The Perfect Game free porn video

The Perfect Game By nanomage Loosing the Division championship was the lowest day of my life, at least I thought so then. That night I sat in the corner of the country club hall at the party thrown by a few alumni of Jefferson High. No one was in a mood to party at all, I guess the teams that had loosing seasons have the consolation of just not being good enough, but nothing bites more than being second best. Instead of partying I replayed in my mind, then as I have done a thousand times since, the final downs of the game. It started well enough, the ball snapped to Dexter "Dexterous" Bradley the quarterback, who did a neat turn concealing that he had handed off the ball to me. In the second play with a half a yard to go, I had my work to do. I found my receiver, Jerome "Jet" Black, our only African- American player and my best friend. Yeah everyone had a nickname, mine was "Lucky", because they said I looked like a leprechaun, only built to human scale. Try getting ready for a game and finding your locker filled so some stupid kid's cereal. So I pump faked right because by then the Bobcat defense had figured it out. Then popped it in a short spear aimed just barely past the scrimmage line. Where Jet was waiting for it. I nailed him between the numbers. He kicked in the afterburners and was over the goal line before anyone knew what happened. as he did his victory dance I thought it was a bit too soon, we needed the extra point to tie, and force overtime, without it we were dead ducks. A bad snap to the kicker ended our chances; no field goal and the Bobcats ran out the clock on their possession. Game over. Story of my life, my good luck countered by an even more disastrous mishap. I don't remember much of the party afterwards because someone managed to sneak in some beer. And I drank as much of it as fast as I could. I know one guy was laughing and smiling his way through the room, he had bet us against the spread, and won big. I would have twisted his head off, but I was too unsteady on my feet by then. He shook everyone's hand and had a few words with each of us. Some blather, I couldn't care less. I blew him off with a few bitter words. Jet had a scholarship to a good college, so did Dex and half the others. I had the $5,000 "gimme" that the alumni posted for all the players if we made it to the championship. If I was careful that would give me a year at some Midwest cow college. My lackluster career as a football player was over. That one shining moment was all I had. All I would ever have. I always seem to get screwed by someone else's bad luck. The rest of the night passed in an alcoholic blur. Frankly, I had needed the win, I had counted on it. My future had depended on it, and I had lost it because someone else choked when the pressure was on. I remember Dad saying one more than one occasion, "Don't put all your eggs on one basket." But when you don't have a basket you learn to juggle real well. Well, all my eggs were lying broken on the floor now. I don't blame Dad for not providing college money, the last two years had been bad business, and the hardware store was just barely making money. I handed him my bankbook when it was lean and we lived on it, counting on an athletic scholarship, which at the time seemed in the bag. So when Jet and I were scouted as a pair, I thought it was all set, but Jet got his confirmation letter, while I sat twisting in the wind. My plans for the last 4 months of school was simple, work at Castelle Hardware part time, as I had since I was 16, and enroll in City College in the Fall next year. City College had no football program. What skills and talents I had would go stale there. If you can't maintain the Intensity, it can't be reclaimed. I had played my last game. Oh, I had more than one sport, but not at that performance level. My next best sport was Tennis, but that is such a prissy game, not to my taste. I also shot a good game of golf, but I am no Tiger Woods. That night I thought my life was disastrously complete. I had no idea that it was going to get much, much, worse. The next morning started as all mornings after do, hungover, and with the aches and pains I always had after a game. When you push yourself that hard, you will hurt the next day. Football is just that way, I have noticed, so is Drinking. I stumbled from my room to the common bathroom. Sometimes I use my parent's bathroom, which has a double sized tub, big enough for my 6' 3", 208 lbs, but the bedroom door was closed, meaning that they were not up yet. I share the common bathroom with an older sister and two younger brothers. My face in the mirror looked as bad as I felt, as I downed a handful of aspirin. Setting the shower for maximum tolerable heat, I stood under it trying to get the cramps out of my muscles. Actually, I leaned against the cold tile of the stall, and let the near scalding water pummel me. I stayed there until the water began to run cold, only marginally relieving the pain in muscles and joints, but better than before. I was debating shaving that morning, but why bother, Saturdays were my off day from school and work, I could be scruffy and get away with it. That was when I saw myself in the full-length mirror Dad had installed for my sister. Okay, I admit that I often preened in front of it myself, I had a body that looked good, nice proportion, well muscled, my face a bit too boyish looking for my taste, red-gold hair in a buzz cut, freckles. And then there was the other reason I was named "Lucky". That being the 8-inch monster I had between my legs. Or rather I should say used to have. In the mirror my reflection was missing that essential member. Where it used to be was a hairless mound, split vertically, by a cleft that should not be there, could not be there, could not possibly be there. And the persistence of reality, was very much THERE. It was a Beaver, a Pussy, a... you get my point. And there was no possible way I could have one. I stood in absolute silent terror, I knew that if I moved, or made the slightest sound, it would prove itself to be as real as anything, and as solid flesh as the rest of me. I remember chanting in my mind: "This is not me, this is not real." and trying by force of will to make the mirror right. Eventually, I knew it was useless, I could hear family moving about in the house, and any second now, someone would be pounding on the door. I tore my gaze from the mirror, knowing that I was truly and completely screwed now. And discovered I had voided by bladder, I was standing in a puddle of my own urine. Damage control time. I pulled on my pants fast and dumped a towel on the floor to sop up the mess. With clothes on my shame was secret, no one would know. Tough it out, there had to be an explanation, a reason, a cure. I grabbed the towel and loose clothing and rolled them in a ball that I held to my belly. Sneaking out was impossible. As I opened the door, Jason, who most the family calls "ratboy" for his hobby of breeding Brindled Rats, was standing at the door. "You are getting as bad as Sally in there." he said as I passed by with my bundle. I can only blame panic for what I did next. The next thing I knew, the bundle of clothes was on the floor, and Jason was slammed against the wall, head even with my own, my fist twisted in his shirt. "What do you mean by that! What do you know!" I screamed at him. I have never done something like that before, and Jason's look of terror was a shock to me, having just seen that look on my own face minutes before. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." I said softly as I put him down. Strength is not a license. Physical power and size is no excuse. They are gifts that come with the price of responsibility. To my already frazzled sensibilities I had added shame. I slunk quietly back to my room and laid down. If I remained perfectly still, I could pretend that everything was normal and right. But the alien feelings grew more pronounced as time moved on. I tried to use force of will to restore things to their proper order, then begged God to make everything right. No luck on either count, my genitals persisted in being female. Not that I touched the thing to make sure, I didn't need to, and I didn't want to. Soon I was considering the How and Why of my situation, not just the What. How had this happened? How was it even possible? What had I done to make it happen? There was no reasonable answer, so that left the unreasonable, Magic, or some kind of Divine Intervention. That changed the question to Who. God? The Devil? Some sort of Wizard or Witch? That brought me back to why again, And the circle went on and on without resolution. Sometime around noon, there was a knock on my door. It broke my concentration and aborted the endless loop of obsessive thinking. As I snapped to attention of the world around me I realized that I had been well on my way to some kind of mental illness. I could see that I was going in mental circles to the exclusion of anything else. There was another knock, then I heard my dad say, "Lee?" "Yes Dad." I answered quickly, and jumped up from the bed. He entered the room with a look of concern on his face. I put my hands over my crotch to cover the shame that was already fully clothed, but who could say I was in a rational frame of mind. "I understand you put Jason into a wall and yelled at him, is this true?" "Yes Sir." He considered or a moment, "You are a legal adult, but still under my roof, and therefore under my authority, but it is your call. Will you take summary punishment, or do you have an explanation?" "Summary Sir, I have no excuse for what I did." "I know that last year or so has been hard, and not getting the scholarship has added to the stress, but beating up on family only adds to the problems. It was Jason you have wronged, and your duty is to clean his rat cages under his supervision for one hour, at his convenience, not yours. Understand?" You do the crime you do the time. "Yes Sir." "Your friend Jet called, he says he needs to see you as fast as possible. Check with Jason and see if he wants you to do your punishment first." I sighed, "Yes Sir." Jason was amused by my sentence, but wasn't going to do the cages until the next day. His glee was tempered by knowing that if he took too much satisfaction in it, he would get double the grief when his turn came, and it always did. What goes around comes around. Walking the four blocks to Jet's apartment made me horribly aware of the void between my legs, and the odd sensation of my new sex as the muscles flexed around it. It was hard not to think about it, but obsessing was a trap all by itself. I wondered what Jet wanted. Had the Beaver fairy visited him too? Was there more to this strangeness than just me? Jet lived in a two-bedroom apartment with his parents and a younger brother. A big step down from only a few years before, when Mr. Black had a successful Grading and Landscaping company, now collapsed in bankruptcy. A housing subdivision his company had graded had slid down a hillside a couple years ago, and the geological study had shown an ancient landslide under the houses. Mr. Black's business, like my Father's was suffering from hard times. Jet answered the door, I was stunned to see his right arm in a cast, he was uninjured the night before, but before I could say a word he said, "Wait." He ushered me into the room he shared with his little brother and closed the door. "You are the first person who was surprised to see my arm in a cast." "When did that happen? You were fine last night!" I managed to stutter out. "Last week at the City Final according to everyone else." He handed me his clipbook, "At least someone else knows something is wrong. You know we did not win the Division Final last night?" "Yeah, and your point?" "Look at my clipbook. We didn't PLAY the division final." He waved his casted arm, "This happened in the third quarter of the City Final according to the news clippings and check out what else is missing." The First headline he showed me was: Wolverines lose to Bruins in 13-14 squeakier. The next was: Tomaso leads Bruins to stunning victory in Division Finals. None of this could be right. The Bruins finished way back in the pack after I took Tomaso down at the beginning of the season, a freak hit that shattered his collarbone. I began to feel ill, the only significant things I had done in my life had been erased. And it only increased when Jet showed me the Team Roster for the season. My name was gone from the list. All of it was gone, everything I was seemed to be gone. Who could have hated me so much that I had to be destroyed? Jet looked at me with the same sick look that I am sure my eyes were showing as well. "My Scholarship is gone too." He said bleakly. Jet's tragedy was nearly as complete as mine, and I was not about to reveal my total defeat, just in case he was forced to show me the same! I wanted to think that at least he was intact in his physical person. Besides the broken arm at least. We talked for about an hour or so, then Jet surprised me by breaking down into tears. And I surprised myself by holding him as he wept. After that male etiquette required me to find an excuse to leave, so that his shame not hang between us. More changes when I got home. When I arrived, my bondo-clad classic Mustang that had died an unfortunate death one night last summer when a teammate had borrowed it for a beer run was in the driveway. This car, exactly the same right down to the license plate sported a new butter-yellow paint job. Inside, my trophy case was empty save for some ceramic nick-knacks and collector plates. No one remembered my altercation with Jason that morning. Every time my back is turned, reality twists itself into a new pattern. Looking through my report cards, I found my grades had improved, but I was on a short program this semester, leaving early to go to work at the family hardware store, no football or other sports on my schedule at all. In fact, I had never attended a P.E. class due to a "birth defect." Some birth defect. My check from the Alumni was gone, but my bankbook with $6800 had returned to me. I couldn't even find a football in the whole house. Jason and Robbie were into baseball, I apparently was not interested in sports. The walls of my room had no posters, just photographs of landscapes and buildings, seems my new hobby was photography. Putting on a clean shirt for dinner, I noted almost without emotion, that the hairlessness now covered my entire torso. Dropping my pants confirmed that the legs were clear of hair too. The family, save for dad, who was still at the store, was home for dinner, Jason and Robbie still wearing baseball jerseys, and Sally in her store apron, here for a quick meal before heading for night class at community college. I found that I didn't have much in common with my brothers anymore, they used to look up to me, now every question I had about their team was met with a sullen silence. Sally informed me on all the gossip from the store, as if that kinda junk was in the least interesting. Mom wanted to know if I was still planning to go up to Cedar Hills the next morning to do a photo shoot of the lake. If I had not figured out that reality was changing around me, I would have thought that I was suddenly surrounded by aliens. Before she left, I borrowed a hand mirror from Sally, who didn't seem to think twice about me borrowing it. That evening, I sat in my room and watched my beard fade away, and surprisingly, the hair on my head become a deep red- brown, like Mahogany, and frizz out like a mad scientist's. I took a shower before bed, carefully avoiding the problem area. My hairless skin seemed more sensitive, and when wet, my hair curled into tight ringlets. It was significantly longer than the buzz cut of this morning. Several inches longer in fact. I dreaded going to bed. What other changes could happen while I slept? What new terrors? I brought the hand mirror to bed with me, and took my first real hard look at my genitals. They looked exactly like the ones I had encountered in happier times when I was a big bad football player, and willing girls could be had from time to time. I set the mirror down, reached for my non-existent penis, and cried myself to sleep. Mornings come whether you want them to or not. Personally, I would have preferred not. It was still there, and my hand was cupping it! The shock and shame began again. Just like the day before. The squishy alieness of it was just as repellent as before. My manhood ripped away, with, well, my manhood. I had nothing. My only consolation was that one person knew what I had been, that I had mattered, that I had had accomplishments and pride. So I woke to a smaller world. The hardware store and school were it now. Duties and Obligations. So be it. Jason was rather surprised that I came out to the patio and assisted him with the rats before I went to work. Just because everyone else had magically forgotten my misdeed of the day before, I had not. More curiosities at the store, it was stocked much more than normal, a lot of back stock where we had kept just barely enough before, and more variety. We had always kept stock to the level that we could get at the longest credit, and our credit was not that good. Oh on paper, the store was worth close to a million and a half, but our debt was bigger, so in fact we were always on the edge of bankruptcy. I had a terror that Dad was preparing one final push for success, before it all fell apart. Where had the extra credit come from to stock the store that completely? Ours is not to question why. We had stock and I was going to shelve it, and pray Dad knew what he was doing. My hair kept getting in the way, from last night, the dark red hair had grown in a thick tightly curled mass that was so thick that a comb was useless and so long it was down past my shoulders. Not much I could do about it but tie it back, I feared cutting it would trigger more changes. Oh, come to think of it, other than the hair, no more changes, a minor consolation. Shelving stock is a mindless task, and I thought hard about my situation while doing it. I could think of no method of attack, so what was left was damage control. I had to work with what I had. And what I had was a male body with female sex organs. First thing on the agenda, stop freaking out when I saw or touched it, like it or not I had to live with it. Fighting with something you cannot change is a waste of effort. If I had taken a bad hit on the field and been put in a wheelchair, I would have to deal with that like a man, no difference here. But the idea of taking having a female crotch, 'like a man' was inherently funny in a sick sort of way. By noon, I knew that male boxer shorts would not do the job. My clothes were literally rubbing me the wrong way. That afternoon Jet came in. Since he could not do much with a busted wing, his dad sent him on supply runs. I knew their account was close to busted as far as credit was concerned, so I was surprised to see Jet dumping a lot of stuff onto the loading cart. As I helped him load some 50 lb bags of fertilizer, I said quietly, "How you guys gonna pay for this?" "Cash," he replied, "Dad handed me three bills without even looking." He looked around, then continued. "This is freakin' weird, we have 5 accounts now that we did not have yesterday, and these are not new accounts!" "I noticed, look at the store, we have credit like we have not had in years!" I shook my head, "We got creamed by this changing reality, but our families are doing better." "It still bites Lee." "You'll get no argument from me." I said, touching the empty spot in my pants in a way no one would notice. "Not from me." So things went. I did my job, went to school, where it seemed that I was a nobody. At least I didn't have a girlfriend anymore to have to explain things to. But since this was "real" I would not have had to explain anything I guess. I picked up a feminine hygiene booklet from the health class, and followed the instructions to the letter, hating every second of it. I got some jockey shorts cut for women at the Wal-mart, which helped, and they didn't look like panties. It was three weeks later that I was presented with a new indignity. A few spots of blood on my shorts. But living with a sister and that handy hated booklet made it clear what it was, a period. Okay. I had not anticipated it, and I knew it would get worse. I had felt a bit off for a couple days, and I just thought it was all the extra work at the store, but now I knew. Mom and Sis were not prone to PMS, so I guess I had that in my favor, but I had no supplies for it! Time to bite the bullet. "Uh, Sally?" She looked up from her textbooks. "Yes. Lee?" "I... Uh... need some help." I stammered out my problem, and my needs to a surprisingly unfazed Sally. As I spoke, it seemed that she was pleased by what she heard. "That's incredible Lee, the doctors never thought you would... I mean, that is why the shrinks thought it would be okay for you to live as a boy..." She stopped, and looked thoughtful, "I guess this blows your 'I'm really a boy' lifestyle, doesn't it." "Sally, please. We can deal with that later, right now I am making a sopping mess of my underwear!" I won't go into details of the indignity, except to say it was the most degrading moment of my life, tempered only by the love and care of a sister who I had previously under appreciated. A few minutes later, and feeling like I had a corncob jammed into a place where I had not anticipated having a place, I slunk back to my room. I called Jet and canceled a date we had had to drive down to the beach and run the shoreline for the afternoon. The lack of a regular training regimen had slacked a lot of my muscles, and the runs were to start getting myself back into "fighting trim". Even if I had no Football, I had no excuse for slacking. And even if Jet had no scholarship, he could still attend college, and sign up for tryouts, he was good enough to make the second team at least. So we ran, and trained as if we were both still in playing season. And tomorrow, I was supposed to play a round of golf with Dad, no way to safely beg off that. And Sally had just explained I could expect 3 to 5 days of wretchedness, even without PMS. So I had gotten to the point where I didn't greet the morning with a fresh start of horror, but frankly, this set me back to square one. I lay in bed, hating life, and damning whatever force had done this to me. That afternoon, Mom, and Sally came in and had with me the "standard" mother-daughter talk. I, it seems, had managed to miss when I turned 13 in this reality. Mom insisted that I would have as soon as she could arrange it, a full gynecological exam. I wanted to reject the notion, I wanted to scream at the moon, I was so embarrassed. The next day I shot 10 over par on a course that I was used to doing three under. Dad critiqued my swing, while remaining totally clueless as to why. I managed to hide at work for a few days, or so I thought, but mom swooped down on me as soon as she was sure my period was over. She said she was waiting for the day I stopped "walking like I had a stick up my butt." Off to the docs I went. I do not understand why women do not deck more docs. It was humiliating to me, and I am sure the sight of those stirrups in the examining room is no less distasteful to a born woman. All I can say, and all I really want to say, is the tests came back showing I was fully functional, even though I had more male hormones than female. Oh, a test I demanded showed I had a normal female XX chromosomes, not the XY I should have been. My life was beginning to feel like the slow ponderous scene in a horror flick just before the killer strikes. I was just a couple days short of 'celebrating' my one month anniversary when the "killer struck". These days, I avoided looking at the mirror when I showered, while I had reconciled myself to what was, I did not need reminders. So, I didn't realize that I had been screwed again till I picked up my pants to put them on. They looked different, too thin at waist, and too thick at the hips. For a moment I thought they were someone else's, but no one in this house was near my size. I stood there and very calmly looked at the cloth tag on the inside. 30 waist, 38 hip, 28 inseam. I reached back to touch a newly expanded backside, and a sudden surge of hips. I rather coldly determined that the pants would indeed fit. I felt the disassociation of self that sometimes happens when you take a bad hit on the field, and you want nothing more than to get your hands on the asshole who had blindsided you. I managed to stifle a scream of absolute rage. But nothing stopped me from ripping the thick denim cloth to shreds. If you can't win, learn to enjoy losing. In the next couple hours I watched hard earned muscle subside into soft round flesh. Very well rounded flesh. My butt expanded to a plush 42 inches before stopping. My arms and belly lost definition, and the hard pecs, softened to a pair of flat, maybe A cup breasts. Flat, save for the nipples, fat and thick, like a pair of accusing fingers jutting out from conical aureolae at least two inches in diameter. I lost 4 inches in height, settling in at 5'11", due to shorter thicker legs. By afternoon I was, to all who could see, a heavyset girl with a flat chest and an overly ample backside. Even my face had softened to a feminine cast. Anger is a useless emotion, it solves nothing. I took a page from my coach (who would not recognize me even if he remembered) to the effect that negative emotions can be burned out by running. I pawed through an obviously feminine closet until I found a running outfit, shorts, top, and sweats. Running shoes I still had, and a quick search of the dresser revealed a few sports bras. As much as I disliked the idea, I knew I would need a bra, for running at least. I picked up my keys and my wallet and started for the door, grabbing a fanny pack next to it. But before I jammed the wallet in, I opened it to see if I had any cash. There was at least $20 in loose bills, a credit card I know I didn't had before, and my ID. The ID stopped me dead. My new face was on it, looking like all Driver's Licenses do, like a mug shot of some wanted criminal. But what really took my attention was the name. Not Lee Andrew Castelle, but Leigh Anne Castelle. And that single capital letter "F", that now dominated my awareness. I closed the wallet, suppressed an urge to vomit, and headed for the car. "Mom," I called out as I nearly ran passed, not wanting any interactions I could avoid, "if Jet calls I am up at Cedar Hills Lake, running the circuit." Mom managed to get out "I'll tell him Leigh." before I closed the front door and near to sprinted to my car. Cedar Hills Lake is a runner's dream, 11 kilometers around the lake, no cross traffic to speak of and the runner's path had splits that let people choose to go over the slight hills or around them. The setting was parklike in parts, nearly natural in others. Since I came to here to lose myself in an endorphin haze, I ran the circuit with the hills. As I came around the final turn to where I had parked, I could see Jet, one foot rested on the hood of my car, stretching his leg tendons in warm-up. I ran by, yelling "Catch up Jet, I'm not loosing my pace!" My voice was a bit smoother than before, lacking in masculine edge, but still sounded like me, I think. I was only a couple hundred yards passed, when Jet caught up with me. "I woke up in a house I never saw before this morning." he said as he matched my pace. "Yeah the changes are starting again, one month after the last batch." "Speaking of changes, that is one huge ass you got now." I must have let a full mile go by before I responded, "It isn't just a huge ass Jet," I let another hundred yards pass, Hoping I was not about to end the only link to my real past. "I'm a girl now." "Shit. No kidding?" "No kidding, I got the big butt this morning..." I let a few more yards pass by, "but I got the girl parts the night after the game." Another mile passed in silence. "Is it... Uh, different?" Jet asked. "Yes it is. Very." I responded glad that he had not freaked as bad as I had feared. "Is it better?" "What do you mean better? I hate it." "I mean when you play with yourself, better, worse, or just different?" "I don't know, I touch it only when I have no choice." We made the final turn back to the parking lot. "I would have tried it." Jet said as we did the cool down lap around the parking lot. *** "Anyway," Jet said as we sat down to an after run snack heavy in carbs, "This morning, I woke up in a house about a block from yours, on the next street over. I have a room of my own and I swear it's nerd heaven: computer, bad ass stereo, hundreds of freakin' science books on the shelves. my trophy case has as many academic awards as sports!" "You are turning into a nerd, and I am turning into a girl, a little bit at a time, on the month like clockwork. And no one notices a thing." "I think your timing is a bit off, it wasn't a month, it was 28 days." "Does it make that much difference? Really?" I said a bit testily. "It could, lemme check something." Jet reached over to another booth and snagged an abandoned newspaper. He turned it the back front page. "Here, the weather forecast, look at the phase of the moon. A new moon, exactly 28 days ago, it was also a new moon. Aunt Ciselly is into that new age junk and she says new moons are for new beginnings." A New Moon, one Lunar month. I felt my stomach lurch, and the fries were no longer interesting to me. With my recent experience I could think of one other thing that moved to the lunar month, A woman's menstrual cycle. I must admit I zoned out of most of the conversation after that. The moon is significant in both magic and religion, so the source of our predicament was no clearer. But one thing became clear, the source was one that followed rules, even if we didn't know them, and had a timetable that could be predicted. My attention was regained by Jet dropping a bombshell. "You better be prepared for one thing, you are a hero in our house, we damn near have a shrine dedicated to you in the living room." "WHAT?" "Remember the Morningside development, the one that slid down the hill? You stopped it, no landslide, no lawsuit, no bankruptcy. "How can one person stop a landslide?" "With a photograph, come to my house and I'll show you." It wasn't much to look at. A flat construction site. Dirt. A large grading tractor. A man standing at the site. And the important part, an 8 inch vertical rip the man was sanding next to, running about an area 6 acres around. A newspaper clipping with the same picture, with a caption, "Amateur Photographer's lucky shot averts potential disaster." "Mike Barret, the grader operator," Jet said quietly, "saw the rip and covered it up. In the trial that only you and I remember, he denied seeing it. You brought this picture to Dad's attention, he stopped work and ordered a new geological study where the fault in the ground was discovered. He gave the shot to the paper, and a press release saying why work had been stopped. It cost us a lot in punted performance bonds, but not anything like the bankruptcy did. We fired Mike the day after you gave Dad the photo." Jet led me through the rambling ranch style he now called home. His room was twice the size of the apartment room he had shared with his little brother, with his own bath, and a sliding glass door to the patio out back. He wasn't kidding about the "Nerd Heaven" he had awoken to. Two walls covered in shelves loaded with science books, a telescope, a microscope for God's sake, a top end computer, and a Stereo system that looked like it could launch a space shuttle. Oh and a little thing, his clipbook, where there was no mention of football, but a lot of track and field awards, and a news story on his probable acceptance to the US Olympic team, decathlon. While I was looking over his book collection, half of titles of which I had no clue as to what in the hell they were about, Jet sat at his desk and looked at a piece of paper. When I noticed him, he looked at me with a face that would have been pale if it had been possible. "What's wrong?" I asked carefully. "NO, What's right!" he looked up, his eyes a bit crazed, "This is an acceptance to Western University, Full scholarship in the Art of Mathematics!" Jet had rocketed thought every math class our High School offered, if not for his otherwise lousy academics, he probably would have gotten a merit scholarship. It seems that freed of the pressure of football, he had managed to do just that. "Congrats, Jet." I said, not letting the sudden welling of envy, and anger his good news caused, creep into my voice. In a few months Jet would be at Western, and I would be completely alone. In a strange world, with a frightening future. "It's about time luck broke in your favor." My own house was a surprise. In the time I was out running, it had acquired a second story. Inside, where the boy's room had been was now a stairwell, where mine had been, an expansion of the living room. There was a new 1 ton truck in the driveway, and a 5 year old Miata. The family fortune had increased again. To bad it was happening at the expense of my manhood. My room was on the second floor, in the back. Sally's room was across the hall, a sunroom shared the center space with the stairwell, and two guest rooms on the other side. I didn't have to guess where my room was; I simply went to the room I would have chosen if I had been given a choice. Sally's room and mine shared a bathroom, with both rooms having a door and none on the hallway. The bath on the other side was open to the hall. Aside from the extra darkroom red light in the bath, it looked like a women's bath fully, the enlarger and other darkroom gear were stored under the sink on my side of the double sinked counter. A suspended wire above it did double duty for drying film and pantyhose. And an extra large bathtub, which after my run, I was eager to use. A bathtub is a place to think, it's nominal purpose as a place to get clean is secondary. And it is a place where body awareness is high, since that is what the thing is for. I slipped into the hot water and enjoyed, probably for the first time since the game, the simple pleasure of being alive. Even the ever-present feelings of wrongness faded. I had limited myself to basic cursory showers to avoid looking at myself. Now I was getting into the sensations of who I was now. I admit, the words Jet spoke had struck a chord. "I would have tried it." I didn't touch myself any more than I had to before, since doing so would have been a defeat in my eyes. But the time comes when you have to accept what life brings you, without whining or denial. I started with the new acquisitions, the nipples, big as ripe strawberries, on the conical expanse of the aureole, each seeming as sensitive as the head of the penis I used to have. I spent some time on the nipples alone, then a hand strayed to the crotch, which it seems, aroused, was even more sensitive. I idled myself in a fantasy, where I was a man again, and wandering my hands over a willing girl. I thought I had found the apex, but each time, I found a new plateau. The orgasm was soul shattering. I dried myself off and put on clean clothes, female ones. It didn't matter, I lost. Or did I win? I don't know, but what I had found was self-acceptance. And it didn't bother me that my last organized thoughts at orgasm were about Jet's hand on my female body. At school I was still on short schedule, but not to work at the store, but to attend Community College, Photography, Spanish and Russian for God's sake. Each day I drove three other "nerd" girls to accelerated classes. I was part of the "brain" social clique now, if you could call it a clique at all. I threw myself at class work. I didn't have much else to do. Jet moved in all the social circles at will, crossing the invisible lines that exist at all schools. Even with my new acceptance of fate, if you will, I still hated it, on a fundamental level. And if I could get my hands on the source, I would cheerfully throttle it. That someone could interfere with my life without regard to me or my friend angered me still. I still had no clue as to who had done it, nor would I ever I suspect, unless that source showed itself. I ran the lake circuit with Jet every night. In our conversations we speculated. I had the feeling it was not over yet, frankly, I expected my top to fill out as had happened to my rear. I was even anticipating it. Jet thought that he was as far as he was going. I once respected Jet for his physical skills, now I was in awe of his increasing mental clarity. Actually, I was in awe of my own as well, but I was way behind Jet. At night, I pleasured myself thinking about him, but I didn't dare let him know that. I could see where things were going, good thing Jet was clueless. About a week after my second change, Jet failed to show up for our run. In the morning I found out at school that Jet had been mugged, and had spent the night in the hospital for observation. I found it an odd coincidence that Bob (shifty) Johnson and Greg (dirty) Waters were sporting a shattered kneecap and doubled black eyes respectively. The two I knew well from our now non-existent days on the football squad together as "aggressive" players, they were well known as having rather bigoted opinions. In practice, Jet had always been in more danger from them than from any opponent. I had no doubt that the three sets of injuries were closely related. Jet was home before I was done with classes so I went there immediately. He was battered and bloodied, but in all I think, better condition than the two attackers I knew of. "Jeese, Jet," I said in the most innocent manner I could manage, "What Semi ran over you?" Jet half smiled through discolored lips, "It was a half dozen rabid Wolverines." "Bob and Greg I know about, who else?" "Oh just about the whole defensive line." So much for former friends. "They give a reason?" "Yeah, it was for the crime of dating outside my race." "But you never..." "We run every night, that was a date as far as they were concerned." My anger flared, both at our former allies, but also at our unseen tormentor. "When I find him, I will kill him, raise him from the dead so I can kill him again." "I'll hold him while you punch." Jet said, understanding who I was referring to. Jet was back in class the next day, and for most of the next week, I gave dark and threatening looks at the guilty boys. They had a cover story about being out at the lake, riding a borrowed dirt bike, but no one believed them. One of the boy's father was employed by Mr. Black, who called the man in to tell him there would be no retribution in absence of evidence, and probably not even if it were proven. I was feeling the stomach quivers that presaged my next period and maybe a week before the next new moon when it happened. I was walking down the hall from one class to another when I heard Greg's unpleasant voice behind me. "Move that fat ass, Nigger lover." I wheeled around fast and stared him down. Well, I stared at his Adam's apple, then brought my gaze upwards. He had a self serving smirk, as if he had done something that he was going to get away with. That smirk did it. As my rage grew, I remember thinking that I could show him what a real Wolverine could do. I took him down with a "knee break" takedown I knew from wrestling, and straddled his huge chest as I slammed my fists into his face over and over. I was pulled back by several people as that bastard whimpered and tried to crawl away. I was dizzy and weak, had he hit me? I realized I had crossed the line bad, I was in trouble. I was running at full speed for the parking lot as I heard the Assistant Principal yelling something I didn't want to hear. I could think of only one thing, run. It was my only solace, and my sanctum. I slid my car into the parking lot at the lake and hit the circuit. After a while, I realized I wasn't alone. "You want to hear what you did to him?" Jet asked as he paced me. "Whatever I did it wasn't enough." "I think it is, broken nose, cheekbone and jaw, 4 teeth knocked out and a separated kneecap. You probably ended his football career." "Serves him right, He had no respect for the gifts God gave him, only contempt." "Lee, you have to stop running." "No reason to, I can't go home." I gritted out bitterly. "You can turn yourself in." "That isn't it. I can't face my Father, because I am not repentant. That asshole deserved it and more." "I can think of another good reason." He said, "Look at your hands." In all the time I had been running, I had kept my gaze on the horizon, as if somehow I could actually reach it. I brought my hands up and looked at them. They were bloody and cut up, probably from the creeps teeth as I knocked them out. The fingers on the left hand were twisted and strange. Broken, they had to be, but I couldn't feel them. I was still marveling at the twisted fingers when the running path and my face collided. I wandered in and out of consciousness for a while. One time I heard Jet arguing with someone, and another time, my hands being wrapped in something. When I came fully aware, I found myself in a storeroom of some kind. I was on a folding cot; there was a small refrigerator and hot plate on a counter nearby. Jet and a man were sitting at a table nearby. As my focus improved I could see the second man was Coach Ramirez. Our Track and Field coach, and a weekended Paramedic. "She needs a hospital, Jet. I splinted the hand, and gave her some Lidocaine, but in a few hours she will need more and I won't risk my job again by giving it to her. The hand is shattered, every bone it looks like, and will probably have to be surgically repaired." "She can't go back coach. We both know it." "Well, give her one of these every 4 hours, and forget where you got them. And press her hard to get to a hospital now, while they can still save her some use of that hand." I held myself still, and silent, as Jet and Ramirez talked. I waited until Ramirez left. "Where are we Jet?" At the sound of my voice he jumped over to me. "A warehouse my uncle owns, it's empty, he knows we're here, and it's okay." "How did we get here?" "I dragged you off the running path to my car. After that it was easy." "You should have let me run. I could have gotten to the edge of the world and jumped off." "That is not what I want to hear Lee." "He's making me your girlfriend, making me want you, and it isn't right." "I won't do anything you don't want to." "But I do want to, and in a week, I will be ready. We don't have a choice, he isn't going to let us." I looked at him realizing that what I said was true, "But I am not worthy of you, my anger is out of control, I am hurting people. My soul is corrupt." tears welled up. "I can't have you, I am evil, it would not be fair." Jet didn't respond, I didn't expect him to. After a long awkward pause, he continued as if I had said nothing. "I got a friend to drive your car back to the school, they won't figure to look for it there." He fidgeted a bit, "Look, I have to show my face or they will be looking for both of us, can you hold out for a while?" "I can manage, I think." Rejection, as I expected, how could he want me if I couldn't want me. How could he want me knowing who I used to be? He looked at me for a moment, "There is food and soda, and a working bathroom over there." he took one last look at me, then slipped through the door. Alone, I had to time to think. I had shamed myself completely. There was no excuse. And yet I still felt no remorse. I didn't care, and that frightened me. I was becoming something I could not accept. Every problem I had since the game seemed to be answered in violence. And I had become so valueless that I could not work up remorse. All the ethical standards I believed in had been somehow short circuited, and I can't live with that. The changes to my body were trivial compared to the monstrous ones occurring in my own soul. What I must do became clear. Penance. I had to pull myself away from the world and find my ethical center. About a mile from my house is an abandoned brickyard, I could get there, no one will find me. My grandfather owned it but the land was useless and the building not worth enough as salvage to demolish it. Years ago, before I was born Dad had used the land as security for buying the hardware store. I don't know if that mortgage was still there, but it hardly mattered. Outside, it was morning; I had been out all night long. I hooked a bus using pocket change and was off. I wondered if my nemesis would find me, or if I could escape. Not that it would make any difference. Pain was acceptable, almost welcome. I found a place in the old brickworks and settled in. My hand was wrapped in yards of bandages, and a hard splint held the hand still. The drugs wore off, and it really began to hurt. I made a nest of some old tarps and waited. Nearby was a working water spigot, and from time to time I would get up and drink. Hunger was a transitory sensation that went away in time. I soon reached a point where my self didn't matter, my family didn't matter, Jet didn't matter. Pain mattered. Pain would purify. My period was such a trivial discomfort that I barely noticed it when it began, and in a fever that came a day or so later and stayed with me, didn't notice at all when it ended. I could see the turn of days and nothing mattered. I could die here, it would be good idea. Would the universe recycle itself back to normal, only without me? Would my family bury a son, or a daughter? I must have kept an internal count of days, because I knew when the new moon was due. In a fever dream I was making Jet a meatloaf, but kept getting blood in the food, and knew it wasn't right. So I would start over. If I didn't finish the meatloaf by the new moon it would turn into a casserole, which would be an inconvenience to everyone. Then I was taking a handoff from Dex, but Bob and Greg and the rest of the linemen were facing the wrong way. I was trying to work my way out the scramble and out in clear, looking for a receiver. Jet signaled that he was open in the end zone, so I fired off the meatloaf in a nice spiral pass. Then the Linemen tackled me, and pulled up my jersey. Greg and Bob reached from behind their backs, and came out with a pair of breasts. The linemen held me down and the two pushed the breasts under my shoulder pads, meanwhile, Jet did victory dance in the end zone, meatloaf held over his head. Cheerleaders shook pom-poms chanting, "You go girl." Mom handed me a corncob and Sally wanted to show me how to use it. Jason led a cheering section of rats in the stands, and Dad came out to tell me I had been accepted to charm school. I knew what I had to do. I had to run. And run. And run. There comes a moment that you are aware you are dying and it is okay. My head was clear and I was aware for the first time in days. I had no needs or wants or cares. I lay there in a field house full of the tools and equipment for maintaining an athletic field. That the brickhouse was gone didn't even register a pip to me, reality had changed again. But I was beyond such trivialities. My anger had burned out with the fever. I was in a peaceful place, my soul had no burdens. I didn't ponder over a non- existent future, nor or worry about the past, I was only in the moment. When people came into the room, I barely noticed. That they seemed so exited and urgent meant nothing to me. They lifted me unto a gurney and wheeled me out, I just looked at them with a slightly amused look on my face. The only reaction I had was when they wheeled me passed a sign: Black-Castelle Athletic Park. That struck me as funny somehow. I had an image of Knights jousting as maidens watched from the sidelines. "...extreme disassociative disorder, probably brought on by trauma, lack of food and dehydration. We will know more when she is stable." Poked. Prodded. Catheterized. Diapered. The only difference between me and a medical cadaver was that I was still breathing. I faded out for a while. "...injury to the hand was extensive. And the infections made it more difficult, but we expect recovery with limited mobility, maybe 50 percent or so. We know she is awake and aware, but she still has no signs of responding outside herself." People come and go. Some I know, others are strangers. None of this makes a difference. I don't have to think, I don't have to know. Food is put in front of me, then it is taken away. None of this matters, I am playing football. Every play, from Pee-Wee league to the Division Playoff. All mine, no one can take that from me. I guess now I was contemplating the Perfect Game. Hard fought, brutal as the sport can be, outcome in doubt till the last play. A ballet of pain, the commitment of 11 men to a simple goal, get the ball to the goal line. An aggressive dance and an art form. A symphony of grunts and groans, led by the barked commands from the Quarterback. Eventually I realized I wasn't dying, and that the game had to end. I had used my last time out and the final play had to take place. I realized Jet had been there with me often, sitting, waiting. When he and I were alone, I broke the silence. "Don't say a word to anyone." I grated out through disused vocal chords. Jet nearly hit the ceiling, startled, "You're awake!" "I always was, but I couldn't get through. Did I get tits? I was too far out to notice." "Yeah, you did." I didn't have the strength to move, to check things out. "So how are they?" "Big, but they shrunk a lot while you were out, you lost a lot of weight." "How long have I been in the twilight zone?" "A month, we thought you might not ever come out." "You sure of the timing?" He stooped for a second, "28 days, since you walked out of my Uncle's warehouse." "Yeah, 28 days, you know what that makes tonight?" "The night of the New Moon... but you finished changing, you are girl from head to toe." "One more change to go, and he'll be here personally to see to it, I can feel it." "I'll be here if I have to sneak in." "Thanks, I will need the support. But for now I think I need to speak to Dad. I have some serious explaining to do." I am not a coward, or at least I like to think of myself as not. The last few months had taught me that there were things about me I didn't like. A smug moral superiority, for one. A penchant for turning fear and anger into violence. The outright jealousy I had when someone got a break I didn't get. A bad habit of making bad choices when confronted by temptation. The beers had not teleported into my hand at the party, nor had they a few times before, like at the summer vacation party that cost me my mustang. The perfect son, yeah right, if the world wasn't turning for only for me. I made a great show of being the High School Hero, beyond reproach, a paragon of virtue. All false. All self-serving. And Jet. He was not the only black at our school, but I never spoke to any others, save the few girls he dated. About 20 percent of the school is Asian, did I mention that? Nope, didn't think so. I wonder if my friendship with Jet was only because he made me look good in the field. I had a lot to think about before my final doom at midnight. That night Jet slipped in. At the doorway, I saw him pass money to someone. "The deal is rigged." he said as he sat down on the side of the bed, "No one will 'see' me, and no one will come in unless you hit the call button." he looked at the bedside clock. "We have an hour to midnight." "An hour can be a long time." I said. "An hour is just about enough time to put this in perspective." I started, and Jet spun around the source of the new voice. It began as a wisp of a shadow in the corner of the room, but quickly took the form of a man, in seconds the fully formed figure of a man dressed all in black, was complete. He was familiar, but I was not sure why. "Mr. Jeremy." Jet said. "I am so glad you remember, but the lady seems not to, perhaps too many beers that night." I remembered then, that night, at the party. The High Roller who won the bet. "I make a point to see to the final phase of any work I do. And I must say, this one turned out very well, a few minor modifications and I will be off." "I think not." Jet said quietly. "Ahh, but I do, and that is what counts. I might suggest that you put the gun you have in your pocket on the table there so no unfortunate accidents happen," Mr. Jeremy smiled, "Not that any CAN happen. The gun is useless, the bullets have no powder. Now, I am sure you both have questions." "Yes," I said, surprised at my own calm, "One, Why." "Interesting evolution of soul, not 'Why me'." "The 'me' part is unimportant, now. Just explain it, do what you will and be gone." "And you Jet?" "I accept Lee's response, but I would rather pound you to a pulp." A glass appeared in Mr. Jeremy's hand, "Applause, Sir, refreshingly honest." He quaffed it. "To explain the 'why' we must first see the 'what'. The what was one half of a wish, split between the two of you." "One half of a wish?" Jet said. "Exactly so, Sir!" Mr. Jeremy sipped his drink. "Do you by chance remember yours?" "I do, but I can't see how making Lee a girl accomplished that." "And you, my dear lady, don't have a ghost of a clue, do you?" I could barely remember that night, so angry and drunk, the whole thing was a blur to me. I remember the beer, and being pissed at Mr. Jeremy for profiting at my expense. "Perhaps best I show you." The walls of the hospital room faded and I was again in the country club banquet room. Though I was in my proper body, I could do and see only what had been before. A beer in my hand, and still griping about the game, but I could see Jet standing alone, as Mr. Jeremy approached. As Mr. Jeremy spoke the noise of the crowd faded. "Mr. Black, your fine efforts were instrumental in my good fortune, I would like to extend a token of appreciation. Anything is possible, so choose with care." "If I could have anything, I guess beyond winning a game already lost, it would be to have Lee come with me to Western. We are too good a team to break up." "Consider it done, my good sir." The room noise swelled back up. OH. MY. GOD. Given a chance for nearly anything, Jet thought of me. And I remembered, I remembered what I said. I am such a petty jerk. "Jet, He did us no harm, I am responsible for this." "Ahhh, you remember now, we can skip the review if you wish." "No, he has to see how vile a creep I can be. Play it." I was again standing with that cursed beer in my hand. Mr.. Jeremy approached. "Good day sir. Your brilliant performance has enriched me, and I would offer you a token for my good fortune. Anything you might imagine, but choose wisely." "My brilliant performance..." I slurred, "My. Brilliant. Performance. Wrecked as usual by someone else's incompetence. I've been screwed over so many times by someone else's bad luck I might as well just lie down spread my legs and enjoy it." "And that is your wish?" "I wish to be seen for my achievement, I want my efforts to be recognized!" "As you will." Mr. Jeremy's image turned away. "Bastard." I said as the hospital room faded back into existence. Mr. Jeremy paused, for effect I suppose. "Now we will proceed with Why. And the simple answer, to stop a landslide." "All this to stop the Morningside development from sliding? Couldn't you just wave your hand?" I said. "No magic on earth can stop something that already happened. Unless, an Agent Of Change is found. I searched for years to find the exact persons to be that agent. I cast auguries on every individual connected in any way to the event, but it wasn't till I began to check on groups that the two of you showed up." "You couldn't have been concerned by a housing development, money could have solved that, and no one was significantly hurt in the accident. So why is it so important that you made this huge effort?" "To save a musician." "But, no one was hurt bad in the accident." Jet exclaimed. "The injuries were minor." "Robert Channing, age 12 at the time of the accident, would have been a major innovator in music 20 years from now. But a head injury destroyed the fine motor control of his hands, and effectively dropped his IQ by about 20 points. Since he was so young, and his potential not known, his injuries seemed minor." "It's almost midnight." Mr. Jeremy looked at his own pocket watch. "You know the How, What, and Why, one question remains, and time is fleeting." "And that is?" Jet asked. "Simply, sir, do I finish what I started, or undo it all?" "I can't answer that, I don't have the right." Jet said. "Indeed sir, the key is with the lady, as it has always been. She has an innate talent in magic that made this possible to begin with. Warping reality is difficult at best, almost impossible to make history coincide with it." I could see in Jet's eyes, what answer he needed, but was unwilling to influence my choice. It comes down to me. Do I choke? Or do I execute a flawless play and end a Perfect Game. I am humbled. "So all of this good was done, saving a talent, Jet's and my families good fortune, through me?" "Through you literally, I had to draw heavily on your native abilities of magic, to make this happen at all." "So if you were to restore me, all this is undone." "Yes. All of it and no way to try again." "Then finish the deed. I am ready." Not a bobble, or a hitch, Perfect execution, and the crowd goes wild. If you expect play by play, there isn't any. As the clock ticked over, the pain in my hand lessened considerably, overall I felt better. Jet looked at me oddly, and Mr. Jeremy nodded. "All is complete," He intoned. Then looked at us, "My work here is done." and he faded out like a bad movie special effect. Jet was still staring at me. "What did he do?" I asked, puzzled. "Did he put antlers on me or something?" "UHHH, No," Jet began slowly, "He... Uhhh... made you black." "Really?" I considered this, "Cool." Time to wrap this up. They let me go home the next morning. On the way home I saw the old brickyard had been turned into an athletic field, as I had seen. My parents were glad to have their adoptive daughter home. Even the rats seemed happy. As for Jet. Well, I am a couple shades darker than my fiancee now, and in bed I have take to calling him "paleface". The wedding is a week before our heading to Western. When I got home. The first thing I noticed was a note pinned to my pillow. Dearest Leigh, As you recover from your injuries you will discover the other aspects of your wish. You will find yourself, stronger, faster and more dexterous then you were as a man. There is no solo sport, like running, that you will not excel at. Except those that have 'artistic' considerations like ice skating or gymnastics, due to your rather abundant womanly charms. The high jump might be a bit of a problem too with that backside, but no matter. Professor Barnhart in the Anthropology department of Western is one of us, he will train you if you desire. He is expecting you to drop by. To you and yours, a good life. Mr. Jeremy. *** AP Greece, Olympic Games. Leigh Castelle, USA, turned in an amazing Marathon this afternoon, shaving 2 minutes off the Olympic record, and a full minute over her previous world record. Leigh's husband, Jerome (Jet) Black has maintained a slight lead in points with half the Decathlon events completed. The running events remain which are considered his strongest. Amolie Jane Black, age 2, the couple's first child watched her mother's victory from the stands, accompanied by her maternal grandmother. Leigh and Jerome run a free athletic program for youths in their hometown.