The Munsters 5-6: The Mary Brouhaha free porn video

The Munsters 5-6: The Mary Brouhaha By Ron Dow75 5) Tower In "secret" room in the second floor of the tower room of Sigma Iota Sigma Sorority: Herman Munster was now "Mary Munday", the perfect organic duplicate of Gloria Munster, his "niece". Instead of the sunlight-sensitive brown-into-puce pants and coat he got at a discount from work (or the snazzy navy turtleneck he preferred over the stuffed white shirt), he-she was in a short pink wrap- around skirt without a coat, shirt, or even a blouse. And his father-in-law was his white, lacy bra. The now shorthaired blonde said, "Look! I don't want any trouble! I'm sorry I came into your private, little secret laboratory. We were just looking for a way to change ourselves back! You know, to abnormal." John "Joan" Gerry Jackson was now the president of Sigma Iota Sigma Sorority. Besides her loafers, her taller, leaner body was visible only by a pair of cuffless blue jeans and a well-padded black satin full-cup bra. "At least you know what you're looking for! I've been stuck like this for nine months!" Mary's bra said, "Uh, oh!" Mary repeated, "'Uh, oh', Grandpa?" The second-and-a-half-generation computer geek cried: "I knew it!! You're the one who made me into a woman!!" And the shaggy golden blonde launched another attack at the bra. The bra cried, "Hold on, Herman!" But before Mary could hold onto his-her boobs, the bra lifted them up and pulled them ("Yow!"), and him-her, out of the way. Joan crashed into a table, tipping it enough to send circuit boards, wires, patch cables, and soldering irons onto the wooden floor. "My re-conversion project!!" Mary's painted fingernails were now up, holding onto his-her boobs: "Grandpa! You can stop, now!" He-she was still being pulled and pushed. (And on hips.) The bra answered with, "'Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee'!" The cute girl with the 24-hour makeup did not like the advice, " "...A butterfly!?! That sounds so, feminine-like! Sissy, even." The bra said, "'Sissy'!? Herman, I have news for you: Truman defeated Dewy. That is the catchphrase of-" The irate woman with the perfect eyebrows pivoted around, "You did that on purpose!" The bra said, "Here we go, again." And the bullet-shaped C cups extended out beyond what they were designed to do, deforming the firm, young flesh within them. Mary's response was, "Grandpa! Stop it!" Not only didn't it feel nice to be tugged and pushed around by hooters that hadn't been in his-her original blueprints, the straps and band were cutting into his-her shoulders. The model-sized Joan just missed them again, stopping when her own size B's were struck by the filing drawer that popped out when her palms hit the cabinet. "That smarts." The bra jerked Mary's sensitive hooters around until they were facing the black bra's band in back. It told the other wincing woman-man, "Listen! It was all an accident: I wasn't even aiming at you!" Scowling for more than one reason, Joan pivoted around to tell it, "Liar! I can see right through you!" Mary exclaimed, "You can!?!" and tried to cover his-her oversized hooters with his-her small hands. The top edge of the bra's lace waved about, "No! It's true, John. I was trying to change Herman back!" "That's me," Mary informed the woman. "Can you really see through Grandpa?" he-she asked, peeking under his-her hands. (Besides it took his hands off of the naughty-naughties.) Joan accused, "I see through him, alright! It's all part of his evil, nefarious" ("'Nefarious'!?" the bra muttered.)"plan to populate the world with virgins!" The bra said, "Now, that's what I call a plan. Too bad it wouldn't do me much good." Joan responded with, "I'm going to believe the King of the Undead!?!" She ran at the bra with her hands out like claws. The bra grunted, "Please: I'm a count." As Mary herself was moving with his-her hips, the bra had shoved itself against his- her globes, flattening them! "And I abdicated any position of responsibility centuries ago!" As Mary fought back the tears, Joan fell against nothing. She was right above Mary. Her padded B's were going to land on Mary's padded C's. As the bra's band met the floor in back, it's cups turned Mary's bumpers into appendages. It judo-tossed the bulbs in black satin aside. Joan rolled into a cart with punch cards the size of pre- Depression Era dollar bills, scattering them. The effort had really put a strain on the bra; it also had to deal with pain of its own. It did it by talking through it, "...1789, to be exact. The competition just got too great." It stopped to catch its breath. Mary got his-hers back: "Nobody wants to hear about your dumb-old 'epiphany', again, Grandpa!(!)" He-she sat up on a pelvis made wider by hips, "So what if the Reign of Terror turned you off!" He-she pulled on the upper sides of the cups. "Why'd you have to mangle these things like that!? They're feel like they're going to be black and blue for a month!" The tightening could be heard in the bra's voice, "Just be glad I'm not a jock strap, Herman." Mary to it, "I wish you were!! I don't have anything you can hurt there!" The bra said, "Boy, have you got a lot to learn about the ladies." The alto finally started to become coherent: "My research! My research!" Joan hit the side of her fist against those punch cards under it. "I've been collecting data in my files! Putting it on cards! Using my computer to correlate them! I've even gone beyond my understanding of hardware to deal with the massive amount of garbage about women!!" The bra told Mary, "Headlights up, Herman! It's going to take a little longer to get John G. Jackson to listen to reason." Mary grabbed the shoulder straps to hold them down, "I'll get up on my own, thank you!" he-she told it, getting up onto a knee and a foot (and having his-her little pink skirt hike up). The bra said, "John, I know how you became a woman! I know how you can become a man again! The only software you need is right here," the bra said. Mary tried to help, "He is comfy! When he behaves himself." He- she now had both feet on the floor (somewhere under the protruding flesh and material), his-her balance on hips. Joan was now up on her one foot, ready to leap, a predator looking for its opportunity. "Even your android knows he can't trust you! I know how vampires operate: Get your victim under a hypnotic spell, and then take their blood. Once you have that, you can use your remote control on them!" Mary liked that idea. Still looking down at the white lace, she wanted to know, "Yeah, Grandpa. Why don't you hypnotize her?" The bra answered, "Have you ever seen a Bela Lugosi movie? You need eyes for that!" Mary ran a manicured hand over a strap and looking at the thing the loop went through, "Don't you have eyelets?" The bra told him-her, "No, bras don't have 'eyelets'. And Herman... You're not helping!" Springing into action, Joan snarled, "Bustiers have eyelets!!" Mary was the one that insisted on doing the moving this time. "I'm sure our problem is just a matter of semantics!" The bra warned, "Herman!! Watch where you're going, you-" His-her bare heel of her hind foot touched air: The top of the tower's spiral staircase. Elbows up in front of her, Joan tackled the bra full on. The bra cried, "OOF-ow! Even padded that hurt!" A fourth (female) voice cried out: "This is how you decide who's going to be the top/guy/dom!?! A catfight!?" Both Mary and Joan disappeared from small Chrissy Coxe's view. Mary screamed, "Grandpa!!" Instead of falling, he-she was hovering with his-her boobs straight up in the air, suspended by a hooked band and shoulder straps that sounded as if they were ready to break. His-her back was kinked at a disc that didn't like to be kinked; her lower half was on tiptoes on the stair they'd found. All six of girly-soft Mary's abs was defined. The bra told her, "Put your legs up on the rails-Quick!!" Mary told it, "I'll fall!!" The bra warned, "You'll fall if you don't! Look! I'm starting to sink: I won't be able to hold you up too much longer!" Mary said, "Why can't I just walk down the-" The back of Joan's foot aimed at his-her red satin panties answered the question. It kick-started Mary's legs up onto the galvanized steel banisters. {Hips, again. And groin muscles without a 'groin'.) The white bra started lowering Mary around and down the spiral. He-she felt like a stupid magician's assistant. But they, first, had to pass over the woman untangling herself, head down, tail up, on the stairs below. She reached up, and with her outer hand, grabbed the short, pink wrap-around. "I won't let you get away with what you did to me!! I'm too stubborn-Ask anybody who's tried to live with me!" The top button of the pink skirt popped, and the second of three was about to, when it was pulled from her grasp. Down and around Mary went, until the back of her legs ran off of the rails. Plop! There was hardly any dust. The first floor tower room was a study, with bookcases and bookcases created from boards and cinderblocks, and books left open and about everywhere. There were piles of books on the large oval coffee table; an executive desk chair was on one side of it, and a lounge chair on the other. There was a long red carpet in front of them. But the wall across from them had nothing in front of it, and nothing on it but a full-length mirror. The two windows were heavily curtained. The bra panted: "I hope I have enough animal energy left to do my crowd-pleaser!" Mary was raising herself up onto her elbows; he-she looked at the cleavage in front of him-her, "Crowd-pleaser, Grandpa?" The bra said, "That's show biz talk for effect that would make an audience think they got their money's worth; and my trick is going to be something I'd bet they'd never have seen before." Mary sat bolt up right: "It's nothing spectacular-That'll explode or anything painful like that?!!" The bra said, "I promise. But, first, we have to get John to cooperate. Speaking of whom." The sleek Joan pounced from the bottom stairs. "I'll be like Nayland Smith!" As Mary used hips to scurry away on his-her hands and knees, her boobs held by it, the bra indignantly told the attractive attacker, "That was Dr. Fu Manchu's great foe! And I was around long before that quack!" The woman with defined muscles landed on Mary's calves; she managed to snag the skirt before he-she tore him-herself free. The last two buttons came loose. "The world will thank whoever gets rid of fiends like you!" All Mary was left with was Grandpa and the red satin panties; and those left a lot showing through its lace. "My clothes are not fiends!" (The hair-sprayed brownet Chrissy with the false eyelashes sat in denim cutoffs and a gingham shirt on a stair near the ceiling, watching all of this with sick fascination. "Kinky.") The bra said, "Forget it, Herman. Like all nerds, John is a fanboy. He's reverted to comic-book speak." Joan apparently hadn't heard what was being said: "Whatever shape and textile you take, I shall hunt you down and put you the grave you cheated!" The bra winced, "Oh, brother! That's too campy even for the Batman show." The Mary rolled over onto his-her padded butt. One shapely leg up, hip turned, and trying to hide the underwear, he-she asked, "How are we going to get her to cooperate?!" The bra answered, "You like comic books." Mary's agreed, "Tha, That's right! I especially like 'Superman'. He's the All-American Hero-type, you know! Even if he is from Canada." The bra said, "In your case, I think 'Supergirl' would be a better role model." "Oh! Right." In one motion, Mary rose up over her hips, and, feeling heroic despite the exposed lingerie, extended his-her chest... Taking the some of the swell out of his-her boobs. "Now, now, you stop and hear what Grandpa has to say! You can always try and drive a stake through him later." The bra cried, "Herman! He had forgotten about that part!" Mary said, "Well, I have to give her something to look forward to." "A stake!" Joan was saying, looking about the study. "A stake... A stake..." (While awkwardly made-up Chrissy commented, "Grody. Now their fantasy game has taken them to using sticks as dildos." She tried to shorten her exposed legs.) The bra took its best shot at getting the attention of the frantic and frustrated man-in-a-woman, "John! You're not a virgin!" Joan was bent over the table in her blue jeans and black bra, pulling books out to look under them, "A lot you know!!" (Chrissy said, "Wow! No wonder there was a fight for control." Her hands were both hiding and rubbing her shaved legs.) The bra informed, "John, for a vampire, a virgin is defined by electrolytes. You have the wrong kind of animal electricity. I wouldn't get a very big charge biting you." (Chrissy understood that as, "Hickies.") Joan was suspicious, "What does electricity have to do with anything!?" Mary felt the bra take on a more relaxed fit. "Everything! You're a scientist. You'll understand how you got the way you are and how we're going to change you back, once you let me explain the science behind it." (Chrissy asked herself, "The game takes a break for sex ed? Or is Mary trying to change her into liking guys, like a girl is suppose to?") Mary lowered his-her voice, "Uh... I thought you said it was pseudo-science." The bra whispered back harshly, "Quiet, dummy!" Joan lowered herself down onto the lounge, looking at the white, lacy bra, "Since I can't find a stake, yet. I might as well let you talk." The seam under the left cup took a smile-like curve; it wasn't fooled. It knew John was waiting for it to let its guard down. "You, John, are a woman, now, because of a previous experiment that... didn't work the way I thought it would." (Chrissy was confused, "Did they switch to another game?") Mary's plucked and penciled eyebrows frowned (he-she was losing more and more of his-her feeling of invulnerability), "That happens a lot with Grandpa's 'experiments'." He-she wanted to try covering up again. The bra responded with, "That's why they're called experiments! Mistakes happen." Joan was not in any mood to be objective, "And your guinea pigs have to pay for them." The lacy bra assured her, "You weren't the guinea pig. Herman was." Mary definitely felt vulnerable, now, "That happens to me a lot." He-she decided to put both hands over the red, lacy and satin panties. The bra said, "To be accurate about it, Herman was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bad luck has a way of finding him. Which is understandable, considering the kind of men he's made from." The brunette crossed her arms as she ran her eyes from the bra to the rest of Mary, "She's not made from any kind of men, now, that I can see." The bra said, "Herman's going to wish he had bad luck, when she starts meeting more people. And considering how na?ve she is: Oh, ho, boy! That's why we have to change him back-And you-as soon as possible!" The still well made-up Mary tried to stand proud even as he-she stood with his-her hands over the satin panties, one knee bent in a vain attempt to help hide them, "I, I am not na?ve. I'm married. I have a child. -I've come a long way from the simple farmhands and legs that emigrated from..." Tuning Mary out, Joan leaned back against the lounge, her arms still over her black bra, and studied the innocent looking white piece of lingerie. She asked, "How are you going to change 'us' back?" The bra told her, "To understand that, you should know how you changed in the first place. You said the change happened nine months ago? Nine months ago Herman was struck by a bolt of lightning." Joan said, "If I remember the story correctly, your 'Herman' was always being struck by lightning." Mary had started focusing back on the present, "Yes, Grandpa. Being struck by electricity is nothing new to me. I have to be charged regularly. You even said that I was some sort of a battery, or rheostat, or something." "Exactly! I helped the Doctor correct the mistakes he made in his first mistakes." Mary said to Joan, "Grandpa means my brother. He's sort of the black sheep of the family." The bra said, "Among others." Joan's eyes had started staying on Mary, "Will you put something on? I'm beginning to loose the train of this conversation." Mary told the woman, "Gladly! But I haven't any clothes!" "I'll get some!" a girl's voice volunteered from near the top of the stairs. It was Chrissy, already hurrying up them with a metallic clunging. Mary answered, "Uh, thank you!" She didn't like that somebody else had seen him-her like this; he-she went to find a place to hide. Joan spoke up loader as she sat up on the edge of the lounge, her feet back on the floor. "So you had 'the Doctor' modify him into something that could handle surges, and the back and forth of positive and negative charges?!" The bra called back, "For a computer scientist, you understand your electricity." Joan admitted, "Not enough." Mary found a short bookcase that came out from the wall, creating an alcove behind the metal staircase. He-she was about to squat down, when the bra told him-her, "Don't hide me! I have to see!" Reluctantly, Mary stood, hiding only him-herself from the waist down. The innocent-looking bra returned to talking to Joan, "Now, then: Nine months ago, I had been recalibrating my transformer- alternator, and I must have left some ambient positive animal electricity in the air." Joan arched a feminine eyebrow, "'Animal electricity'?" The bra happily explained, "That was the Doctor's experiment. It wasn't simple electricity. But he used dead and decaying tissue. Me, I was working on something new: Pure organic polymers!" Joan was finding it harder and harder to swallow what she thought she was hearing, "Plastic?" The bra told her, "Let's not get side-tracked, again." While the two of them had been talking, Mary had taken a look at what lay behind the bookcase. There were two large cardboard boxes, and on top of them were several smaller store boxes. "As I was saying," the bra said, "The ambient charge collected into a bolt and struck our walking lightning rod, Herman. His tissue was rearranged according to the polymer patterns I was working on, and-Shazam!-Herman was no longer Herman." Joan noticed what Mary was doing now, "Herman was zapped into Mary-There's nothing back there you have to know about!!" She had called out a little too loudly to be believed. The bra said, "No, Herman was now a man. An ordinary, very human- looking man! I can tell you, the family didn't like that. -I didn't like that! I had to get my rheostat back, or the mob with the torches and pitchforks would be attracted by the family's excess positive energy. -Herman! Look at the woman while I'm talking to him!" "There are a bunch of boxes back here. Sacs Fifth Avenue, Bloomingdale's, Tiffany, Frederick of Hollywood-" The half-dressed Joan leaped up, "This is a sorority!" She rushed over, "Of course there's going to be things like that. We have to put them somewhere!!" The bra tried to reassure the assistant it needed, "I quite understand. I've been a woman a dozen dozen times." Joan glowered at them both, challenging them, "I thought that as long as I might be stuck as a woman, I would try and get used to it." She put her hand to her shoulder-length, unbrushed golden blonde hair, "That's why I let it grow. Besides, even guys have long hair, these days." The bra tried to nod (and making a boob bob), "And a 'secret' room was the safest place to try the articles out, emotionally speaking." It registered on indecorous Mary, "You mean there are clothes in the boxes?!" The bra told him-her, "Forget it, Herman! Mary couldn't fit into most of Joan's things. And if you could, I don't think you're ready for anything from Frederick's of Hollywood." Chrissy had heard, and responded with interest, "Frederick's of Hollywood!?!" She was coming down the stairs with some things. Joan blushed deeply, and realized just how much of it could be seen. She came over to the stairs, "I never wore them!" Chrissy's bared legs slowed to almost a stop, "Then I can look at them? I always wanted to see the real thing." Scowling, Joan grabbed the first top she saw. It didn't cover enough, so she threw it down, and took a better looking one. Chrissy told her, "Those are Opal's. They won't fit you." Joan said in frustration, "They would, if it weren't for these shoulders!" She decided she would tie the sleeves around her neck and make a halter out of the orange blouse. While she was doing it, she turned to the white bra, and asked, "You said your Herman was turned into somebody ordinary. So, why did I have to have this body: Models are not ordinary!" The bra was pleased to have the floor again, "Ah... This is where your change comes in. As I said, Herman was reshaped by ambient energy. The shape was that of a nearby mortal man. Just as Mary, here, is now a duplicate of my niece, Gloria." Joan was bringing the tail of the thin blouse around to tie in the back; she thought she understood, "I look like some woman that's walking around out there, then?" The bra chuckled, "You know science is never that simple. I used my transformer to charge the human-looking Herman with negative animal electricity and return his tissues to abnormal. Only there was one small problem." The past trauma lifted, and Mary knew, now, what incident Grandpa had been talking about. He-she remembered everything very clearly; "My dumb old mad scientist father-in-law turned me into a woman!" But the bra said, "But everything else was you! It just changed your gender polarity." Chrissy had gotten past Joan, and was taking her short-armload of clothes (something white and stringy and something brief and colorful) over to the strange new girl. Joan had finished creating a halter-top, and was thinking about what was said, "You mean this, this is the body I would have had, if, if I had been born a girl?" The bra's voice smiled triumphant, "Exactly! So, you see, your problem is different from Mary's." Joan cried, "Different!?! Then how am I going to change back?!!" The bra assured her, "Easy! Easy! The same way Herman changed back when he was the female version of himself." The current female version of Herman informed her, "I got hit by lightning again." +++ Mary said to the small woman, "You can hand me the clothes from there." There wasn't much room back there what with the boxes. Little Chrissy, just on the other side of the low bookcase, said, "I want to look at the things she has back here." Her lacy male bra said, "Especially the Frederick's of Hollywood things." The girl whose makeup still did not make her look like an adult agreed, almost giggling. The president of the sorority ordered, "Give her the clothes, Chrissy!" Then said to the lacy male bra, "I have to be struck by lightning again to change back!?!" It answered, "While being grounded, to draw up the negative (what you would call positive) charge. At least 50 megawatts." "Megawatts!!?" The bra said, "How much power do you think it takes to transform a gender? A light bulb's worth? Besides, it's amps that'll kill you, not watts. The more you resist, the more you'll get hurt." Joan said sarcastically, "Oh, thank you! That makes me feel so much more at ease." The bra reminded her, "But, as I said just a moment ago, science is never simple." Joan, her nerves already on end, knew what that meant, "There's a catch." The bra said, "Is there a difference between watts and volts? You see the reason Herman could change back-Herman!" the bra interrupted its explanation. "Don't put on the sweater, yet: I'm coming to the crowd-pleaser!" Mary frowned, but obeyed, "Alright, Grandpa." He-she took the tie-dyed skirt Chrissy was offering. Joan demanded, "Why won't being electrocuted by a gigawatt of lightning be enough to change me back!?!" The bra told her, "Unlike attracts unlike. For enough atomic particles to want to strike each other with enough force to cause the chain-reaction of change-over, you must develop as large an opposite charge as you can!" Joan eyed the bra, "Meaning..." The bra said, "Meaning, you have to become as feminine as you possibly can." 6) Cathode In the first floor "secret" room of the tower of the Sigma Iota Sigma Sorority: John "Joan" Gerry Jackson exclaimed, "To become a man again, I have to become even more of a woman!?!" Herman "Mary" Munster's bra said for dramatic effect, "This is it: I only have enough energy left to try this once!" Chrissy "Kid" Coxe screamed like the little girl she was always mistaken for. She was in the perfect position to see Mary's white bra unhook itself the girl's back. "Grandpa!!" Mary cried, bringing his-her manicured hands up to cross his-her heart, Maiden Form-style, shoulder and opposite shoulder. The bra told him-her, "I won't let modesty stop me, Herman! I'm a bat out of Hell!" And the armholes slipped off just before the forearms closed over the top of Mary's swells. Brownet Chrissy thought that the bra did look something like a bat, it's open band flapping like wings. And it was flying straight at her sorority's president. The woman's own black bra band was exposed by her makeshift halter-top. But Joan wasn't about to let it get near her. She swatted at it as she retreated to the pile of books on the oval coffee table. The bra hovered out of reach, looking for an opening. That came when she reached for books to throw at the unmentionable terror. One, two, three books, and she had to look to find the fourth. With her half-turned, the bra swooped into the orange blouse the woman had tied around her neck and back. Joan let out a great whoop. "Get out of there!!!" she ordered, fighting with the thing that was wrapping itself around her. She grabbed at it under the blouse, trapping, pulling at it, and loosing it, again. The hastily tied knot that held the sleeves quickly came loose. The "front" of her top fell down. She took her hands away from her chest to let it fall apron-like to let her see the thing of cotton and elastic attacking her chest. When she brought her hands back to renew the battle, the armholes gave a big contorted, wounded wing flaps, found first one, then the other hand, and swept up their arms. Joan saw the white lacy C cups engulf her B's. "No, you don't!!" she cried, putting her hands around them, thumbs over the tops, fingers around the bottoms, "I am quite aware of how small they are without your help!!" The white shoulder straps brought themselves up over the black ones, while the band went around over the thinner one. The bra band on top curled itself along the other band, and, trapping it within itself, pulled. Joan pushed out against the cups in front with all of her model- frame's might. The white bra extended the last of its elastic stretch and unhooked the black bra. The black satin bra snapped loose, dropping from Joan's breasts. Down her upper arms, now, it stopped. A spark aimed at one ("Yee- Iche!" a startled Joan cried; the spasm the spark also caused made her lose her grip on the white lacy cups over her naked breasts), and the other ("Ech!"); and the straps, too, were loose. The C cups snapped down over the woman's boobs, cinched tight, now, by the ends of the bands hooking themselves together around her back. ("NOOOOO!!!...") All this time, Chrissy had been clinging to the larger Mary, staring in horror at a scene out of some Vincent Price film as directed by Ed Wood. It had yet to register on either of the girls that one of her hands was holding onto Mary's nude breast; it's flesh goosebumply, its aureoles puffed out, its nipples hard. The white, virginal looking bra let the black, sexy looking one fall to the floor. Its task done, it sort of collapsed, as if it had lost a critical amount of padding. "...NOOOO!!!" Joan's volume and tone changed from defeat into horrible disgust: "It feels like it's dying on me!!!" The bra said, "Uh, oh... I used up too much of my animal electricity-Now I don't have enough animal magnetism to stay suspended over John's hooters! I have to recharge, and recalibrate for him ...Or." A soft, warm red light rose up under the cups, while they started to vibrate like a coin-operated motel bed. Joan demanded, "Stop it! Stop it...!" But the outside of the living dead bra still felt like a corpse. It was one revulsion too many to touching it with her hands. She directed her emotions at the blouse down around her waist, but ended up pulling it off of her. Chrissy asked, "What's it doing, now?" Mary thought about it, then ventured, "I, I think Grandpa's hypnotizing her." Chrissy asked, "Don't you need eyes for that?" Mary answered with, "Gee, I guess not. I, I guess as long as you can get close enough to massage them, you can hypnotize them. You know, make them feel warm and comfy; like when you're snuggled up in bed early in the morning, and don't want to get out and go to work...." That's when Mary looked down past his-her mascara at the girl in gingham and denim standing up against him-her. And, he-she realized, who was holding his-her breast. The little woman noticed the change in the taller one, and looked up to see her hand on the boob. Chrissy yelped, "Yaa!" leaping back as if she'd just touched a live wire. Standing as far as the boxes in the alcove allowed, she swore, "I'm not one of you! Honest! It was a mistake! I'm too short to be a dyke!" Her reaction temporarily sidetracked his-her attention from the cause of it. "Oh; dykes are taller," Mary said, learning something new. Then, "What's a dyke?" Meanwhile, the bra had been saying: "...That's it...You're okay with wearing a bra...Bras and boobs go together...When you think of bras, you think of boobs...You, John, like boobs...You like them large...When you think of bras, you think of large boobs...Large boobs are what women should have, John...Having large boobs make you want to feel the woman...Large boobs make you feel like a woman...a very feminine, sexy woman...That's what you think of when you think of boobs...and bras..." Her eyes closed, Joan's scrunched up face had eased, relaxed, then taken on the look of somebody thinking about boobs as a man would, and, finally, as a woman would. The bra seemed to be rapidly replacing its lost padding; but it was from the breasts within filling it out. In moments, over an inch was added; the B's had expanded into bra's C cups. Having looked away from one set of boobs, Chrissy's eyes had expanded, too, as she gazed at the thin woman who had, up until moments ago, bowed further out in her rears than her fronts. When Joan opened her eyes, a smile had grown onto her face. "How did you do that?" she asked looking down with some pleasure at her new measurement. The healthy-looking bra answered, "Hypnotism: Simple hypnotism! When it comes to the bust, half the secret is 'You're only as big as you think you are!' (Yehe, ha, ha!)." Joan sensuously moved her shoulders and upper torso around, getting the feel of her new weights. "Half? What is the other part of the secret?" Suppressing its laugh, the bra said, "You're wearing it!" And it demonstrated by puffing itself out into a conical D. Chrissy's wants fought with the lingering horror; "Can I get a bra like that?" Mary asked her, "Do you know a hypnotist?" Meanwhile, he-she'd taken the first thing from the clothes Chrissy had placed over the top of the short bookcase. To Mary it seemed almost like an old T-shirt somebody had taken from a crypt and washed clean; it'd even been fluff-dried. It wasn't a T- shirt, of course; T-shirts weren't made of yarn. But thinking that the reason the macram? sweater had all those holes in it was because it'd rotted at one time made it more acceptable to the ghoul in him-her. There were button pins covering some of those holes; two large ones were over the nipple areas. The left one had a Peace Sign in red words: a crow's foot ("The6th-Comma-n-dment") inside a circle ("Make Love Not War"). The right had a Venus Sign in pink words: a plus ("Right-Fight") under a circle ("Equal Rights for Women"). +++ Meanwhile, Joan had walked toward the full-length 'mirror' on the wall with the secret panel, "I wish this was a real mirror." Behind the two-way window was the sorority's study, and sisters snacking, talking with each other, reading, and (three of them) talking on the phone. The tumescent bra was pleased (and excited), "As I thought; man or woman, your problem was a size-fixation." Joan ventured to ask, "Er, can you, uh..." The bra said, "There's only so much mind-over-matter can do!" "Oh," Joan said, disappointed. But the bra said in a suggestive tone, "Now, if you'd like to go for width ...And, say, 'sensitivity'..." Joan's ears perked up, "'Sensitivity'..." The bra worked to maintain a rational tone, "The synapses of the brain and nerves are like fuse sockets; unless the correct chemicals are plugged into them, the current is not going to flow. Since we have to maximize the charge you get from being a female-" Joan spoke up, "Female! Now wait a minute! That's not the kind of sensitivity I was thinking of!" The bra was having trouble remaining dead around such warm hooters, "I've told you, you have to be as opposite as you can be, if you had any hope of converting to your male form." While Joan struggled with the concept, the bra added, "Consider it as 'one last time'; a farewell to your life as a woman." Joan felt the bra gently knead her breasts, and brush her nipples rhythmically. "It would be the last time, wouldn't it? I mean, I, uh, won't feel like this, again...as a man." The bra said, "Physiologically, no. It will be your last fond memory as your time as a woman." The bra had said the wrong thing; Joan's resistance wanted to return, saying, "I doubt it. I have no fond memories." The bra offered a temptation, "A little posthypnotic suggestion, and you'll never be bothered by post-coital depression." Joan was tempted, "No guilt? No shame?" The bra said like a hypnotist selling a client on the idea, "I can get rid of your mental block, and all of your memories can be untainted by a conscious..." +++ Chrissy Coxe didn't quite understand what was being said, but she was more than familiar with the tone of the conversation. She had had enough boys (and a couple of men) trying to get into her pants. Of course, what a flying bra would do when it got there...was just to kinky to contemplate, "I think it's time for us to leave," she suggested to Mary. Mary asked, "Without Grandpa?" Before he-she had put on the macram? sweater, Mary had put on a skirt. Besides the fact that it wasn't a pair of pants, it was not of the conservative color upstanding citizen and family man Herman Munster was used to wearing. It was a tie-dyed kaleidoscope. The only thing that saved it from being too loud and garish was that there wasn't much of it. But then the small girl's cut-offs were even shorter. Well, 'When in America' was his-her motto. If he-she had to be a girl until Grandpa straightened things out, he-she would take his-her cues from them. The girl with a lot of hair spray, Chrissy, told her as she headed for the spiral staircase, "You can go without one for a while. Heck, girls our age should burn our bras." Mary said, "Oh, burning Grandpa won't work. They once tried burning him at the stake. All it did was get rid of the stake." He-she looked over at Grandpa and the woman, Joan. She was backing towards the lounge, her eyes on (what to him-her seemed) a window looking out on the girls in the pivoting library wall. Depressions would form in and leave in the bra, almost as if the Invisible Man was doing another naughty through it. All the while, it was saying, "...Remember how you felt when saw a girl you wanted ...desired ...yearned...lusted for...Remember the one, that special one, the one that was almost yours...the one you still think about... even when you are with another girl...the girl you imagine is that other girl...imagine her imaging to be that one girl...She imagines because wants you...you want her...Her, and that special girl...and you..." The woman, Joan, had unsnapped her jeans, and was unzipping them as she sat. Mary decided it was time to leave. +++ Looking for a way to take his-her mind off of unfamiliar sensations, Mary saw the girl with the short, bare legs as his- her head came above the floor. Chrissy was up in the electronics lab on the second floor of the tower, looking about at the exotic things. Mary liked to make friendly conversation, anyway; "Walking up these metal stairs without any shoes is hard on the feet." Chrissy said to her, "Opal's clothes fit you; maybe her shoes will, too." Mary reminded her of coffee cake and cigarettes, and the toilet water her mother would wear when she met with her friends. At the top, now, Mary asked, "Is Opal the name of Joan's first roommate?" Chrissy turned away from all the electronic doodads that were far outside of her undeclared major, and towards the new girl, "The rumor is she left because Joan was too much like a guy." She then added, juicily, "She went for counseling, and ended up moving in off-campus with an ex-nun." Peaches-and-cream Mary asked, "Oh; does the ex-nun run a home for ex-roommates?" Chrissy looked over her shoulder as she headed, her hips wiggling, for the open wall, "The ex-nun only has one roommate, now. And since she still likes to act like a nun, Opal had to leave her trash-clothes behind." Mary looked down, fingering the macram? 'shirt' he-she had on, "It did come out of the trash." Leaving the room, Chrissy added this tidbit, "Joan makes Sally wear Opal's clothes, even though Sally is as big a dyke as she is. I think, maybe, that homo-lesbians have a hard time finding girls who like to act like girls." Seamlessly, Chrissy informed Mary, "I have a cousin who's studying that. She's a psychiatrist at the college hospital. She really doesn't deal with homo-lesbians, though. She works with lesbian-homos; you know, guys who want to be girls. ("Lesbian- homos?" Chrissy asked herself.) She shrugged, and continued, "She's also got cases of guys who've had an accident, and had to become a girl, if you know what I mean, and..." Mary followed (hesitating about wiggling his-her hips) the small brownet in a gingham shirt, cutoffs, sandals, and "her mother's makeup" as she went around Joan's bed, crossed the mater bedroom, and past the doors to the balcony, behind the vanity. There was a shoe bag on the closet door, and some shoes were on the floor. None of the shoes Mary saw were remotely like the platform clodhoppers he-she was used to wearing. In fact, he-she would hardly call most of them shoes, since so little would cover his- her feet. Mary chose a pair of red vinyl open toed flats because they looked easy to slip into. (They also, he-she decided, went well with the blood-red shade Gloria had painted her, now his- her, toes in.) Chrissy's 'discussion' had not let up, "...Cousin Barbara says they're her hardest cases. She's even got a nephew, only he's now a niece, I guess, who's living with her at the moment that she's trying to help act like a girl. But the question is, if guys who're born guys can become girls, why can't girls who are born girls become girls; I mean, think like a girl?" Mary looked up from wiggling the toes in the shoes he-she now had on, "You mean make them like guys?" Chrissy insisted, "No, not 'make': Help them! Both of them! Trade what makes guys like guys with what makes girls like girls; and everyone can be happier." Mary said, "I remember Grandpa telling me that he and the Doctor did that to the town where I was born." Chrissy looked at Mary through half-lowered false eyelashes, "Your bra knows how to do that?" Mary remembered the details, "...O, Only they had the guys like the guys and the girls like the girls." Chrissy raised a plucked and darkened eyebrow as she crossed her arms under her B cups, "Were they happier?" Mary told her, "Grandpa said he was happier. There were more virgins. He's a vampire, you know." Stifling a scream, Chrissy walked away, "I knew there was a punchline. I bet you made that bra 'fly'. You did say you were a magician." Mary followed in the flats, her skirt keeping time with his-her buttocks, "I'm sure we can get Grandpa to help you like guys!" Chrissy told the female joker, "I told you: I'm not-" The bedroom door opened, and a hard-edged southern drawl said, "I'd like to meet this 'stray' you brought home, this time, Miss Joan." The shorthaired, permed blonde was in her late forties and on the wide side. You couldn't call her fat, because she had the air of somebody who knew how to take care of herself, and anybody else she cared to. She wore sensible black shoes, a gray tweed knee-length skirt, wide black belt; a short green jacket over a plaited white blouse. She was accessorized with a small tweed cap, a diamond friendship ring, and a dollar sign brooch; and she had a black leather shoulder bag. Chrissy told the woman as she tried to block the way to the still open way into the tower, "Er, Joan isn't up here; at the moment, Miss Hogan." The woman looked past the girl who barely came up to her bust, "'Working' on her gizmo again? At least most of the girls know enough to remain decent on the main floor." Mary said, "The secret rooms aren't much of a secret." The older woman turned away from the wall (There really wasn't much to be seen until you went inside) to the young shorthaired, permed blonde. It wasn't enough that she had to wear a mini dress (a blaring one at that); worst still was the unfinished knit top that announced to the world that she was nude underneath. The pins were only bull's-eyes for the imagination. "You, I take it, are the spare baggage Joan Jackson brought here?" Mary said, "I, I'm afraid I didn't bring any baggage. You see, there was a little accident at my place, and I met these three girls-" Chrissy interrupted to do the introductions, "Miss Hogan, this is Mary Munday. Mary, this is our housemother, Miss Joan Hogan." Mary smiled with her blood-red lips, "Gee, your name is Joan, too." The woman in going-out makeup glared, "I assure you, that is all we have in common." Mary's innocent smile remained, "I'm sure that if sat down with her and talked things over-" Miss Hogan snapped, "Are you trying to be funny!?!" Mary said about the thought, "Funny? Me?" He-she certainly felt funny-strange in a dress and a draughty "shirt". Chrissy told the woman, "Mary's in show business. Don't ask to see her ventriloquist act." Miss Hogan noted, again, how much flesh was showing, "What other 'acts' do you do?" Mary's smile lengthened again, "I bet I can do the soft shoe, now." And she leaned forward, saying in a tone of 'let me tell you', "The last time I tried the routine, I broke the stage. The local paper said I was a smash (Hm, ha, haw!)" Miss Hogan was in no mood to be a confidante, "Back where I come from, people in show business are viewed as little better than-" A male voice with a New York accent started talking even before it'd reached the bedroom door, "Joan, Joan! I'm sorry! How many times, how many ways do I have to apologize!" Joan Hogan stiffened and yelled said forcefully over her shoulder without turning around, "Ernie Bilko! You know no men are allowed up here!!" A bald brunette shaped like a bowling pin with thick black glasses entered. Chrissy recognized him without the inked goatee and horns on the housemother's pictures of him. Instead of an army sergeant's uniform, the man in his late forties wore black wingtips, black slacks, navy blue blazer with leather elbow patches and a monogram over the breast pocket with a handkerchief sticking out (and an ascot in a side pocket), and dress shirt open down to the top of his T-shirt. "Don't worry; they called the police." Ex-sergeant Joan Hogan refused to look at the man, "And the prospect of being arrested doesn't bother you?" The man lifted his arms a bit, and cocking his head nonchalantly, said, "How many times have I been taken in by the MP's?" And he approached her (but his eyes had already gone to the young blonde Joan was with), "When it comes to me and guardhouses, we're like oil and water." Joan crossed her arms around her D chest, "Except the last time." He was by her side, now, "I did my time in Leavenworth. It won't happen again." He attempted to put an arm around her. "I got a pardon from LBJ himself." She shrugged it off of her. Prettily made-up Mary was impressed, "You know the President?" Ernie Bilko smiled broadly for the lovely young woman, a twinkle in his eye, "I know how he really got his purple heart when he was a congressman during the war." The girl who seemed to be getting more enchanting by the moment said, "World War II!? I, I was in it! I'm a vet, too!" Ernie said, "Surely, you must mean your mother. You're much too young." Mary told him, "I just look young. I'm really 150-years-old." Joan Hogan said, scornfully, "You must share your beauty secrets, sometime." Mary told her, "You'd have to talk to Lily about that. -Though I do know she likes to powder herself with quicklime. It helps keep her dry." Ernie found himself staring at the woman for reasons other than her looks, "'Quicklime'?" Joan asked with moral disapproval, "Lily? Is she your old girlfriend?" Mary said, "No. Lily's my wife." Ernie said with a smile frozen on his face, "You're married to a woman." Chrissy explained, "I wouldn't believe anything Mary says. She thinks she's a comedianne, but her act is too weird and ooky." Mary said, "'Ooky'? You must be confusing me with somebody else. Though, this body is making me feel-" Ernie's mind was back on Mary's body, "Oh, I get it! You're not just a hippie! The way you're dressed, you have to get a tax dodge!" Mary asked, "Tax dodge? Why would I get a tax dodge?" Ernie was surprised, "You didn't know!? Your costume! People in show business can write off their clothes if you can show Uncle Sam that they're something no normal person would wear in public." Mary looked again at what he-she had on, past the fair skin, the white yarn and metal button pins, getting a look at the rainbow cloth and the more tanned skin of his-her, because of the shortness of the skirt, much longer legs (her upper thighs were attractively pale). "Normal people don't wear clothes like this?" Joan Hogan told her, still with disapproval, "Nowadays, that's normal for young vixens like you." Mary sighed, "That's good! I wouldn't want be abnormal." He-she wondered how girls ever felt normal about their butts pushing their skirts out, making them even more open under their butts? Chrissy said, "I thought you wanted to be abnormal?!" Mary answered, "That, that's what Grandpa wants. Sometimes I do get confused and say things he would say. (I get confused a lot.)" Mary spoke for him-herself, "I want to be a decent and honorable American citizen; who goes to work every weekday, draws a paycheck, goes on two-week vacations he can't afford to help the employ other people, and pays more taxes than he should so-" Ernie Bilko held up his hand, "Hold it! Hold it!! ...You want to pay taxes?!!" Mary, being the decent and honorable American citizen, even in satin panties, said, "The U.S.A. has been very good to me and my family. Somebody has to help pay for it. As I've told Simon, at work, we wage-earners have to pay more than our fair share of taxes so that the rich people can invest in the economy for us." Chrissy said to the man, "See what I mean?" Ernie shook his head slowly, "Oh, she does need help." Then, to the kook, "Look, uh..." Chrissy told him, "Mary." Mary told him, "Munday. But that's not my real name." Ernie said, "Your stage name. Look, Mary Munday; you need to change your act. Hasn't your agent told you what a gorgeous gal like you can make just being gorgeous?!" Mary found him-herself pleased, "Really? No, I haven't had anybody tell me I'm gorgeous before. Not even an agent. I, I don't have agent." Ernie Bilko's face lit up, "You don't have an agent!?!" He thought he smelled money! Literally. The sweetest home- Joan Hogan turned on him, "Ernie: No!! I know that tone! If you want any chance to get back with me, you won't-" More than one of the sorority girls called up the stairs, "The police are here!!" Chrissy was surprised, now, "That was quick!" Miss Hogan said, "They're probably from the Campus Police." Bilko was still confident; "Officers who could not get jobs with the real police. They're probably cops discharged for incompetence or something." Then, one of the voices that went with the footsteps up the stairs, "Oo, oo! Francis! We're upstairs! In a sorority!" He then tried to stifle a giggle. The accompanying voice, also male, said, "Gunther! Behave yourself. Remember we're here on official business: We're suppose to be here." Gunther said, "But there's a man here that's not suppose to be here, right?!" Francis said, "Right!" Mary said, "Oh! I think it's time for me to leave!" Ernie told her, "If there's anybody that's not going to be mistaken for a man, it's you, Mary." But Mary had slipped by him. Ernie Bilko followed her spoor of eau de Ben Franklyn. And Joan Hogan followed after her beau de Rat Fink, "Bilko!!" The conga line was stopped when Mary's way out was blocked by a man in a Campus Policeman's uniform. He was very long and lean, with an equally long and lean face. Mary, his-her back arched backwards, looking up at the tall, tall man, was reminded just how much height he-she'd lost. The man also reminded Mary of somebody. Somebody he-she'd seen before. Where had Herman Munster seen that horribly homely face before!?! And how long ago had it been? The End of this installment.