A Wish To Gish free porn video

A Wish to Gish by Tim Willows Is it so wrong that I don't like garage sales and antique fairs? My God, to hear my wife Sylvia tell it, you'd think I was the worst husband in the world. I work hard as a computer programmer from Monday to Saturday each week, and so when Sunday rolls around, I'd just as soon spend the day relaxing at home. Who has the energy after putting in a 60-hour work week to drive all the way to those remote small towns or race from store to store, looking to see what new bric-a-brac the owners are offering for sale this week? Every Sunday, it's the same fight; Sylvia looks through the classified section in the newspaper at the breakfast table and begs me to come along with her to this sale or that one. And I also grumble and hide behind the business section and tell her that she should go by herself. "You're the one who likes that stuff," I say. "I'll only be a drag." "Oh, but it's no fun just by myself," she replies. "The whole point is to be doing something together!" "Well, let's stay home together, then." "Something fun! Oh, please, Jack! Please? It would mean so much to me..." An hour of this every week, and every week I manage to convince her to leave me alone and either go by herself or to spend the day with me out on the patio or watching baseball on TV. We had been married only six months, but our marriage was already starting to suffer. "We never do anything," she complained, and she was right. What was wrong with me? Sylvia was a beautiful woman?32, but she looked at least five years younger than that. Great body, long dark hair, gorgeous legs. If only she wanted to do something other than antiquing; that stuff bored me to tears. What was the point of old things? Sylvia didn't even care if they were valuable; she just liked the look and feel of things that had been made long before she was ever born. It was a value system that didn't mean much to someone like me, who worked with computers all week long and was used to things becoming obsolete in less than a year. The problem was, our marriage would become obsolete in less than a year unless I took some action. After all, would it kill me to go shopping with her once in a while? Sometimes, on the occasions when returned from a day of shopping alone, even I had to admit she brought back some unusual objects. She had a taste for 19th-century objets d'art?small statues, intricate jewel boxes, pearl-handled combs, that kind of thing. It might be fun for a change to retrieve objects from the past with her. Perhaps, I mused to myself as I drove home from work late that Saturday, the original spark of our relationship might be one of those dusty objects we found along the way. The next day was Sunday, and Sylvia, as usual, started reading me the locations of the more interesting-sounding sales. "Oh, look, there's an estate sale out in Janvier," she said. "Doesn't that sound like it might be interesting?" "That does sound interesting," I said. "Why don't we check it out?" "And there's a new antiquities shop opening down? What did you say?" She was so shocked she dropped her spoon back into her bowl of cereal. "I said that estate sale does sound interesting," I replied. Sylvia didn't know whether to mop up the splattered milk or offer a reply. "Wha-at?" she exclaimed. "Of course, that new antique store sounds promising, too," I continued. "We might want to stop by there before everybody and his brother picks it clean." "Are you kidding me?" Sylvia asked. "Do you really want to go rummaging with me today?" "Sure I do. Seriously. I've been thinking... it's about time I showed an interest in your hobbies. It sounds like it could be a lot of fun." "Oh, Jack!" she squealed. "I don't believe it! Oh, I'm so excited! You don't know what this means to me! You really want to go? This is wonderful! You don't know what you've been missing! Could we go to both?" She looked so happy?for the first time in weeks, I might add?that I couldn't bring myself to say no. "Sure," I said. "Let's do the whole circuit." "Oh my God! This is so wonderful!" She leaped up from her chair and gave me a huge kiss. "Are you done with your breakfast? Well then, let's get dressed and get going! Time's a-wasting!" *** "Now, wasn't that fun?" Sylvia asked when we got home. "I guess," I mumbled. "And everything we bought? Isn't it beautiful?" "Yeah, sure." "I loved that little old man who ran that store. Wasn't he fascinating? All those stories about buying artifacts from Asia and Africa..." "Yeah, listen, honey," I said, turning my back on Sylvia and trudging up the stairs. "I'm just going to go to bed, okay? I've got to work tomorrow." Sylvia paused. "Jack?" "What?!" I said, snapping at her, and immediately regretted the angry tone in my voice. "Nothing," she said. "Listen, I'll see you tomorrow morning, okay?" Sylvia was silent. "Okay?" I repeated. "Didn't you like our day out together?" she asked quietly. I sighed. How was I supposed to answer that? It was even more boring than I feared it would be. It was fun at first, as we began to drive, the car CD player at full blast, smiling at each other like a couple of newlyweds. But as the day wore on, it became harder and harder for me to pretend that I was having fun. Sylvia had dragged me from one ratty, dusty, musty store to another and she insisted on poring over every crummy, cheap-looking piece of furniture or artwork she could find. She loved getting into long, esoteric conversations with the proprietors of all the stores?it was obvious that she was a favoured customer (or sucker) of almost all of them. But her favourite store was the new one downtown; it was run by a little old Englishman in a tweed jacket smoking a meerschaum pipe who specialized in exotic artifacts from around the world. To hear him tell it, he used to be a kind of Indiana Jones type, travelling the world in search of strange treasures. If the inventory of his store represented the fruits of his travels, it seemed to me like he'd never gotten farther than Chinatown, but Sylvia drank in everything he said and convinced me to buy a boxful of objects from him. She was especially proud of a statue that she had bought, haggling down the price from $400 to $250; it was a wooden carving, about two feet high, of a smiling old crone holding an immense fish in her arms. It was Chinese, the old man had said, and hundreds of years old. He said the old woman was Gish, the ancient Chinese goddess of benevolence. Sylvia was so taken with it that she didn't put it in the trunk of the car with the rest of her purchases; she brought it into the car with her, and she was still holding it as she followed me upstairs. "I said," Sylvia repeated as we entered the bedroom, "didn't you enjoy our day together? I thought we were going to make this more of a regular thing! I thought that's what you said." I tried to be calm. "Sylvia," I said, "that was at the beginning of the day! I'm sorry. I tried, I really did. I'm just not much of a guy for looking at old stuff and antiques. I'm sorry. Can I go to bed?" "That's all you want to do," she shouted. "Go to bed! You'd think somebody like you, who's cooped up in an office the entire week, would want to go out and live a little on your day off! But you don't like to do anything different, do you?" "What's wrong with knowing what you like?" "That's just it!" she said. "You don't know what you like, because you never try anything out of the ordinary! It's driving me crazy! You know what I wish? I wish there was a little more variety in this marriage!" As soon as she said those words, the Chinese carving in her hand began to glow a bright orange. It was impossible?the statue was made of wood, and yet it seem to glow from inside, as if the wood had suddenly turned translucent. Sylvia and I stared at it for a couple of seconds as the shade of orange turned brighter and brighter and more and more luminous, until all of a sudden it burst into flames. With a yelp, Sylvia dropped it to the floor before it could burn her hand. My heart leapt into my mouth?we had bare wood floors, and I thought that the burning statue would set the entire house on fire, but as soon as it hit the floor, it crumbled into a small pile of powdery black ashes about the size of a lump of sugar. It had burned up as quickly as a piece of magician's flash paper, and in an instant the two-foot- tall statue had virtually disappeared. Sylvia and I stared at each other in shock. "That was weird," I said. "I know," said Sylvia. "It just caught on fire." We stood there awkwardly for a few moments. The bizarre flash-fire had derailed our argument. "I'm sorry," I said. "I just don't like antiques. I really tried." "I know you did," said Sylvia. "I could see where you really wanted to make an effort." "Maybe we could find something else to do to liven up our marriage," I said. "Would you like that?" "Yeah. I would." Sylvia smiled. "Let's sweep up this mess and go to bed," I said. *** When I woke up the next morning, I instantly sensed that something was very wrong. As I groggily lifted my head from the pillow, I realized the entire room was different. The walls weren't off-white anymore; they were powder blue. And the room! The room was an entirely different shape?smaller and narrower than it was before. As I slowly regained consciousness, one change after another occurred to me. The bed was smaller! And the sheets were different?they were pink, for crying out loud. And Sylvia wasn't sleeping next to me, either?it didn't look like anyone had been next to me all night. I sat up, and got the biggest shock of all. I wasn't in the right body?I was a girl! I was wearing an oversized short-sleeved white flannel pyjama top with pink hearts on it which revealed a pair of stick-thin arms and small, delicate hands. I unbuttoned the top couple of buttons, looked down and saw a pair of small, budding breasts upon my chest. I was too shocked to even speak?still, some reflex action caused me to clap a hand over my mouth in case I started screaming. As I did so, I could feel long hair hanging down across my face and down my back. What the hell was going on? I tore off the covers and swung my legs out of bed. To my chagrin, I saw I wasn't wearing my pyjama bottoms, just a pair of small, white cotton panties, and I couldn't help but admire the look of my thin, hairless young girl's legs as I stood up and walked to the mirror that hung over the dresser at the other end of the room. I looked to be about 13 or 14 years old, and I was every inch a girl. I was, I had to admit, very pretty. My figure had yet to develop, but instead of looking gawky or stringy, I had the slim, elegant appearance of a young model or a ballerina. I looked at my face more closely, and saw that my ears were pierced, and that a pair of modest silver studs now decorated my earlobes. My hair was very long, down past my shoulders, and was a lustrous shade of black. I noticed a small tray filled with ponytail holders on top of the dresser, and after a couple of tries, I managed to tie it back. I don't know why I didn't panic. In retrospect, I should have been terrified. All I can say is, I guess some situations are so shocking and so unexpected that it doesn't even occur to you to panic. Your brain is trying to assimilate so much bizarre information that it's like a computer running too many applications at once?every function, including the panic reflex, slows down to a crawl. Sylvia's brain, however, had no such limitations. As I stood in this strange room?a teenage girl's bedroom was what it was?wondering what to do next, I heard a voice screaming in terror somewhere down the hallway. I ran to see what was going on, and there, in a teenage boy's bedroom, was a teenage boy, staring at himself in the mirror, screaming uncontrollably, gripping the back of a chair, seemingly locked into a state of panic. He looked to be about 20 years old, judging by his boyishly handsome face. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just a pair of loose workout shorts, and his broad, muscular shoulders and well-defined physique made me suspect he was some kind of a football player. I didn't know what else to do?I grabbed him by the arm and started shouting at him, "Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!" until he quieted down. He looked at me in terror. "What's going on?" he asked. "Who are you?" "I'm not sure I know who I am," I said. "Who are you?" He stammered. "Until I looked in that mirror, I thought I was... I thought I was somebody else." My eyes widened. "Me too! Me too! Who did you think you were?" The boy looked down at the floor with embarrassment. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but I thought I was a woman. I thought I was a housewife named Sylvia Westbrook." "Oh my God," I said. "What?" "Until I woke up and looked in the mirror, I thought I was Jack Westbrook." The boy looked at me in silence for a couple of seconds, whereupon his face broke out in a wide grin. "Jack?" he said. "Sylvia?" "Is that you?" "Is that you?" "What happened to us?" "I have no idea," I said. "I just woke up a few minutes ago, and I was like this." I pursed my lips?I was incredibly embarrassed by the sound of my voice, which was so high and girlish. And then a second wave of embarrassment hit me when I realized I was wearing nothing but a pyjama top and a pair of panties that revealed so much of my legs and ass. And then a third wave hit, as I realized I looked like I was only 13 years old, and a girl to boot?that I had long hair and breasts and my cock had disappeared. And then a fourth wave hit as I realized my wife was now a man. And then a fifth wave joined all the rest as I noticed how much smaller and weaker I was in comparison to Sylvia's new male body, which was bulging with muscles?with her gigantic biceps and chiselled back muscles and washboard abs, she looked like she went to the gym every day. I think Sylvia felt a similar set of waves hit her, if not of embarrassment, then at least of self- consciousness. She was wearing next to nothing, and my eyes drifted downward to the flimsy pair of shorts she was wearing, and the bulge that was forming underneath them. "So," I said. "Are you... um... like, all guy under there?" Almost without thinking, Sylvia reached into her shorts. "Yeah. It's, uh... it's all there. And you?" "Same here. I'm a girl. Top to bottom." "Man oh man," said Sylvia, sitting down on her bed. "How did this happen? I mean, how did this happen?" She had a frightened expression on her face and a couple of tears started rolling down her cheeks. I sat down next to her and put my arm across her shoulder. I'm glad I couldn't see the mirror anymore; we must have looked ridiculous. "I don't know. Is there anyone else in the house?" "Beats me," she said. "I just woke up and saw what had happened to me and just started screaming. I haven't even been out of the room." "Well, let's look and see. But why don't you put something on first?" Sylvia smiled through her tears. "What's the matter?" she said jokingly, flexing her arms a little. "Jealous?" "No," I said quickly. "I... I just think you should try and look a little more... presentable, is all." "Oh, all right," she said. "I don't even know if there's anything here I can wear, though." She stood up?God, but she towered over me now?and looked through the drawers of the dresser in the room. To our surprise, they were filled with clothing. We looked in the closet, and found it was stocked with clothes, too, all of it suitable for a 20-year-old man, and all of it perfectly in Sylvia's new size. She threw on a sweatshirt and we began to search the house to see if anybody else lived there, and if so, whether they were in the wrong bodies, too. But as far as we could tell, we were alone. Even more strangely, even though the layout of the house was nothing like ours, when we looked out the windows, we saw that it was standing in exactly the same location, at exactly the same address. And the house had all the amenities: telephone, TV, VCR, computer, car, furniture, appliances. There was a nice surprise in that, sitting on the coffee table in the living room, was a suitcase full of money?about $5,000 worth of small bills. The kitchen was fully stocked with groceries, and when we looked through the drawers and closets in the room I had woken up in, we found they were stocked with female clothes in styles and sizes that perfectly suited my dainty new female body. Sylvia, to my embarrassment (which by now had arrived in its eighteenth or nineteenth wave) had a lot of fun teasing me as she went through my wardrobe, trying to persuade me to put on the sexy dresses and skirts she found hanging there. "Come on," she chuckled, holding out a schoolgirl outfit. "You'll look so cute in this!" "No way," I said, tapping my bare foot on the floor. "Oh, come on," she said. "I'll put on some of the guy's outfits in the other room." "That's completely different. I look ridiculous. Look at me! I'm, like, a teenaged girl! It's outrageous! I've got to draw the line somewhere, and I'm telling you, I'm not getting dressed in any of that stuff. I don't care what I look like." "I don't believe it," she exclaimed at last in frustration. "You're the same as ever! You never want to try out anything new!" It was the last straw. As we searched through the house, Sylvia's fears seemed to disappear entirely. In fact, she could barely hide how much she enjoyed her new body. She was constantly running her hands over her rugged, overdeveloped male physique, feeling her crotch and flexing her muscles. I tried to be a good sport about it all, but finally I exploded. I tore my pyjama top off, exposing my flat, teenaged chest. "New?" I shouted. "I never try anything new? Is this new enough for you?" I pulled off my panties so that I was standing in front of her naked. "It's all right for you, but look at me! Doesn't this count as enough variety for you?" Sylvia paused as if a thought suddenly struck her. "That's it," she said. "What's it?" I asked angrily. "That statue," she said. "Last night. Before it caught fire, that's what I said. I said that I wished we had a little more variety in our marriage. You remember? As soon as I said that, that was when it started glowing orange?as soon as I said it." "So what are you saying?" "And that strange old man. He said it came from China somewhere. Jack?I bet it was magical. It was... it was the goddess of benevolence, remember? With the fish? The goddess of giving! I bet the statue gave us this?gave us a wish." "A magical statue," I said, dubiously. "How else do you explain what's happened, smarty-pants?" Well, she had me there. Something magical had certainly happened. I had seen that statue burst into flames before my very eyes, and I couldn't explain it. And it had happened right after Sylvia said she wanted more variety in our marriage. And putting us into these new bodies certainly counted as variety. "I can't explain it," I said, calming down. "I guess you're right. But what does it mean? I mean, are we stuck like this forever?" Sylvia paused again to consider this. "I don't think so," she said. "I mean, I wished for variety, right? If that's what's happened... if the statue has really granted my wish, then it wouldn't just leave us like this forever, would it? That wouldn't be much variety. I think we should just ride this out and enjoy it. I mean, the house is full of stuff, there's all that money in the living room, we have all the clothes we'd ever want to wear... Obviously, whatever spell this is will take care of us. I don't think it wants us to worry. I think it wants us to have fun." Sylvia smiled and took a couple of steps towards me. Something about her expression made me suddenly became aware of my nakedness and covered myself with my hands. "What kind of fun did you have in mind?" I asked. "You know," she said. "Fun fun." "Oh, Jesus, Sylvia..." I backed away from her, not realizing that was only bringing me closer to the bed. "Oh, come on, Jack. You look so beautiful like that." She pulled off her sweatshirt, revealing once again her muscular, imposingly masculine chest. "I can't help myself. Just a kiss. Try some variety, why don't you?" Maybe it was the same urge to keep Sylvia happy that made me accompany her on the antiquing trip, or maybe the sight of this handsome hunk of a 20-year-old had some kind of instinctive effect on my 13-year-old body's libido, but I decided to agree to a kiss. I never should have done it. Sylvia wrapped her arms around me as she planted a deep, soulful kiss on my lips, and her firm muscles felt so good against my soft skin that I surrendered instantly. Her hands massaged the cheeks of my ass as I stood on tiptoe and rubbed my body against hers and mashed my lips, eagerly, teenage-style, against hers. When our mouths finally parted, I was ready for anything and Sylvia knew it. She grinned and lifted me effortlessly in her arms, and began carrying me back to her room. I must have been as light as a feather to her now?I bet I was about 4'11" to her 6'3" and as thin as could be, probably no more than 90 pounds soaking wet. All my embarrassment faded away and as Sylvia carried me down the hallway, I nestled my head against her chest as I looked down at my shrunken body. I couldn't blame Sylvia for getting so turned on; I was gorgeous. I wriggled and laughed in anticipation?I couldn't wait to see what sex as a woman would feel like. When we arrived in Sylvia's room, she tossed me playfully onto the bed and she removed her shorts. I gasped and said, "Sylvia! Look at you!" She was enormous; her cock must have been ten inches long. "I know!" she said. "Can you believe this thing? You're in for the ride of your life!" My pussy was already sopping wet, and as Sylvia began licking my nipples and rubbing my hard little clit, my body shuddered and a series of colourful lights played out across my eyes in what I assumed was my first orgasm as a female. When the incredible feeling subsided, I climbed on top of Sylvia and began sucking her cock. Hey, after all, I said to myself, it's the least I could do. "Who says I don't like to try new things?" I asked her after she came inside my mouth and I swallowed the load down. With astonishing speed she was hard again and as I spread my legs my heart began to beat even faster, knowing I was about to lose my virginity for the second time?this time in the body of a beautiful teenaged girl. Sylvia turned out to be a gentle lover; she eased her enormous cock into me bit by bit until her entire ten inches was completely inside my tight virgin pussy. Slowly she began pumping and almost as a reflex, I wrapped my thin legs around her back?the feeling of being penetrated was incredible, indescribable. I could feel her hands holding onto my waist; I was so skinny, I felt like her hands could practically touch. I felt so small and vulnerable, and I wanted her in me forever. I almost got my wish; we made love in various positions and locations around the house for the next few hours. In between, we'd lie on our backs, feeling a passion and an intimacy we hadn't experienced since the first few months we'd been going out with each other. We placed our hands palm to palm and marvelled at how much smaller and daintier I had become. "Can I say one thing?" Sylvia asked me. "What?" "You seem to be taking this remarkably well." We both collapsed into a fit of laughter. It was true; all my trepidation about this new body had completely disappeared. "Well," I said. "Maybe you had a point. It is fun to try new things once in a while." "Why don't you try on some of those outfits in your closet, then?" Sylvia said. "We could have a little fashion show." "Oh, God," I said. "After all," she continued, "we have to figure out what we're going to wear when we go out tonight." "Go out?" I exclaimed. "Sure! Why not? Two young good-looking kids with a pile of money?it would be a shame to spend our whole time like this cooped up in the house." She had a point. Besides, I had to admit, I had started to get a little curious about what some of those outfits in the closet would look like on me. "All right," I said. "Let's do a fashion show. You wait here?get dressed while you're at it?and I'll see what I have to wear." My first outfit was the Catholic schoolgirl uniform that had caught Sylvia's eye earlier in the day. Getting that male body seemed to have given her a typical set of male fantasies, and when I appeared before her in the short, plaid skirt, grey tights, black flat shoes, white blouse and casually loosened tie, my hair all in pigtails, she involuntarily let out a moan of sexual longing. "God, Jack," she said. "You look so hot like that. Those pigtails are just?" "I know," I said. "I used to be a guy, too, remember? Hang on, though, there's more." I scampered back to the closet and this time put on a tight, cropped powder-blue T-shirt with the word "BABY" written on it, a pair of short denim cut-offs, white socks and a pair of sneakers. "What do you think?" I asked Sylvia. "Jailbait, if only your breasts were a little bigger." "I know," I said, gazing down at my flat chest, enjoying playing the part of a pouty teenager. "All the other girls at school will make fun of me." Next, I put on an elegant, sleeveless, black satin evening dress with a daringly low-cut back, a pair of sheer black pantyhose and a pair of strappy high-heeled shoes. To my surprise, I had no trouble putting on the hose or walking in the shoes. Instead, I practically glided into Sylvia's bedroom. "You're beautiful, Jack," said Sylvia in awe as I sat down in a chair across from her, arranging my legs so that the slit in the dress displayed the optimum amount of leg. "You look so innocent and yet so glamourous. You're like a vision." Next, I stripped off the evening wear and put on a skimpy, very girly bikini I found in one of the dresser drawers. To my delight, my pubic hair had already been trimmed into a neat "V," and so I didn't need to make any adjustments before putting the tiny bathing suit on. It had a pattern of green and white checks on it that went well with my black hair and as I checked myself in the mirror, I smiled with satisfaction at the sight of my lean, toned midriff. Not an ounce of extra fat on me! Sylvia loved my beach-bunny look, as well as my slutty-teen look, my confirmation-dress look, my satin-nightie look, my farmgirl-in-overalls look, and on and on and on. Soon, it was getting near the evening, and we agreed that we had better head out and enjoy ourselves while the night was still young. We decided to go to an all-ages rave that was happening in a converted warehouse downtown. It was the kind of youthful, alternative event that Sylvia and I never would have dreamed of attending just a day ago, but now it seemed like the perfect way for us to enjoy our youthful bodies. Sylvia put on a plain, bright white collared shirt which she unbuttoned down to her chest and an extra-baggy pair of jeans. It wasn't exactly a rave outfit, but it did accentuate her enviable, powerful new body. As for me, I wore a shiny silver bikini top, a silver-lam? micro- miniskirt and a pair of impossibly high silver platform pumps. I put on a coat of silver lipstick, arranged my hair into a pair of ponytails that stuck out of the top of my head like a pair of antennae, and dusted myself with glitter. I looked at myself in the mirror and felt an unexpected surge of awe when I realized once again that I was in the body of a beautiful, thin 13-year-old girl. How much more fun life seemed! How much more willing I was to take part in all the enjoyable activities the world offered me! Sylvia and I blended right in with the rest of the kids in the crowd, and we danced virtually without stop until four in the morning, when we stumbled home and fell asleep cradled in each other's arms. *** When I woke up the next day, I realized that things had changed once again. This time, the bedroom was more soberly decorated, and the bed was larger and more imposing. Even though Sylvia and I had fallen asleep with each other the previous night, I woke up alone once again. I sat on the side of the bed and examined myself and saw that I had changed as well. I was still female, and still attractive, but this time, I seemed to be about 30 years old. I had curly light-brown hair and slightly larger-than-average feet?my fingernails and toenails were painted red. I was dressed in red satin pyjamas, and my breasts, this time, were enormous?I'd bet a 36DD. I didn't get much of a chance to examine them, because just then a small, strange voice piped up from elsewhere in the room. "Uh, Jack?" it said. "You'd better get a look at this." To my astonishment, the voice was coming from the far corner of the room, where a crib had been set up. In the crib was a one-year-old child?a boy, judging from the blue sleeping outfit he was wearing, and he was looking up at me through the bars with an uncanny expression of consternation and amusement on his face. I leaned over the crib. "Sylvia?" I said hesitantly. "That you, Jack?" the infant said wearily. "Looks like we're going to experience a few more new things today, doesn't it?" I nodded in amazement. "Are you all right? You look like you're about one year old," I told her. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Sylvia replied in that bizarre baby's voice of hers. "At least I'm able to talk and carry on a conversation with you?that's something, I guess. If I need to be changed, I can just tell you about it." The previous day's events seemed to have made us both more adaptable and accepting of strange metamorphoses; instead of panicking, we set about figuring out our new situation. "Can you walk?" I asked her. "Get me out of here and I'll try," Sylvia responded. I grabbed her around the waist and lifted her out of the crib. Suddenly, I had a fit of whimsy. "Upsy daisy!" I cried, spinning her in the air. "Upsy daisy!" Sylvia couldn't help herself, and began giggling like a baby as I tossed her in the air. After a few seconds of this, however, she managed to regain control of her emotions. "All right! All right!" she said impatiently. "Put me down and let me see if I can walk." I did as she commanded and gently placed her on all four on the floor. "Jesus," she said, looking up at me. "You look like a giant. God, the shoe sure is on the other foot today, isn't it?" Laboriously, Sylvia struggled to her feet and managed to toddle a few yards before crashing back to earth on her bottom. "Shit!" she said. "It doesn't look like I can get very far like this." "Are you okay?" I asked. "That looked like a nasty fall." "No, I'm all right," Sylvia said from her position seated on the floor. "Tell you what I am, though. I am absolutely starving." I felt a strange sense of urgency when this tiny baby told me she wanted to eat; I could feel an instinctive desire to protect it and provide for it. "Oh!" I said. "All right. Let's see if the kitchen's been, you know, magically restocked with baby food, then." Sylvia rolled her eyes. "Jesus, Jack," she said. "What are you, an idiot?" "Huh? What?" "We don't need to go downstairs, you schmendrick. You've got my breakfast right there in front of you." I looked down at my breasts. They were so big and heavy, how could I have forgotten them? "You want some of this, huh? You think it'll work?" "I don't see why not," Sylvia replied. "Let me at 'em. I've always wondered what this stuff tastes like." I picked Sylvia up off the floor and carried her with me to a rocking chair that had been arranged near the bedroom window. A cool summer breeze was gently wafting the curtains and I felt very traditional and maternal as I sat down with Sylvia in my arms, unbuttoned the top of my pyjamas and prepared to breast-feed "my" baby. "What do I do?" I asked. "Do I have to do something?" "Nope," Sylvia said happily. "Just hook me up. Hurry! Hurry! I'm starving!" I bared one of my gigantic tits and positioned Sylvia by the nipple. "Okay, okay," I told her. "Man, I can see why it's a good thing babies don't talk until they're older." Sylvia looked like she had a smart-alecky reply ready, but once she started sucking at my nipple, she didn't want to stop. Her tiny eyes closed as her mouth worked furiously to drink my milk. It was kind of erotic, in a self- contained, fuzzy-glow sort of way, but not sexual. I was enveloped with total love for Sylvia and I gently stroked her thin head of hair as she drank and I rocked back and forth in the chair. "How's it taste?" I asked her as I shifted her over to the other nipple. "Oh, God, Jack," she said ecstatically. "This stuff is amazing. This is absolutely the best. My compliments! Keep it coming!" When she was finally full, I burped her and Sylvia laughed ruefully at the loud belch she emitted. "Fan-tastic meal, Mommy," she said. "What's next?" "Gee, Sylvia, I don't know. Maybe you should get a bath?what do you think about that?" "Sounds like a blast." As it turned out, the home had changed overnight to include a baby's basinette in the basement. Still barefoot and in my pyjamas, I padded around downstairs as the basinette filled with lukewarm water, gathering baby shampoo, washcloths and towers while Sylvia sat on top of the washing machine. "Careful," I warned her. "Can you balance? We can't have you falling off." "I'm fine, I'm fine," she reassured me. "I'm just trying to unbutton this damn sleeper..." Sylvia's head was bowed in concentration as her tiny fingers struggled to undo the little plastic buttons on her sleep outfit. "Damn!" she said. "Can't I do one goddamned thing on my own?" "Let me help you," I said. "I got it, I got it," she insisted. "No, you don't," I said firmly. "Here. Let me help. I'm the Mommy, remember?" At that, Sylvia relaxed and settled back into the passive role. I removed the blue sleeper from her and took off her diaper; Sylvia was now naked on a towel on top of the washing machine. She sat up and looked down at her infant body for the first time. "Geez," she said, dumbfounded. "I knew I was a baby, but it's still hard to get used to." She poked at her pudgy tummy with one of her tiny fingers and impassively regarded her infant's penis. "Looks like you've been taken down a peg or two from yesterday, doesn't it?" I said. "It sure does." "Do you feel any different?" I asked. "Surprisingly, no," she said. "I mean, everything looks absolutely enormous, but otherwise, not really. Not like yesterday?yesterday, I could feel myself responding to everything the way a horny teenaged guy would. But today..." I grabbed one of her fat little feet and gently tickled it. "How about now?" Sylvia tried to stifle a giggle. "No," she said weakly. I began tickling the other one. "How about now?" Sylvia let out a snort. "No!" Then I let her have it. I began tickling her belly and burying my face in it, blowing and making farting noises. "How about now? How about now?" I said, talking to her in a baby voice. Sylvia couldn't hold anything in any longer She erupted in a series of squeals and screams and wriggled happily on the towel, kicking her legs and waving her arms completely un-self-consciously. After a minute or two of this, I finally took pity on her and stopped. As we both caught our breath, I said, "Well? Still feel the same as ever?" "Okay," she admitted, "this is pretty different, too. Can I have my bath now?" "Absolutely," I said, and lifted her into the water. Sylvia could probably have managed to bathe herself with the washcloth, even with a one- year-old's coordination, but she seemed to take a certain in letting me do everything for her. I gently rubbed her with the cloth and washed her hair, making sure not to get any soap in her eyes, and when we were done, I dried her in a (to her) tent-sized towel, wrapped her up in it and carried her, naked, back upstairs to decide what she should wear. Not that there were a wealth of fashion choices at her tender age. I gave her a new diaper, and a balloon- patterned T-shirt that I slipped on over her head completed her ensemble. She was so deeply into her baby's role that she didn't even complain when I placed her back in the crib for safekeeping while I took my morning shower. Whereas yesterday, the hardest thing to get used to about having a teenaged girl's body was the feeling of thinness and smallness, the hardest thing to get used to today was the feeling of largeness and curviness. I don't mind telling you, I had a fantastic time playing with my 36DDs in the shower that morning, lifting them and jiggling them and letting the water from the showerhead dance and splash across them. When I finally finished the shower and dried and styled my hair (a lot of these female skills seemed to come naturally, as though they were part of each body's operating system), I got dressed in a pretty orange sundress and white sandals. It was a beautiful day outside, and my plan was to sit out in the backyard with Sylvia. I found a stroller for her in the front hall closet, a floppy sunhat and sunglasses and sunscreen to protect her from the UV rays and I rolled her out onto the deck that had magically been installed overnight in our mysterious, ever-changing house. (As we passed the living room, we noticed to both of our delight that the suitcase full of money had completely replenished itself. If nothing else, it would appear that the magical spell had made us completely self-sufficient, removing all need for me to explain why I couldn't show up at my job.) The backyard was fenced in, and after Sylvia repeatedly dared me, I decided to do a little sunbathing in the nude. Off came the sundress, off went the bra and panties, off came the sandals and, with Sylvia chortling in delight, out I stretched on a comfortable lounge chair with the latest Paul Theroux novel, which I read aloud to an attentive Sylvia. Soon, Sylvia drifted off and had herself a nap; when she awoke, she told me, with a stricken look on her face, that she had soiled her diaper. "Oh, God, Jack," she said, "I don't know how to tell you this, but..." "You don't have to tell me," I said. "I can tell from the look on your face. Don't worry. Let's clean you up." I wiped Sylvia clean, and instead of dressing her back up immediately, she suggested that she stay naked for a little while. "Can I?" she asked. "Nothing looks happier than little babies when they're running around in the nude. I'd kind of like to try that." "New experiences, huh?" I said. "That's sort of the idea," she replied. "When am I ever going to get this kind of a chance again." Sylvia's instincts were as sound as ever. The two of us rolled around naked in the backyard, mother and daughter, and the feel of the breeze cooling us and the grass underneath our feet was heavenly. Around three in the afternoon, I began to worry we were getting too much sun, and so I gathered up our things and took us back inside again; Sylvia, tuckered out from all the day's activities, fell asleep in my arms almost before I got her back inside the door. That was pretty much the extent of our day; I breast-fed Sylvia one more time before nightfall, changed her diapers a few more times, watched her nap, had another tummy-tickling session as I dressed her in a pair of tiny baby blue pyjamas placed her back in her crib for one more night, read her Goodnight Moon and sat in the rocking chair watching her bathed in the evening moonlight, sucking her thumb, a teddy bear clutched underneath one arm, as she fell asleep. Not long after, I did the same. *** Over the next few days, we began to realize that with each new day, the two of us would be transformed into a different pair of bodies. We always retained all of our intelligence and all of our memories, but the outside world never seemed to catch on to the fact that our house was constantly re- arranging itself and seemed to have a different couple living in it every day of the week. No one at my job remembered who I was when I finally tried calling in to see if I had been missed, but strangely, the memories of our friends and family would be rewritten with each new day in order to accommodate our new forms. This feature of the spell seemed especially bizarre the day one of my poker buddies, Nick, showed up at our house the day I was changed into a primitive African tribeswoman with discs in my earlobes and lower lip and a stack of rings elongating my neck to a height of several inches, while Sylvia had become a seven-foot-tall Japanese man. He rang the doorbell, and when there was no answer, he walked around back to the patio where I was sitting in Sylvia's lap in a deck chair. "Oh, hi there Jack, Sylvia," he said without batting an eye. "I just came to return that drill you lent me." "I'd forgotten about that drill," I said, the disk in my lip making it difficult for me to speak clearly. "I hope you didn't miss it," he said cheerfully, before bidding us goodbye and walking back to his car. Gradually, the rules of the spell became clear to us. Naturally, we had tried contacting the old man from the antique store who had sold Sylvia the statue that seemed to have caused the whole phenomenon in the first place, but the place where his store used to be was empty when we drove there. So, we had to figure things out on our own. It seemed as though our friends perceived us accurately when they saw us?Nick really did see me as an African woman, for instance?but they called us by our real names and treated us as they always had. (With some exceptions; if one of us was a baby, for instance, they treated us like a normal, intelligent, talking baby?cutting our food for us, or understanding when we had to go to bed early.) Not that we spent much time with our stodgy old friends anymore. The spell had whetted our appetite for unusual experiences and new adventures. The money did indeed restore itself at the end of every day, so we were pretty much unlimited as to where we could go or what we could buy in any given day. And our closets were always well-stocked with a wide variety of perfectly-fitting, fashionable outfits, so we never had to waste time buying clothes for the day. On the other hand, each transformation lasted only a day, and no matter where we fell asleep?whether it was in our own beds, or in a hotel somewhere in town, or in an airplane travelling to E Europe?we always awakened back in our old address in a different set of bodies. And we became everything under the sun. Once I awoke as a male poodle while Sylvia was a female cocker spaniel. The house "grew" a backyard pool the day I awoke as a six-year-old mermaid with beautiful long, flowing red hair. (Sylvia, meanwhile, was a pre-implant-removal Pamela Anderson.) That's right: sometimes we even woke up as celebrities. One day I was Ryan Philippe and Sylvia was Sarah Michelle Gellar. Another day I was Gina Gershon and Sylvia was Jennifer Tilly. ("For such an ancient spell," I said as I lapped at Sylvia's pussy, "it sure seems to keep up to date on the latest movies.") I seemed to turn into women more often than not; Sylvia and I put that down to the fact that her original wish was for "variety" and new experiences, and that changing me into a woman would be more of an unfamiliar adventure for me than turning into a man. Similarly, Sylvia very often acquired a male form with each new day. Not that either of us were complaining?in fact, I grew to adore the chance to dress up as a beautiful woman for a day, the younger the better. Maybe I was always trying to recapture the absolute ecstasy of that first day of the spell, when I was a model-thin, beautiful 13-year-old girl and Sylvia was my 20-year-old stud lover. In any case, the days when the spell transformed me into a young woman were always my favourites. After a few weeks of nonstop transformations, Sylvia and I got over any sense of discomfort about having sex with each other, when it was physically possible, no matter how young either of us appeared to be. Our identities had become so malleable; it was simply one more experience to be relished. Sex between me as a 6'5" amazon female bodybuilder and Sylvia as a 5'1" 14-year-old teenaged boy seemed as natural and as much fun as sex between me as a 21-year-old muscular black man and Sylvia as a 35-year-old woman with tattoos covering 85% of her body. We always kept our sense of humour and enjoyed gently teasing each other whenever one of us had the physical advantage?we knew things would in all likelihood be reversed the next day or two. (Sylvia's experiences as a helpless baby boy certainly helped prepare her for the time I woke up as an infant girl.) One night, Sylvia and I went out dancing. We were both women; she was a dead ringer for Christy Turlington and I was an eight-months-pregnant young Hispanic woman. (We had gone out to a pretty wild club and I delighted in wearing a tiny T-shirt and low-slung pants that emphasized my big breasts and swollen belly.) As we walked back to our table, laughing and smiling and sweaty, Sylvia smirked as I tried to keep up with her, waddling behind her on my high heels. When we sat back down, I asked Sylvia the question that had been on my mind for a couple of weeks. "Syl?" I said. "When do you think this whole changing thing is going to stop?" "I've been wondering the same thing," she said. "I don't know if it ever will. It turned to dust, after all, right after I made my wish. It doesn't seem like the kind of thing that lets you un-wish things, does it?" "No, it sure doesn't." "I wished for variety. Maybe when all this changing begins to seem as routine as our old life did, maybe that's when it'll bring us back to normal." "Hm." We were silent for a moment as we pondered that notion. I idly stroked my glorious, full belly as Sylvia examined her long, sleek legs to see if her nylons were straight. The spell always made us physically attractive, that was for sure. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Sylvia said at long last. "What are you thinking?" "I'm thinking what a horrible thought that is, the idea of going back to normal." "God, me too!" I said. "When I think about all the stuff we've done over the last little while, I feel like an idiot for thinking antique sales were the most exciting things in the world." "No kidding," I replied. "Want to dance some more?" "You're on," said Sylvia, her model's face beaming as I leaned over to kiss her. We raced back to the dance floor, and as I gyrated to the music, a handsome young man dancing next to me tried to strike up a conversation. "What are you going to call the baby?" he asked. I couldn't help myself. I shouted it out at the top of my lungs. "Variety!" I cried. "The most beautiful word in the language! VARIETY!" (the end)