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The Worst Possible Fate free porn video
The Worst Possible Fate
Copyright 2000
By Scott K. Jamison
Tammy Fey had two problems.
The first was the physical fact that he had been born male. Obviously,
disgustingly male. Tammy hadn't been able to convince any doctors that he was
worthy of gender reassignment surgery, and his efforts to disguise his maleness
on his own just hadn't been terribly successful.
To soothe his wounded spirits, Tammy wrote stories. Glorious, wonderful stories
in which men were granted the female bodies they dreamed of. Stories in which
they could wear the frilly feminine clothing they desired without fear of
ridicule, and act as girly as they wanted to. And then he posted them to the
Internet.
Which was where Tammy's second problem came in. For Tammy had a nemesis. Mr.
Critic. Oh, wicked Mr. Critic!
Every time Tammy posted a new story, sure enough Mr. Critic would criticize it.
"Your spelling is atrocious," Mr. Critic would write, in his oh-so-proper way,
"and you seem to have no grasp of conventional grammar, without the saving grace
of true experiment. The plot is miniscule, the characters the thinnest
cardboard, and the ending completely implausible. You can do better."
Tammy felt just awful whenever he saw what Mr. Critic had written about his
stories. Didn't Mr. Critic realize that having fun was more important than any
silly old rules? Fortunately, Tammy's friends agreed, and sent him notes like
"Yoo rool, Tamee! Thet waz a grate storee!" That always cheered him right up
again.
But this couldn't go on forever, and one day Tammy Fey received a package in the
mail, the snail mail, that is, with no return address.
Inside was an old-fashioned brass oil lamp, with the alchemical symbols for Mars
and Venus inscribed on its side. Knowing what this must be, Tammy rubbed the
lamp with his best silk nightie.
A cloud of pink smoke roiled forth from the spout of the lamp, quickly
solidifying itself into the shape of an androgynous person in Persian robes.
"I am the gender-change genie," proclaimed the servant of the lamp. "Whosoever
summons me may have two wishes."
"Only two?" asked Tammy. "All the stories say three!"
"Suck it in, kid. Life disappoints us all. So, what's it going to be?"
Tammy needed very little thought. "I wish to be the cutest student at Saint Mary
Magdalene School for Girls!" He'd always admired the girls from there as they
passed by his house.
"Hearkening and obedience, oh Master." The genie stretched out its arms, and
pink smoke engulfed Tammy, making him cough.
That smoke was atrocious! Tammy coughed, and coughed, and--hey, weren't those
coughs getting awfully high-pitched? Finally, the smoke cleared.
When Tammy could see again, the genie had set up a full-length mirror in front
of her. And Tammy was most assuredly a "her" now. She was rather short, and
didn't look a day over fourteen, if that. She had wide china blue eyes and long
curly blonde hair done up with bows, heart-shaped lips and a perky little nose.
Her voice as she squealed with delight, was like sleigh bells in winter, with a
touch of pure sugar.
Tammy was dressed in the Mary Magdalene uniform, but tailored just so, such that
it showed off her cuteness to an extra degree. She shoved her cute little hand
down the front of her skirt, just to make sure, and yes, felt exactly what she'd
hoped.
"Ahem," said the genie. "If it be Allah's will, may I have your second and final
wish?"
Tammy pulled her hand out of her panties, and blushed prettily. Now this
required a bit more thought. What else did she want? Oh yes, to get even with
that mean old Mr. Critic. But every thing she thought of to punish him didn't
seem bad enough to really express her feelings.
"I wish that Mr. Critic suffer the worst possible fate!" Tammy said, hoping that
the genie could come up with something even worse than being staked to an
anthill and covered with honey.
"Hearkening and obedience!" said the genie, and pink smoke billowed out the
window, presumably in Mr. Critic's direction.
"So, that's it?"
"Yes, may Allah preserve you."
"But what happened to Mr. Critic?"
"The worst possible fate. You had best run along now, or you'll be late for
school. Salaam." The genie bowed, and turned into pink smoke that sucked itself
back into the lamp. The wrapping then reformed around the lamp, and the whole
package vanished.
Tammy looked at the clock, and realized the genie was right. She picked up her
bookbag, now having "always" been there, and headed off to Mary Magdalene.
The other girls greeted Tammy as though she were their friend, admiring how cute
her ribbons were, and being jealous of her looks. Tammy was on top of the world.
The bell rang, and Tammy followed her new friends into the classroom. There was
a tall, rather shell-shocked looking woman standing at the blackboard. She
wasn't unattractive, but somehow didn't look at ease in her dress, or pointy
glasses.
"Please be seated, class. I am Ms. Critic, your English Composition teacher. You
will be writing stories, which I will read and grade." She said this as if by
rote, yet hearing the words for the first time. "If you fail this course, you
will have to take it over, and I will have to read your stories again and again
until you learn to write properly--" She choked.
Somehow, Tammy suspected she'd be taking Ms. Critic's class over and over and
over....
THE END
Jeannie
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