop Shop. "What's an
incunabula? Incunabulum? Incunabulus? Looks like old books. Why can't
they just say what they are?"
Mike found no ice cream and shave ice place anywhere as he reached the end
of the blind passage and was turning back when a blast of chilled air struck
him from one side. Turning that way, he saw the closing door of a shop with
a slightly askew sign which read "Spells R Us."
"Spells R Us? That's fiction," Mike scoffed to himself. He'd read a few
stories with that phrase in the title on the Internet, but didn't ever expect to
see such a shop in reality. "I know," he mused. "Someone must have read
those stories and borrowed the name. I'll bet that they hear from the Toys R
Us lawyers pretty soon."
Mike hadn't seen anyone come out of the shop, and there had been no one in
the Mall corridor with him, so he wasn't sure why the door had opened. At
first, he started back towards the main Mall, but glancing through the shop
front, he saw the improbable: what appeared to be an Arctic wolf trotting
toward the back of the shop. The cold breeze from the shop's interior was
just too attractive in Mike's sweaty state, so he grabbed the knob as it was
about to latch and went in.
The shop seemed entirely empty--no salesmen, no cashiers, and certainly no
wolves. The merchandise haphazardly displayed throughout the shop seemed
to have no particular organization, and it wasn't clear what most of it was for,
other than interior decoration for someone with retro tastes. Odd bottles
without labels, antique jewelry, intricately carved boxes, old-fashioned
pictures in ornate frames, a complete gallimaufry. The place was just as it had
been described in the various stories Mike had read. As an engineering
student in his junior year, Mike was too realistic to believe that it was
anything other than an antique shop with a name someone had appropriated
from fiction.
Until a cheery, "Good afternoon, Mike!" came from the back of the shop,
that is. A moment later, a tall figure, easily topping Mike's 6' 2" frame,
swept through the curtains behind the counter accompanied by a dense puff
of smoke. A good part of that height was the conical hat the shopkeeper was
wearing which seemed to complement the elegant silk dressing gown he also
affected. Or did it? The smoke made Mike blink, and the man seemed for a
moment to be wearing a shabby bathrobe and a baseball cap and then, in
another blink, academic costume, complete with a mortarboard, and a third
blink revealed an opera cape and top hat. But then his vision cleared, and the
scene was as he had first perceived it. That gave him a moment to ponder that
the one constant through the illusion of change of costume was that the
shopkeeper was wearing an outlandish Three-Stooges-like wig, on top of
which sat the conical hat, and which had also been barely covered up by the
baseball cap, the mortarboard, and the tile. Before Mike could muse further
about that and try to recall if any of the stories had mentioned any such thing,
the shopkeeper interrupted Mike's thoughts and continued, "I thought at first
you weren't coming in."
"You know my name!" exclaimed Mike.
"Why is that always the first thing they say? Why can't it ever be 'good
afternoon?'" muttered the proprietor. "Yes, of course I do," he continued. "I
make it my business to know my customers."
"So this is really the Spells R Us shop that I've seen so much written about
on the Internet?"
"Indeed it is, my boy."
"But I thought those were just fictional stories. Entertainment."
"I'm sure they were entertaining. But with a good magic spell, reality tends to
warp around the changes it makes, and only those involved--or those versed
in the magical arts--can recall what the world was like beforehand. A few
others may remember something, but tend to think of it as a false memory, a
dream, or just an idea; if they have a flair for writing fiction and know where
to get it published, then some of my exploits end up being mere mass
entertainment--although I get a bit more amusement than 'mere' out of it.
"So, now that you've found my shop, what can I sell you? My inventory is a
little low right now--no genies, no wishing rings, no love potions. And I just
sold my last nude painting suitable for hanging over a bar." He shook his
head, sending the locks of the outlandish wig flying in all directions.
"I'm not really sure I want to buy anything. According to the stories, no one
gets quite what they bargain for here, with the joke usually on them--and not
a funny joke, either."
"Mike, I'm surprised at you. I know why you read those Internet
newsgroups and mailing lists. I know that you are really pleased to have
found my shop, even if you don't want to let on. And I know you want to
buy something here, even if you aren't sure quite what. So let's stop fencing
over whether you are going to buy one of my little treasures and decide on
what you are going to acquire."
Mike was embarrassed. He had been sure that no one knew of the mailing
lists and newsgroups he subscribed to, and certainly not why he was so
interested in transgender fantasy fiction. He knew that most of the world
couldn't tell the difference between transgender individuals and gays, and
didn't particularly care to learn either. His planned profession of civil
engineering would put him in touch with a lot of macho individuals in the
construction trades who would be merciless to someone they thought of as a
"pansy boy"--if they were willing to deal with him at all. And he didn't want
the other kind of attention he might receive from some of the architects and
decorators he'd also have to work with, either. As long as Mike was male, he
was interested only in women, as some of his girlfriends over the years
would have truthfully testified. But Mike had known for as long as he could
remember that somehow, he was not supposed to have been male. As a
practical man (were engineering students every anything else?), he had
always believed that there was nothing much he could do about it but go on
with life; surgery and hormones were just fakery. Now, there was the
chance, risky though it was, of finally solving his life-long problem. Did he
dare to bargain with the tricky wizard of Spells R Us?
After a long pause, Mike said, "OK. Maybe we can make a deal. But I'm not
sure I trust you. Like I said, everyone seems to get tricked when they buy
something here."
"Mike, you're being unfair. I think you should read those stories more
closely. I always caution my customers in the strictest terms to read the
instructions, obey the restrictions, get back here by closing time, and so on.
It's their own fault if they don't follow the directions. On the other hand,
there are a few people who have tried to cheat me or steal from me, and I
think you'll have to agree that they were asking for it--and got it. I'm sure
you'll realize that an establishment like this does not want to rely on the
ordinary criminal justice system for dealing with shoplifters."
"But in nearly every story, someone doesn't just become female, they get
turned into brainless bimbos. I don't want that to happen to me, period."
"OK, Mike. I'll promise you a purely physical transformation. I won't
meddle with your mind at all--except for some basic programming for your
new hardware," the wizard chuckled at his engineering metaphor, "for
makeup, hygiene, and so on. I don't think you'd want to keep your habit of
heading for the men's room and standing at a urinal--that would be messy
and embarrassing, wouldn't it?"
The wizard could see Mike slowly coming around and knew just a little more
selling was needed. "So, suppose I let you design the entire transformation?
You can pick exactly what you will look like. I just give you the means, and
then it's hands-off. How does that sound?"
Mike said nothing for quite awhile. Then he nodded. "You promise not to
mess with my mind, except for knowledge of how to be a woman, and I get
to pick the transformation myself, right? Is there some other catch? Like it's
not permanent, but I change back some embarrassing place or time?"
"No catches. You get exactly what you choose." The wizard bent over behind
the sales counter. "Now where did I put that?" he mumbled. There was a
small clatter of things being shifted inside a drawer and he straightened up
again, holding a small object. "This is what you want. $18.95 plus tax, or
$19.90 even."
"What is it?" Mike saw what appeared to be an optical instrument with tiny
pebbles glued on the side in the shape of a Z.
"It's a Zee-Rocks machine. I'm sure you've heard of them. Makes exact
copies. Unless the paper jams." The wizard snickered. "Turned a black girl
white once when it ran out of toner." He laughed louder.
"How does it work?" Mike asked.
"Very simple. I told you that you could pick the transformation. What you
need is a picture of the woman you wish to be transformed into. Place the
picture underneath your bed when you go to sleep tonight, and put the Zee-
Rocks machine on top of the picture. This end up!" The wizard tapped the
top. "Unless you want the picture to become one of you instead. Then, while
you sleep, the machine will focus the picture you have chosen onto your
body. Presto! When you wake up tomorrow, you will be an exact duplicate
of the picture. Notice I said 'tonight' and 'tomorrow?' Its charge is good for
one day only. If you don't use it by then, it will either not work at all or
produce some unintended results. Remember what I said about people not
following directions exactly."
"And that's all? No funny business? No sudden insatiable urges for sex?"
"Not unless you have them now--you are a male just out of your teens aren't
you?" The wizard laughed heartily. "No, if you aren't a sex maniac before the
transformation, you won't be afterward, just as interested in sex as you were
beforehand. You'll be just as smart as you are now and remember everything
you do now.
"Be sure to choose your picture carefully; you only get one try with the Zee-
Rocks machine. Check for moles, tattoos, and appendix scars. If she's got
'em, then you'll have them. Remember, the machine makes exact copies
only."
Mike handed the wizard a twenty, accepted his dime change, and took the
small box into which the wizard had placed the Zee-Rocks machine. As he
left the shop, he noticed the wizard removing the bizarre wig and storing it on
a block on a shelf. "What was that all about?" Mike wondered. Then he
glanced at his watch and saw that there was just enough time for him to make
it back to the cutlery shop by the end of his break.
* * *
Quitting time came ever so slowly for Mike that day. From time to time, he
glanced at the box from the wizard's shop on the shelf in back where he'd
stored it while he tended to customers. As 9 pm neared, he began to wonder
if he'd imagined the whole thing. The box was still there, but perhaps it had
come from a candy store or some such while he was imagining a dusty store
full of antiques.
Eventually, the Mall closed for the day, and after Mike tidied up the stock and
closed out the cash register, he made his way to the distant corner of the lot
where employees parked. The oppressive heat of the day had let up some, but
not enough that his car didn't need to be aired out before driving off, lest the
air conditioner provide no relief at all.
Mike picked up a pizza on the way home, knowing that a clean plate would
not be required if he couldn't find one. "If I were a woman, would I be better
at housekeeping?" he asked himself. "Probably not," he decided. "The
wizard said that he wasn't going to mess with things like that. I suppose that
staying a slob is better than becoming a slut."
Although Mike was studying civil engineering, his courses in mechanical
engineering had been useful; he'd devised a couple of improvements in the air
conditioner the landlord had provided that had his place cooling down in no
time. Mike stripped down to his underwear, ate half the pizza, drank a couple
of cans of soda, and put the leftovers into the refrigerator. Then he headed for
bed.
He was just about to turn out the lights when he remembered the box in his
suit pocket, having earlier been totally distracted by routine and hunger. He
leapt out of bed and took it out. When he unwrapped it, he found the Zee-
Rocks machine, which he was now able to examine at close hand.
It looked like nothing so much as a field microscope, having a small lens at
top and a wide base to rest on. He peered through it and saw only a distorted
image of the rest of his bedroom. "C'mon," he thought. "Is this really going
to do anything? Or have I been taken of most of today's pay?"
Then he started thinking about whether he really wanted it to work after all.
What was the job market like for women in civil engineering? Were they still
trying to make up for past discrimination or were those just token jobs with
no possibility for advancement? Maybe he could switch to EE or CS; women
had a lot better odds there, especially in computing. Maybe he should have
asked the wizard to do just a little tinkering, and give him some aptitude for
one of those fields. No, too dangerous to let the wizard meddle, judging by
the stories he'd read. But if his mind was still his own, he could rely on his
own drive to succeed, and adding to that some feminine wiles...or maybe a
lot of feminine wiles.... At last, he took a deep breath and decided to do it,
telling himself, "Mike, this is your only chance. Get cold feet now and you'll
be sorry forever."
But which transformation? He needed a picture to work from. He started
going through a stack of "gentlemen's" magazines he kept in the bedroom,
looking for a picture of just the right woman. Most of them were copies of
_D, DD, and Beyond_, Mike having been a (mostly) normal American male
with the usual fascination with women's breasts. Mike skipped over some of
the improbably large women; he wasn't interested in a body with implants.
Besides, he didn't want to be so big as to be unable to hide things under a
loose sweatshirt or some such at a work site. If he was going to be a woman
engineer, he had to keep some practical matters in mind, and construction
workers were a notoriously randy lot. A fine thing to be sued for distracting
someone with a hot rivet who couldn't ignore a hot chick.
Winnowing photos down took a long time. Although he had been tired from
his long day at the Mall, the frisson of excitement over what he was about to
do, tinged with just a little fear about the uncertain future if it worked, kept
him on edge. A couple of times he thought he'd found the ideal choice, but
careful scrutiny revealed the scars of implant surgery, an almost hidden
tattoo, or some body piercing. Mike considered those things to be self-
mutiliation and a real turn-off for him. So he kept looking.
It was well past 2:30 am when he finally decided on the picture. She was
blonde--and naturally so (unless she bleached her eyebrows and pubic hair),
measured 34DD, claimed a 22-inch waist (which Mike really liked), had a
cute round butt, and nice legs. She was only 5'3", which made Mike a bit
nervous; he'd been tall since his early teens and had enjoyed the natural
confidence it gave him. But that was the only drawback. The woman in the
picture also had what Mike thought was an interesting face--not quite the
conventionally pretty that made so many of the models forgettable once one
had turned the page, but with some character to it. He looked closely at the
photos in the layout again, noting that every square millimeter of her was
visible and looked perfect--no scars, no moles, no tattoos, no navel rings.
Nothing but the ideal woman.
His hands shook just a bit as he put the magazine, opened to its centerfold,
on the floor, set the Zee-Rocks machine on top of it (with the proper end up,
of course--Mike was careful to remember the wizard's instructions), and slid
them under his bed, cautious about disturbing or moving anything as he did
so. Then he flicked off the light and slid between the sheets himself,
surrendering to complete exhaustion.
* * *
Mike had neither classes nor work scheduled the next day, so there was no
alarm for him to sleep through. With his late bedtime, the sun didn't wake
him until very late in the morning. His first sensation on waking was of
something in his face. He shook his head to get rid of it, only to have more of
it tickle him. More awake then, he tried to figure out what was bothering him
and found he was holding a handful of blonde hair.
Mike sat bolt upright in bed, fully awake, and threw back the covers. "It
worked! It actually worked!" she thought, as she looked down at her large,
round breasts, pubic patch, and shapely legs. She quickly ran her hands over
her body, feeling her new waistline and spreading hips, then hefting her
breasts and appreciating their pleasant firmness and mass. "Wait a minute,"
she thought. "Wasn't I wearing a t-shirt and shorts when I turned in last
night? How come I'm naked this morning? Did I push them off while I was
asleep? And where did these shoes come from? I certainly wasn't wearing
blue high-heeled shoes to bed."
Those questions could wait; using the bathroom could not. Mike found that
everything came naturally to this new body, just as the wizard had promised,
including wrapping her hair in a towel after her shower. "Now, what am I
going to wear?" she thought, as she walked out of the bathroom with only the
towel on her head. "I guess I could slip into some of my old jeans with the
legs rolled up and a sweatshirt until I can get a wardrobe together." And she
started for the dresser.
The first drawer, however, was empty. So was the second. And the third.
And the others. And the closet, except for a row of six pairs of identical
bright blue 5" spike-heeled shoes. "There are no clothes here. What am I
going to do?" She started to feel somewhat panicky.
"Well, a cheery good morning to you, Mike. Or should I call you Michelle?"
"Eeeek!" she shrieked, taken completely by surprise at the voice from behind
her. Spinning around, she saw the wizard from the shop, and with another
eeek! tried to cover herself with her hands.
"Calm down, Michelle. What's your problem?"
"I think that's obvious," she said. "I'm stark naked and there aren't any
clothes here and there's a man in my room."
"You aren't anything I haven't seen a thousand times before. Well, maybe a
couple of hundred. OK, a few dozen. Never mind that. I still want to know
why you think you have a problem."
"Idiot! I told you, I'm starkers. Unclad. Exposed. Raw. Nude. And I can't
find any clothes here."
"Well, there are clothes here. You just can't see or touch them. Take that
towel off your head and try wrapping it around you." She did, and was
flustered to see it vanish completely. She looked around for it and felt for it
on the floor. Then the wizard bent down, picked up something invisible,
shook it a bit, and he was holding the towel, visible again. As a further
demonstration, he opened one of the seemingly empty dresser drawers and
took out an invisible (to her) object. He twisted his hands, and, with a
ripping sound, two pieces of cloth that had once been a t-shirt, but were now
unwearable, became visible. "See? For you, clothes simply don't exist."
"You mean that it's not just that I'm naked now? I can't ever wear clothes?"
"Isn't that what you wanted, Michelle? I don't understand your difficulty."
"Double idiot! What makes you think I wanted to be naked?"
"But that's what you selected with the Zee-Rocks machine. Where is it? Still
under the bed?" The wizard reached under the bed and slid out the magazine
and the machine on top of it. "Look here. You are now an exact duplicate of
the woman in the picture. She's entirely nude except for a pair of blue high-
heeled shoes, right?" The wizard waited for Michelle to nod. "Remember
what I told you? The machine makes exact duplicates. Since the woman in the
picture was nude, you are nude. Simple as that."
Michelle sat down heavily on the bed. Despite all her careful stipulations
beforehand with the wizard, things had gone wrong anyway. He was still
nattering on, and she'd missed the first few words while feeling sorry for
herself but then picked up on what he was saying.
"...not much of a market for nude engineers, so I have taken the liberty of
arranging employment for you. I'm afraid that the opportunities for naked
ladies are pretty much limited to the adult entertainment industry--nude
modeling, videos, dancing, that sort of thing. Too bad you wouldn't let
me...how did you put it?...'mess with your mind'; I could have given you
the proper natural instincts and talents for your new line of endeavor. You'll
just have to work at acquiring them, instead. And I believe that you'll still
prefer women as sex partners, for the same reason; that's really too bad, as it
will cut you out of the most lucrative part of the sex business. Still, it's
exactly what you asked for. So, pack your bags," the wizard winked at her
and then waved a hand causing a makeup case to appear on the empty
dresser. "You have an appointment in Las Vegas."
"No, dammit," she shouted, "it's not what I asked for. You tricked me. You
cheated me."
"I most certainly did not," the wizard retorted. I told you three times that the
Zee-Rocks machine would turn you into exactly what was in the picture. If
you had picked a photo of a woman wearing clothes, you'd be wearing
clothes. It's not my fault if you didn't pay attention. I warned you about that,
too. I even gave you a visual clue to impress it on you even more firmly."
The wizard shook his head vigorously, making his stringy gray hair fly
about.
"His hair," Michelle thought. "But yesterday, he was wearing that silly wig.
Even when I blinked and his costume changed, he still had that wig on. Was
that my clue? The wizard's wig? What's special about a wizard's wig?" The
light dawned. Not "wizard's wig," but "WYSIWYG"--"what you see is what
you get."
The metaphoric dawning light was succeeded by a more brilliant flash as the
wizard gestured and the bedroom vanished, to be replaced by a modeling
studio. Michelle looked around to see a dozen men with lights and cameras in
the dark side of the studio, and a brilliantly lit bedroom scene with another
beautiful nude woman reclining amidst a half-dozen pillows. Michelle found
it hard to take her eyes off the other woman's body; the wizard had been right
about her keeping her male preferences in sex partners. "Come over here,
honey, and let me taste you," the woman said in a sultry southern accent. As
the wizard went off to collect his substantial finder's fee, Michelle shrugged
fatalistically and stepped off in her new blue shoes to her new, very blue,
career.
Haven
- 05.06.2022
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