There s Gold in Them Thar Hills
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Not All Gold Is In The Hills free porn video
I started this a couple of days before September 9, a date no doubt
few of you outside California will recognize. For those that don't,
California became the 31st state on September 9, 1850 - this is our
sesquicentennial year.
Permission is granted to archive this story provided the archiving
site is freely accessible and no changes are made to its text.
----
Not All Gold is in the Hills
by Bill Hart
George Bartlett made his way wearily back to his tent.
He was filthy - again. It wasn't uncommon; sweating and being filthy
was rapidly becoming the big man's natural state.
He'd begun wondering if he'd made a mistake in taking that long
journey around the Horn to seek his fortune in California. Everyone
had told him there was gold aplenty in California; all you had to do
was pick it up off the ground. In no time at all you'd richer than
Croesus.
Obviously, no one who'd told him that shit had ever been here.
In the two years since John Marshall had first found that accursed
golden rock at Sutter's Mill, George had barely made enough to make
ends meet. And now they were talking statehood. For what he paid
for a single loaf of bread, he could have fed himself for a week back
home and the work would have been a hell of a lot easier.
Home he thought. I'll never think of this damn place as home.
And even worse, there weren't many women - maybe one for every thirty
guys or so - not that he could have afforded one. And he sorely
missed having a woman to share his lonely bed.
"That's it," he muttered. "I'm going home. Some other fool can take
my place here in hell."
"Perhaps, I might be of some assistance, Mr. Bartlett," said a voice
from out of the shadow.
"Who's there?"
"A friend, Mr. Bartlett," replied the voice. A young woman dressed
in the clothes worn by the girls in that expensive saloon on the other
side of town, who couldn't have looked more out of place, came out
of the shadows. "You can call me Scratch," she smiled warmly, "but
I'll answer to most anything."
"An odd name," George replied. "What do you think you can do for me,
Miss Scratch?"
"Please, no Miss; just Scratch. You wouldn't want to go home poor,
now would you?" she asked. "You'd rather be rich, wouldn't you? Most
people out here would; that's why they're here."
"Yeah, I like to be rich; who wouldn't?" replied George. "But I'm
tired of getting up early and going to bed both filthy and early.
And, if you'll forgive my saying so, I'm tired of waking up alone."
"That's perfectly understandable," replied Scratch. "Let's suppose,
I could offer you an honest job that pays exceptionally well and lets
you sleep in as long as you want in the morning. You could become
quite rich very quickly. You'd be able to go to bed whenever you
wanted. You'd only have to be alone whenever you wanted to be alone.
How does that sound, Mr. Bartlett?"
"It sounds too good to be true," replied George. "What's the catch?
How much does it cost me?"
"There's no catch at all," replied Scratch. "And all it will cost is
one piddling and insignificant little soul."
George stared at the young girl. "Are you trying to tell me you're
the Devil?" he asked, disbelief obvious in his voice.
"That's one of among several other names too numerous to mention that
I go by," replied Scratch, sweeping her long dark hair out from in
front of her. She held out a single sheet of paper to George. "Just
make your mark here."
"Yeah, right. This must be a joke," said George. "Or what kind of
scam are you trying to pull? You're just a girl; you're no more the
Devil than I am. If I put my mark on this paper, what will really
happen?"
"Everything will be just as I described it to you."
"Sure it will," replied George skeptically. "I can see it now -
somebody will come along waving this paper in front of face and I'll
be forced into doing some really stupid job I hate for the rest of my
life, nobody will like me, and I'll end up killing myself inside of
a month. Thanks, but no thanks, Miss Scratch."
"You drive a hard bargain for someone who doesn't believe in me,
Mr. Bartlett," smiled Scratch. "But let's suppose I sweeten up the
deal for you."
"How?" asked George curiously.
"I will absolutely guarantee that you'll love your new job; I'll even
make it a soul-back guarantee. Any time you're not happy with your
new job in the next... let's say two decades - or would you like a
longer period of time... I'll return the rights to your soul to you,
no questions asked.
"In addition, I'll guarantee that everyone you meet will absolutely
adore you. You'll have never problems finding a bed partner.
"And as an extra added signing bonus - I wouldn't do this for just
anyone, you know - I'll give you three additional mortal lifetimes
with a self renewing option, totally at your discretion, for as long
as you want to live. You can live forever - even longer - if you
want.
"How can you beat that deal, Mr. Bartlett?"
George smiled. This foolish girl couldn't possibly be the Devil. If
he were to live forever, how could Scratch ever hope to collect his
soul? "I doubt I ever could, Miss Scratch," he replied, scribbling
his mark on the contract.
"Excellent, Mr. Bartlett. I'm absolutely certain you'll never regret
your decision."
"When do I start my new job?"
"Tomorrow, Mr. Bartlett. Right after you wake up," replied Scratch,
who slowly faded back into the shadows from where she'd come.
"Just as I figured," mumbled George. "That little fool was nothing
more than talk. She was real pretty though - it's too bad she
couldn't have stuck around. But if she thinks she got something
valuable when I put my mark to her worthless piece of paper, she's
in for one hell of a surprise; she'll never convince anyone to give
her anything using my mark."
George slid into his tent; he was suddenly tired. He'd clean up in
the morning or maybe before going to bed tomorrow.
Tomorrow promised to be another long day.
******
Sunlight streamed through the open window onto his comfortable bed.
George's eyes snapped open. "Shit! I've overslept." But suddenly,
he realized on what he was lying even if not where he was. "I'm on
a bed. I haven't been on a bed in months." The warmth of the
sunlight streaming onto his body felt simply marvelous. "But where
am I?" he wondered.
As the door opened, George heard a female voice say, "I'm glad, you're
finally awake. All of us need to start getting ready for tonight?"
"Tonight?" George looked at the girl. She was quite young and very
attractive, but George, despite not having had a woman in a little
over two years, just saw her as nothing more than a girl. "What's
tonight?"
The girl gave him a confused look. "Our jobs of course, silly," she
smiled. "Although they're not really like jobs, they're just too much
fun to be jobs. I'm Amanda."
"Pleased to meet you, Amanda." George stood up, surprised to find the
girl was just as tall as he. "I'm Georgia," he said, extending his
hand. George stared at his hand - it couldn't be his; it was so small
and delicate. But when Amanda took the small hand in hers, he felt
it.
"I'll tell the others you're up and will down in a few minutes,
Georgia. They'll all be excited about meeting you," smiled Amanda,
as she turned and bounded out the door.
"Testing, testing," said George into the air. "There's something not
right about all this. My name is Georgia Anne Bartlett." Suddenly
George - he knew his name was George, even if he'd told Amanda his
name was Georgia - became aware that his hair was now long and draped
his shoulders. It easily flowed down to the middle of his back. Even
though he clutched locks of long red hair in his hands, he couldn't
believe the red hair was really his. "What's happening to me?"
Worriedly, he reached up and touched his chest. He couldn't believe
what his hands found; he now had a woman's breasts - and they weren't
all that small.
After hearing the door open again, George turned and saw Miss Scratch.
"What did you do to me?" he asked.
"Only what I promised to deliver, Miss Bartlett," replied Scratch, a
wide grin across her face.
"But I'm a girl now."
"And also a rather pretty one, I might add. You'll never have to
worry about sleeping alone, if that's what you want."
"But I'm a girl."
"There was nothing in the contract you signed stipulating gender, Miss
Bartlett," replied Scratch. "And everything that was agreed upon in
your contract has now become the unvarnished truth."
"What kind of work can I get as a girl?" asked George. "And how can I
make my fortune if I'm a girl."
Miss Scratch only smiled. "Really, Miss Bartlett. I realize now we
didn't get to know each other very well last night. Maybe you should
tell me a little bit about yourself, Miss Bartlett."
"Sure, I guess, but afterwards you'll have to change me back," replied
George hesitantly.
"If that's what you want; I did give you a soul-back guarantee," said
Scratch. "But you have to be dissatisfied with your job and you don't
know what it is as yet. Why don't you tell me about yourself first."
"Very well," sighed George. "I was a rather small baby when I was
born." George slowly shook his head; why had he told her that?
Hadn't his mother told him he'd weighed over eleven pounds when he'd
been born?
"I was always small as a child. And as I grew into my manhood, I
remained small, much to my father's chagrin." What was wrong with
him? He'd never been overly small.
"I never had many friends. Most of the other boys considered it great
sport to pick on me. And the girls always laughed me." But that's
not right at all.
"My father was thoroughly ashamed of me." But he wasn't, countered
his mind; he never was.
"He wondered how I could be his son.
"And then one day, he'd had enough. Over my mother's objections, he
took me to an old gypsy woman in the country. She looked me over as
if I were some piece of horseflesh. Her touch made my skin crawl.
Her toothless grin made me shiver.
Finally, as we were about to leave, she gave my father several small
vials; she told him I was to drink one every morning until they were
gone."
George shook his head. Why was he telling Miss Scratch this crazy
tale. None of it was true. But why couldn't he stop telling it?
"I drank the contents of a vial every day for a week. But nothing
happened. The boys still made fun of me; the girls still laughed at
me. My father was furious; he spent good coin at that gypsy hag's
and I was exactly as I'd always been.
"That night I wished all the boys would like me. I wished that the
girls would no longer laugh at me. I wished my father would get
everything he'd paid for and be pleased I was his child.
"Perhaps I shouldn't have made those wishes.
"The following morning, I'd changed. It wasn't much of a change; that
is, no one noticed anything different about me except me. That which
made me a man had vanished in the night. And what had replaced my
vanquished manhood definitely belonged to a woman.
"I worried about what my parents would say when I saw them. How could
I tell them their son had become their daughter during the night? But
they said nothing. My change hadn't been great and to their eyes I
appeared as I had always appeared.
"And yet my day was definitely different. None of the boys made fun
of me; the way they all stared at me was disturbing. And not a single
girl laughed at me; they too stared at me as if they'd never seen me
before.
"I hadn't changed the following day, but everyone else apparently had.
My parents still saw nothing different about me, but they certainly
treated me differently. The boys still stared at me, but I now found
their stares strangely pleasing. And the girls still stared at me as
well, but there was nothing in their gazes I found pleasing.
"When the next day arrived, I was still as I'd always been. I drank
from my allotted vial, noting that only one remained. Whatever it was
supposedly doing to me, it obviously wasn't. But even if I hadn't
outwardly changed, the others had. I didn't like the way that either
of my parents looked at me. Nearly every boy I saw that day wanted to
do something for me; I found it enjoyable. And the girls glared at me
as I passed; I found that strangely enjoyable as well.
"And finally that day, one of the boys, I don't remember his name,
walked me home; he'd won the fight with four other boys for that
honor. I was impressed; boys were actually fighting over me now.
Who really cared what the girls thought about me. I let him kiss
me. Even though I knew better, I enjoyed his kiss. I wondered what
he was thinking as he kissed me - another man."
George shuddered at the thought of kissing another man. This tale
he'd been spinning was continually growing weirder and weirder. He
wanted to stop; he wanted to tell Miss Scratch he was making it all
up.
But he couldn't; he had to continue.
"I took the last vial to my room that night; I don't know why - it
just seemed the thing to do. And yet nothing had changed the next
morning when I awoke. I was the same as I'd been since I'd first
discovered my male member was missing. I began wondering if those
boys might just be having fun with me, as I looked into my mirror
and saw only my smallish male reflection looking back at me.
"I drank the last vial. It tasted no different than all the others.
And yet, it made me feel peculiar. But when I looked at myself in
the mirror, I saw nothing had changed. My hair still fell over my
shoulders and I was every bit as pretty as I'd always been. Even my
breasts were the same; it was no wonder all the boys had become so
nice to me."
George sighed. At least his story was finally coming closer to the
truth. The old gypsy had somehow made of woman of him. He wondered
briefly if Miss Scratch had ever thought he might be lying.
"I take it you enjoy the company of men, Miss Bartlett?" asked Scratch
with a smile.
"Of course," replied George without hesitation. "Why shouldn't I?
They enjoy my company, although I most definitely think not as much
as I enjoy theirs."
"Would it please you to become a man again?"
George looked stunned. "Why would I want to become a man? Just
because I was born male and attained my womanhood through magic not
then of my choosing, I see no rational reason to ever be one again."
George smiled. "I've been Georgia for several years now. I enjoy
being Georgia far more than I ever enjoyed being George." Georgia
shook her head, then grinned. "Besides, men seek me out to be with.
They buy me things to win my favor. And they'll fight one another
just to gain my attentions. They'll do anything I ask of them. Why
should I ever wish to be George again?"
"Then you'd best get ready for tonight, Georgia. There will be plenty
of men arriving here soon."
"Thank you for this chance, Miss Scratch," replied Georgia. "I won't
let you down."
"I know you won't, Georgia," whispered Scratch, as she watched the
new girl stroll from the room.
A timid voice of indeterminate gender cleared its throat.
Scratch turned her head. "Cimoem? Is something wrong, my minion?"
"Perhaps, Mistress," it replied. "I do not understand what you have
done. I truly fear your brother may become angry with you."
"What makes you think my brother would be angry? He scarcely pays me
any attention at all."
"It is the woman who just left," replied Cimoem. "She still has her
soul. And yet, in exchange for all you have given her, you have all
but promised to never take it from her, unless she desires to give it
to you freely. I cannot see where you have achieved anything."
"Is that what you think, Cimoem?" Scratch began to laugh devilishly.
"She will never seek to exercise my guarantee; I've already seen to
that. She values her womanhood too highly now. But one day her soul
will be mine; for now she serves a higher purpose."
"I still do not understand, Mistress." Cimoem sounded confused. "She
is but a simple whore. But her being a simple whore confers no mortal
sin upon her soul."
"True enough, my minion," smiled Scratch. "But while Georgia does
nothing yet to endanger her soul, any man who takes her commits a
mortal sin. And did you not hear her say men would fight for her -
another mortal sin, particularly if one should die. And if she asks
them to steal for her, they will - yet another mortal sin."
"I still don't understand?"
"Your understanding is unimportant, Cimoem," replied Scratch with a
widening grin. "It is merely sufficient that I know all the rules
and how best to use them to my advantage. As she is now, she shall
reap me far more than her single soul. And in time, should she tire
of her mortal life, I'll be quickly by her side."
THE END
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