The VCR: Elaine free porn video

The VCR: Elaine By Dee Janes It started the week my wife and I separated. I got home on a Wednesday afternoon with no thought but making it two more days to the weekend. But after that came the screaming, the crying, and me getting my ass booted out of the house with nothing more than a suitcase of hastily gathered clothes. Honestly, I don't know what the fight was about. We'd been married ten years, and like any couple, we had a little argument now and then, but none of them had ever seemed serious, not to me, not until that afternoon when I ended up standing in the rain with the door of my own house slamming in my face. I still didn't want to believe this was serious. Not permanent serious. Terri and I had been together since college. No matter what she said, I wasn't going to give up on her. On us. Not like this. So I got a cheap pay-by-the-day hotel room a couple of miles from our house, and went to work on Thursday just like nothing had happened. I made it through most of Friday, but by that afternoon, I was feeling pretty frazzled. Trying to smile all day while on the inside you're really worried that your marriage might be over is damn hard work. So I told the boss I was going to burn a few hours of vacation and wasted the afternoon driving around aimlessly. It was almost dark when I saw the "Estate Sale" sign beside the road. Normally, I would have driven right past, but I was desperate for a little distraction, so I turned into the gravel drive and followed the rutted path up to the house. The house was old, and clearly in the middle of being knocked down. Siding had been pulled from the walls, revealing sheets of water-stained insulation. A guy with a beard was loading some furniture into the back of a truck when I drove up. Another guy was making off with some salvaged bricks. A pretty, thirty-something woman in a blue sweater greeted me as I climbed out of my car. "You almost missed it," she called. "I'm afraid there's not much left." Not much was an overstatement. There was a folding table with a banged up set of silverware and some mismatched glasses. There was a pot big enough to boil a missionary, and there was a cardboard box with a top held together by black tape. I pulled back the edge of the lid and saw the corner of a dull silver box. "What's this?" I asked. The woman walked over and pulled the box fully open. "It's a VCR." "That?" The thing was more the size of a microwave oven than any VCR I'd ever seen. "It's a top-loader," said the woman. She pressed a button and a chunk of the machine moved up with a mechanical groan. "It's old, but these things are built like a tank." She smiled at me, and I raised my estimate of her attractiveness. This woman wasn't just pretty, she was a beauty. Her hair was chopped short, and she wore no makeup that I could see, but she was a knockout. She reminded me of someone. Someone from a movie, or maybe TV. I caught myself staring at the woman and looked away. "Uh, so you're sure this thing still works?" "Absolutely." She patted the old machine like a favorite dog. "I thought about keeping it, but I... I don't really need it anymore." A VCR wasn't exactly on the top of my list either, especially an old clunker like this one. But while my el cheapo motel room did have a television, it didn't have so much as cable and my wife hadn't chucked any entertainment gear out the door with me. A weekend of watching old movies sounded better than a weekend of sitting around, moaning to myself about Terri. "How much?" The woman flashed another smile. "You look like someone that could use some this box. Five bucks." I peeled off a single bill and lugged the VCR back to the car. The thing was even heavier than it looked. "Have fun!" the woman called, as I started up and pulled away from the lot. I watched the woman in my rear view mirror. She really was a beauty -- the woman, not the VCR -- but I was a married man with hopes of saving that marriage. I put my mind on my driving and headed for my crappy room. When I started unpacking the VCR, I was pleased to find there was a length of old coax cable already in the box. Not only that, there were nearly a dozen homegrown tapes crammed in around the machine. There were no labels on the tapes, so I couldn't be sure it I had made off with copies of movies or home video of somebody's high school graduation. It took me a little wrangling, but soon enough green letters were blinking "12:00 AM" and the VCR was ready to go. I fished the first tape out of the box, slotted it, and pressed down the weird pop-up top. The first tape turned out to be a copy of the Julia Roberts film, The Runaway Bride. At least it proved that the VCR did work. In fact it worked quite well. Not a lick of static or bad tracking. Maybe the old ones really were the best. The next tape was of old episodes of Friends, looked like first season. Then, oddly enough, a tape of a Today show episode with Katie Couric interviewing some author. Like the other tapes, it seemed a few years old... I only watched a couple of minutes of each of these before popping in the next. This one turned out to be L. A. Confidential. That was a lot more to my taste. I lay back on the hard, narrow bed and watched the movie play out. When Kim Bassinger came up on screen, I sat up. That's who the woman in the blue sweater reminded me of, Kim Bassinger. The makeup was different, well, actually the makeup was absent, and the clothes and hair, but otherwise she was a dead ringer. For two hours, I almost forgot about Terri, and the argument, and my miserable condition. But as soon as the video ended, depression was waiting. It was Friday night, my wife was God knows where, and I was stuck in a crappy motel room. I reached for another tape. Seinfeld. It was filled with old episodes of Seinfeld. I had always been a fan of the series, so I let the tape play and lay back on the bed to watch. What happened next came from several factors: I was frustrated and bored, I had been away from my wife for days, and I always thought that Elaine on Seinfeld was pretty damn cute. What happened was that I started flogging the old monkey. Beating the meat. In good Seinfeld terms, I was no longer the master of my own domain. That's not such an unusual thing for a guy, married or otherwise. I know that I had failed to be king of the castle at least once a week since, well, forever. But what happened this time was very, very unusual. On the television screen, Elaine was walking on a treadmill in some tiny excuse for a gym. She looked especially hot in tight purple work out gear. Watching her, I slipped down my shorts and started my own one handed workout. Instead of the momentary tightness, jolt of relief, and brief period of warm pleasure, what I got was a tension that went tighter, and harder, and on and on and on. It seemed like I was on the edge of release forever, but it could have only have been seconds. Elaine was still walking on that treadmill when, suddenly, what looked like a bolt of lightning arced out of the television and struck me straight in the forehead. I had just a millisecond to think I was going to die from some freak electrical short. Cut to darkness. Waking up came slowly. I opened my eyes once and saw that the tape had ended and the television gone to static. I felt tired and disoriented, but I was alive. For the moment, that was enough. I closed my eyes again and fell into dreamless sleep. When I opened my eyes a second time, the TV was still producing the soft white glow of static, but now it was joined by a warmer yellow light leaking in around the window shade. I started to turn over to get away from the light, but as I did, a mass of something dark and soft fell over my face. I reached up to brush it away and found my fingers caught in something tangled and thick and heavy that felt very much like hair. Then I tried to sit up. That motion was enough to let me know that something exceptionally weird was going on. The dark stuff that felt like hair was attached to my own head. There wasn't just a little of it, there was a mass, a bushel, a whole heaping helping of hair. It was thick enough that I felt like it was going to smother me as it fell over my face, and long enough that it dropped down past my shoulders. At the same moment, I got a glimpse of my hand. There had never been anything special about my hands. Ordinary guy hands. Only now my hand was tiny, pale, and smooth. Not an ordinary guy hand. Not a guy hand at all. I reached up with both of my strangely shrunken hands and pushed the curtain of hair out of my face. The weirdness only got worse from there. My shorts, which had been pulled down so I could get to the de-mastering of my domain, were still around my knees. Only my knees were different. Instead of the tree-trunk thighs I had been familiar with all my life, my legs were smooth, thin, and curved in a very interesting way. Even more noticeable -- the object of my self-pleasuring was gone. In its place was a patch of curly, dark brown hair. Whatever else was now between my legs was hard to see. The business shirt I had been wearing when I fell into the bed was tented out by twin hills, not mountains, but pretty serious hills. My extra small hands were shaking as I reached down and gently pressed against the blue cotton cloth. I hadn't been with all that many women, but there was no doubt what was under my shirt. I had boobs. A cold wave ran over me and my vision went to black and white. Something bitter and acid rose up in the back of my throat. For a second I wasn't sure if I was going to throw up, pass out, or have a heart attack. Trembling, I pushed my legs over the side of the bed. My feet didn't reach the floor. I started to laugh, but it came out in this high pitched giggle and I swallowed the sound before it could turn into hysteria. My arms felt like boiled noodles, but I managed to push myself off the bed and ease my feet down to the floor. Standing was a challenge. Not only did I feel weak as a fifty cent highball, everything felt wrong. I felt like I might fall backwards, or forwards, or both. The tail of my shirt slipped down along my legs as I stood until the bottom was almost at my knees. I took a step before I realized that my shorts were still twisted around my legs, then sat back down on the bed and carefully pulled them off over my feet. My very small feet. Then I stood up again and made my way, one careful step at a time, to the bathroom. The motel was too cheap to have a full-length mirror, but there was a good-sized mirror behind the sink. I felt around on the wall for the light switch -- which seemed to have been repositioned to a much higher spot -- then turned to see what in hell was going on. What I saw made me stagger back until my padded bottom came in contact with the cold tile wall. I was Elaine. Same heart-shaped face. Same big brown eyes. Same incredible mane of nearly black curls. The face in the mirror didn't look exactly like the woman on TV. This face wasn't wearing any makeup, and I had never seen Elaine with such an expression of absolute fear, but there was no doubt whose skin I was wearing. Somehow, I had been turned into a duplicate of Elaine from Seinfeld. I swallowed and took a step toward the sink. Not only had I changed, everything in the bathroom seemed to have grown. The sink was several inches higher than I remembered, and when I stepped close, the point of my new little chin was too low to be seen in the mirror. Was Elaine really that short? I took a small step back so that I could see my complete face. My hands were shaking so badly that I could barely raise them to my chin. I felt smoother than I had after any shave. I stuck my tongue out. It was small, and pink, and not at all the tongue I was used to having in my mouth. I took one of the long brown curls in my left hand and gave a little tug. Then I winced. The hair was definitely attached to my scalp. "A dream," I said aloud. The voice that came from my mouth didn't sound exactly like the woman on TV, but it sure didn't sound like my normal voice. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Hello there," I said. "I'm Elaine. Get out!" I started to laugh again, and this time I didn't manage to stop. There was a tingling feeling at the back of my head and a roaring sound in my ears. Ladies and gentlemen, the patient is going into simultaneous shock and hysteria while experiencing a major break with reality. Cue the men with a big net. I laughed so hard I had to lean on the sink to keep from falling and tears started to leak from my newly brown eyes. Was George going to walk in? Would Jerry ask to borrow some cereal? This was all completely surreal. After a minute, I got a grip on myself and wiped the tears from my face. Surreal was definitely the word. This had to be some kind of dream. Or major hallucination. Maybe someone had slipped some magic mushrooms into my fast food. Maybe I had fallen down and hit my head on the bathroom sink. Things like this could not possibly happen in real life. Men did not turn into copies of women overnight. I glanced down. My dress shirt was buttoned, but it was also quite a bit too large for my reduced frame. Between the top buttons, I could just make out the shadowed space between my breasts. If I was going to have a dream, I might as well make it a good one. I took hold of the shirt and started opening the buttons. When the last button was open, I let the shirt fall to the floor and stood in front of the mirror completely nude. Elaine was a hottie. I had always known this, I guess. After all, I had been indulging in some Elaine fantasies when this thing started. But I hadn't appreciated just what was under all those frumpy clothes she was always wearing on Seinfeld. I had picked up a thin waist that belled out to round -- but not too round -- hips. I figured I had to weigh no more than one ten, one fifteen tops. The breasts were good. They seemed farther over to the side than I would have thought, and they kind of pointed left and right instead of straight ahead, but they were a good shape. Not huge knockers by any standard, but bigger than I had expected. At least as big as my wife's. I grinned at the mirror and tried to imagine that scene. "Honey, you mind if I borrow one of your bras?" I lifted the breasts in my hands and felt their weight. The nipples tightened down into hard little points like pencil erasers and when I brushed them with my thumbs they sent electric vibrations that ran from my chest straight down to the gap between my legs. They certainly felt real. Leaving one hand on the breastage, I sent the other one exploring downward. What I found between my legs was like discovering a strange new continent in your own backyard. Everything felt so different, I wasn't even sure what I was feeling. When I found the warm little ridge that had to be the clitoris, the first touch nearly buckled my knees. I tried to look down there to see what I was touching, but the breasts blocked part of the view and every time I lowered my chin I got a face full of that infinitely thick hair. There had to be five pounds of hair alone. I could even feel the weight of the curls pulling on my head. I took my hands back from the strange new lands and pushed the hair away from my face. The girl in the mirror didn't look quite as frightened as she had a few moments earlier. She was still definitely all girl, though, with absolutely no sign of my old face. I leaned up close to the glass. They say the eyes are a gateway to a person's soul, but these warm chocolate brown eyes didn't belong to me. I didn't think anyone would be spotting my soul buried behind this face. Somewhere back in my teenage years, I remember someone telling me that if you jacked off, you could go blind. No one had ever told me I might turn into a girl. The air was starting to feel awfully cold against my smooth, hair-free skin and a new set of the shakes was coming on strong. I picked the shirt up off the floor, slipped it on, and buttoned it just enough to keep it from falling off. My breasts still threatened to peek out of the collar. This dream was going on for a long time. Too long. A new kind of fear was starting to gnaw at my gut. This wasn't the rough shock I had felt when I woke up and found myself staring at Elaine's face in the mirror. This was the growing realization that it was real, I actually had been turned into a woman, and I showed no sign of changing back. I ran a sink full of cold water cupped it in my hands, and splashed it against my face. It felt cold, and I shivered, but the face in the glass didn't change. I was still Elaine. Maybe I was going to stay Elaine. Maybe forever. The little fear snakes started biting harder. It was time to figure out what had happened to me and see if there wasn't some way to make it un-happen. Right now. With one last look at that shocked face, I wandered back into the main part of the motel room. By any estimate, I had done the self-pleasuring bit at lest five jillion times before and never woken up with knockers. Something was clearly different this time. Soemthing was new. I looked at the television. I had been watching Elaine on the television when this happened. Clearly, the TV had something to do with it. Or maybe... "The VCR!" I dropped down on my knees, the dress shirt pulled open as I did, and looked at the big clunky appliance I had picked up from the estate sale. There was no brand name. I held back my hair with one hand and craned my neck to look around at the back. No serial number. This was definitely not your usual store bought variety of electronics. Another new thought: the woman that had sold me this thing had looked exactly like Kim Bassinger. Exactly. Had she also been transformed by the device? If I had decided to get my jollies while watching L.A. Confidential, would I be tall and blond now instead of short and brunette? Was this thing capable of turning someone into the image of anyone they were watching? It didn't seem possible that any device -- much less a yard sale VCR -- could do something like this. It was more like something that might have come from a secret lab, or the X-Files, not from some yard sale. It wasn't a very complete theory, but at least it was a theory. I thought about the new anatomy between my legs. What if I put on another tape and put a hand down into the slippery spots of Elaine's anatomy? If I rode the rocket in Elaine's body, would I be transformed into whoever was on the screen when I reached takeoff? What if I put in a tape with my own image. The me before I turned into a she. A little rubbing of the magic lamp and presto-chango, I could be back to normal. Maybe there was a way out of this situation after all. I grinned to myself and started to relax a little. It wasn't a sure thing by any means. After all, there was no way a VCR could turn me into a woman, so there was no way it could turn me back. This whole thing was a slice of madness. But in the insanity of the moment, it at least seemed like a chance. Then I frowned again. There weren't any tapes in the box with the pre-she me on them. If I was going to get back to my own skin, I would need to find some tapes that had my own face. After thinking for a second, I knew just where to find them. Back at the house, there were tapes from the wedding, and some other tapes from over the years -- even a couple of secret tapes of some bedroom activities. All I had to do was get one of those tapes, bring it back here, and try out my little science experiment. I stood up and actually took two steps toward the door before the obvious occurred to me. I wasn't me. I was Elaine. More specifically, I was a petite woman with a curvy figure barely disguised under a man's workshirt with not a stitch of clothing that would fit. Before I could go outside, I was going to have to find something to wear. And once I got to my house, I couldn't exactly knock on the door and say, "Hi, sweetheart, it's me. I turned into a girl and I need to borrow the sex tapes, okay?" One step at a time. I dug around in my clothing and found a pair of gray sweatpants. I pulled on a pair of my shorts, but they were tight across the hips, loose at the waist, and bunched up between the legs. Hopeless. I pulled them off and tried the sweatpants alone. Elaine was a lot shorter than my old body, but a larger percentage of my new form seemed to be made of legs. The sweatpants were huge and baggy, but they were almost the right length. I pulled the drawstring tight around my waist and tucked the string inside. The lack of any underwear felt strange -- especially with the void between my legs. My first day as a girl, and already I was going sans panties. Oh, what a naughty girl. I unbuttoned the dress shirt and took it off. My breasts swung down as I fumbled through my clothes and came out with a worn T-shirt with a logo for the Miami Dolphins. It hung on me like a sack, but it was the best thing I could think of. I took a quick trip back to the bathroom to check my look. The girl in the mirror looked pale and her hair was a mess. It was also abundantly clear she was going bra-less. The neck of the T-shirt was so large that it threatened to slip from my shoulders and exposed the upper curve of my breasts. If I had seen this girl walking around, I would have definitely thought she looked a little whacko -- and a whole lot hot. There was a comb in my stuff, but trying to run it through the thick hair only brought me one shot of pain after another. Then I had to spend five minutes just trying to extract the comb from the mess I had made. Finally, I found a piece of string and pulled back the mass into a rough ponytail. It didn't look right, but somehow it looked cute. I think anything I did to this body was going to look cute. The last step before leaving the room was to get on some shoes. My legs might be as long as they had been, but my feet were teeny tiny. I could put both of them into one of my old sneakers. I balled up one pair of socks into the toes of my sneakers, then put on two other pairs and I still had to shuffle my feet to keep from losing the shoes. I grabbed my car keys and billfold and headed for the door. When the door opened, I found myself staring face to chest with a tall man in a blue sweatshirt. "Where's Donnelly?" said the man. For a moment, I had a hard time breathing. As a guy, I was dead on six feet tall, and not much used to looking up at people, but this guy towered over me so much that he made me feel like a child. "What?" I asked. It came out as a squeak. "Donnelly," the man repeated. "He owes rent for two days." It took me until then to recognize the man as the motel manager. From this angle, he looked a lot different, and a lot meaner. "Uh, he's not here." The manager looked down at me and frowned. "Hey, you're not staying here are you? Donnelly didn't pay for two people." I shook my head, the loose ponytail bouncing against the sides of my face as I did. "I, um, I'm just a friend. I, I mean, Charley, I, uh..." "Whatever," said the manager. "But you tell Donnelly he needs to come by the office and pay. And if you're staying here, he needs to pay for you, too." The man's gaze shifted direction, and I realized he was staring down the open neck of my T-shirt. "I will," I said. Then I hurried across the parking lot toward my car, my breasts doing their own little dance at every step. "Hey!" the manager shouted after me. I turned around, so nervous that I was trembling. "What?" His angry expression suddenly changed to a grin. "Anyone ever tell you that you look like that chick on Seinfeld?" I strangled a laugh. "No. Never." "Well you do," he said. The car door slammed behind me and I collapsed in the seat. The first encounter between the new me and another human being left me half frightened and half amused. It was obvious that this wasn't just some kind of hallucination that only affected me. I didn't just think I looked like Elaine. The manager saw me that way too. This was real. But at least he hadn't pointed at me and said, "Hey look, Charley Donnelly is a girl!" No one would know it was me. The car seat had to be moved forward to its limits before I could reach the pedals. And then the seat belt seemed designed to smash my new breasts flat. I wiggled around in the seat for a good five minutes before I got comfortable enough to start the motor. With the car underway, I took it easy for two reasons. First off, this body felt strange and even turning the steering wheel seemed to take more effort. Second, I was afraid of getting pulled over if I did anything wrong -- I sure didn't look much like the picture on my driver's license. I cruised the few blocks to my house and was disappointed to see the brown Honda in my driveway. Terri was home. There was no way I could go up to her in my feminine condition and ask to get the tapes, I was going to have to wait until she went out for some reason, then try to dart in and get the video. Until then, it was going to be a stake out. There was a Taco Bell on the corner where I could see every car that came in or out of the neighborhood. I could perch there and nurse a slow case of munchies while I waited for Terri to leave. As I came up on the Taco Bell, I noticed that a group of guys were standing around the door talking. Inside, the place seemed busy. Lots of teenagers. Some families. Some twenty-something singles. Normally, I wouldn't have cared, but then normally I wasn't a small, attractive woman with nipples showing through my T-shirt. If I sat in a booth for hours, looking the way I did at the moment, I was going to draw some unwanted attention. I decided to make a quick stop at the Target next door and buy Elaine something better to wear in public. The sneakers on my feet felt like clown shoes as I shuffled my way into the store. By instinct, I started to pass up the women's clothing, then I realized that it was now just the section for me. I wandered into the racks. Compared to the men's clothing section, the women's section was huge. You could have put the whole men's section into the space women had for just jeans. With my reduced size, I had a hard time seeing over the displays and the whole store had a weird, maze-like feel. Plus, I was completely clueless about women's clothes. I pondered the difference between juniors and misses. Which one was I? I picked up a pair of jeans from a display and realized I had no idea what size I wore. If the things had been sized in inches, I might have made a decent guess, but the sizes made no sense to me. I remembered that Terri wore a size eight. But Terri was taller than me. Taller than Elaine, I mean. Did height have anything to do with the size? First things first. I was wearing no underwear. And, man or woman, trying on clothes without undies was just gross. I turned and marched across the aisle into the weird wonderland that was the women's lingerie department. The selection of colors and fabrics was amazing. I had glanced at the stuff before, of course, and Terri had a pretty good collection, but now that I was standing in the middle of the racks, there seemed to be way too many choices. There were bras made from black lace, white cotton, and tiger- stripe spandex. Twenty shades of pink. Fifty shades of tan. Bras that closed in the front, the back, ones that slipped over your head, and ones that had no straps at all and stayed up only through some esoteric brand of female magic. I pulled down a white sports bra from a rack and held if up next to me. It seemed like a good choice because A) sports bras tended to make breasts looks smaller and B) I always thought sports bras looked pretty cool. This one looked sort of the right size, though I couldn't be sure. I clutched it and headed for the panty zone. Some of the panties were sized in the same strange way as the jeans, but others, I was glad to see, came in the simple small, medium, and large sizes. I grabbed a pack of mediums in a light blue color. After all, how wrong could you go with medium? I headed for a dressing room. There was a girl outside who gave me a funny look as I started to go in. I thought for a moment she could tell I was a guy, but this was probably the same funny look she gave to any woman wearing a huge T-shirt and clown shoes. I tried my best to make a friendly female to female smile and walked over to her. "Hi, I've got a problem. I was on a trip, see, and the, uh, airline lost all my luggage and I need to buy everything." The girl's expression didn't change. "Everything?" "Like some underwear," I said. "Look, I'm going to go in there and put on some underwear. Then I'm going to try on some other clothes. Don't worry, I'll save the package and pay for it on my way out. Just don't arrest me for shoplifting, okay? I'm not trying to get away with anything." The girl shrugged. "Go ahead," she said. "I'm not going to ring the bell." I assumed that was a good thing. I slipped into the dressing rooms, found an open booth, and closed the door. I held up the pair of panties and looked at them for a few seconds. The utter weirdness of the situation came back to me again. The idea that I would be in a dressing room at Target, getting ready to slip into panties and a bra. That idea that I would need a bra. I shook my head and tore open the package. Once I got the baggy sweatpants and the T- shirt off, I got another good look at the new me. Definitely curvy, definitely female, definitely Elaine. I stared at the figure in the dressing room mirror and shook my head. Even if it was real, it was way too weird. I got lucky on the bra. It was tight, probably too tight to be comfortable on an every day basis, but I wasn't planning on needing a bra for more than a few more hours. The panties had the opposite problem; they were a bit big at both the waist and the legs. But for someone that had never thought that much about women's sizes and in a body I had only seen naked for five minutes, I thought I did a damn good job. I took another glimpse at the woman in the mirror. For some reason, the lingerie made the image look even more attractive. I felt my nipples tighten and saw the little bumps appear under the bra as I looked at my reflection. For the first time I felt a kind of loose warmth start to grow between my legs. I shook my head and looked away from the mirror. It was definitely time to get back to business. After the under-duds, I went off to complete my attire. It took me four pairs of jeans before I zeroed in on a pair in size six petite. Not a perfect fit, but close enough. How could anyone ever get a good fit with so few sizes? A small knit shirt, and a pair of plain white sneakers -- size five and a half. These feet really were that tiny. With all my loot in my teeny little hands, I shuffled up to the front of the store and put the clothes down on a counter. I had a moment of panic when I looked in my billfold and noticed I only had ten bucks, but I managed to run my debit card through the machine and no one complained. In fact, the only comment came from the woman at the check out register. "Hey," she said. "You look just like that woman on TV." After making my purchase, I slipped into the bathroom of the store and changed into my girlie clothes. By shopping cheap, I had kept the cost of my Elaine outfit down to a little over fifty bucks. Pretty good, but it still seemed like a lot for something I would only be wearing a couple of hours. With all the clothes on, I took one last look in the mirror. With the jeans on and a pale green knit shirt, I looked remarkably normal -- for someone in the wrong body. My hair was a mess again. Half of it had escaped from my makeshift ponytail and was curling around my face. I fumbled the string loose, pulled back the wad of dark curls forcefully, and tied the bundle again. I did a better job of it the second time. I turned from side to side, looking at the way the mass of hair billowed out behind my head. No one had called me cute since my sixth grade graduation, but cute was the word for this girl in the mirror. I was cute. With my sweats in my arms, I got back to the car. I drove over to the Taco Bell where I would conduct my watch over the neighborhood and went inside. My new set of clothes might have kept me from looking like a freak, but it didn't stop me from feeling like a midget. As I stood in line for my food, every guy seemed to tower over me, and I noticed several of them giving me head to toe examinations. This could not be over too fast to suit me. I ordered a couple of basic tacos and headed for a seat. When I was handing over the change to the teenage boy at the register, he started on what was quickly becoming the theme of the day. "You know," he said. "Anyone ever tell you that you look exactly like Elaine on Seinfeld?" "No," I said. "Never." For the next twenty minutes, I munched slowly through my food and watched the cars going up and down the street beside the Taco Bell. It wasn't until I was halfway through taco number two that I realized that I had played this wrong. For all I knew, Terri had gone out while I was on my mini-shopping spree. The house could be clear right now. I tossed the rest of the food and went out to the car. When I got close to my house, I did not like what I saw. Not only was Terri's car still in the drive, her mother's wagon was in the drive beside it. I was doubly blocked out. This was definitely not good. When Terri called in her mom for emotional reinforcement, they could go all day on nothing but a box of Kleenex and a quart of ice cream. My odds of getting to the tapes in the next few hours were essentially zilch. I slammed the car into reverse, turned around, and zipped back out of the street. There seemed to be no way around it, I was going to spend at least one day in the body of Elaine. Of course, I could go back to the motel room, pop in another tape, and see if it was possible to go from Elaine to one of the other video babes. It would be interesting to see what it felt like to walk on Julia Robert's ultra-long legs. But I wasn't about to risk that. I had no idea how this thing really worked. I might have only one shot at turning myself back. As I passed a line of strip malls, I did see one thing that I was willing to risk. I slipped into a parking space and marched my petite self through the door of Great Clips. "Can I help..." started the girl at the reception desk, then her expression changed to a smile. "You know, you look just like that girl on Seinfeld." "Not for much longer," I said. I reached back and grabbed the thick disaster I had made of my hair. "I want to get this cut off." "Are you sure? You've got great hair." "I'm sure." Ten minutes later I was sitting in a chair and chunks of brown curls were hitting the floor. I didn't go completely Sinead O'Conner with my new head, but I did get the mess chopped back to where the curls barely covered my ears instead of spilling over my shoulders. "What do you think?" asked the stylist. I looked into the mirror. "It looks good," I said. In fact, it looked great. The hair floated around my head in a cloud of loose spirals that bounced at every movement. The most noticeable feature about Elaine had to be that pile of hair, but in fact she had a fabulous face. With the hair shorter, the face got more emphasis. I looked different. Maybe even better. Prettier. Once again, I felt my nipples hardening under my shirt. I was tempted to try something even more radical, like dying the hair that remained red or bleaching it blond, but I figured that I had done enough to stop most of the "you know who you look like" remarks. I gave the stylist a nice tip. I spent the afternoon just driving around. A quick trip back to the place where I had purchased the VCR showed that the Kim Bassinger look-alike was gone and the house completely empty. There was no help on that front. I made one last check to see that Terri was still parked at the homestead, then retreated to the motel as the night came on. Once the door was shut, I sat down on the bed and sighed. In the last twelve hours, I had tried on my first bra, my first panties, gotten my hair styled, and moved into a whole new body. It was a busy day for any girl, much less for a guy that had spent the whole day right on the edge of going completely crackers. With the motel room door securely locked the blinds firmly closed, I sat on the edge of the bed and twirled a twist of hair between my fingers. This still felt so unreal, but no dream could last so long or be so detailed. After sitting for a few minutes, I wandered back into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. With the new hairstyle, I no longer looked like I had stumbled straight from an episode of Seinfeld, but I sure didn't look like myself, either. I looked like a girl. Because I was. I thought about going out to get something to eat. Better yet, something to drink. Only I knew what would happen if I sat this body down on a barstool alone. After everything else that had happened, I couldn't deal with some guy hitting on me. I made an attempt at watching TV, but I just couldn't concentrate. Every five minutes, I was up and looking at myself in the mirror again. I whipped off the knit shirt and did some underwear modeling. Then I whipped off the underwear and gave myself a little all nude, all girl dance act. A little grind of the hips. A little bouncing to see the boobies bobbling. Only when my hands were aching to explore the details of this new body did I manage to calm down and put some clothes back on. Finally, I got completely dressed, went back to the car, and drove to the big Kohl's clothing store. I told myself that I was just killing time. The truth was, I wanted to see how some other clothes would look on this little curvy body. After my morning experience, I had a better idea of what sizes to look for. Pretty soon I was carting a load of candidate clothes into the dressing room. I tried some sweaters that looked pretty damn good on my small frame. I tried some stretch pants, and then a skirt, and finally a red dress that left my arms and legs bare. I tried a purple push up bra that gave me a mile of cleavage and translucent blouse that left nothing to the imagination. By the time I left the dressing room, I was so turned on, I could barely walk. The temperature between my legs would have been enough to light a fire. Giving a guy complete control and unlimited access to an attractive female body was a recipe for insanity. At least I made it out of the store with only one purchase: a blue shortie nightgown. After all, I had to sleep in something. Back at the motel, I saw the manager watching me from the window of the office. Nervousness overcame horniness as I remembered that the manager had a key to every room. There was nothing I could do about it but hurry to the room and lock the door again. Inside, I stripped off my clothes, slipped on the nightgown, and slid under the sheets. I was absolutely sure that I was going to be awake all night. So naturally I fell asleep in five minutes flat. When I woke up, there was this moment of perfect disorientation. I was in an unfamiliar place and everything -- I mean everything -- felt strange. I looked down and saw this green nightgown and pale legs. I wasn't not me. My breath came in a hundred little gasps and I start to hear a ringing in my ears before I got myself under control. I wondered how many mornings it would take before I could wake up and not come within an inch of fainting. A glance at the clock showed that I've slept until ten. The hour doesn't mean much to me at first, then it struck me that this was a Sunday. Terri never missed church. I peeled off the nightgown, dressed in my one set of girl clothes as quickly as I could and set out to find the magic tape. I was incredibly relieved to find the driveway empty when I got to my house. I pulled into the driveway, ran for the door, fumbled with my keys, and tried to get inside before anyone could spot some "strange woman" going into our house. If I remembered right, the tapes I needed were in the back of the bedroom closet. I practically ran through the house -- thank God for the bounce control of sports bras -- and tossed open the door to look inside. The first thing that confronted me was all of Terri's clothes. I started to push them away, then a short black dress caught my eye. I pulled it down from the rack and gave it a long. Thin spaghetti straps. Plunging neckline. The dress looked good on Terri. I wondered how it would look on me. It was maybe a size too big, but... I shook my head. Insanity was coming on fast. I put my wife's dress back on the rack and bent down to search for the box of tapes. First I had to make my way past Terri's collection of ten thousand shoes. She had shoes in all colors for all occasions, but I'd never paid much attention to them before. I picked up a pair of high heels and turned it over in my hands. Shoes were one thing I hadn't thought to try in my personal fashion review. Funny thing was, there was no temptation in these heels -- all of Terri's shoes were now two sizes too big for my micro feet. I opened some boxes at the back of the closet, looking for the tapes, but most of them held only out of season clothes. The first one held nothing but tank tops, the next a stack of shorts. Box number three had swim suits. Including a black bikini. It was the bikini that tripped me up. I resisted the temptation to try the little back dress, and the rest of Terri's clothes would probably be too big on me, but I figured we were just about the same size through the chest area. Despite my current anatomy, I was still a guy underneath. I couldn't pass up the chance to see what Elaine looked like in a bikini. Ten minutes later, I was in our bathroom, strutting my stuff, or Elaine's stuff, in front of the full-length mirror. It was good stuff. They definitely should have let Elaine wear some skimpier clothes on the show; it would have helped the ratings. Okay, so it was already the highest rated show on TV, but still. I heard a car door slam. The sound made me jump like I had been shot. I raced back to the bedroom, found my scattered Elaine-sized clothes on the floor and started yanking on jeans right over the bikini. As I was reaching down for my shoes, I finally noticed the box of tapes in the back. With no time to worry about my shirt, I reached in, grabbed one, and beat a path for the back door. I was just about to leave when I heard the front door open. "Charley?" my wife called. "Charley, I know you're in here. I saw the car outside. Let's sit down and talk." Terri didn't sound mad at all, and for a moment I started to walk to her. Then I realized I would have a hard time explaining why I was wearing her bikini -- much less a different body. As quietly as I could, I opened the back door and slipped outside. Then I hustled around the house, feeling both embarrassed and very cold in my jeans and black bikini top. I got into the car and was backing up when Terri came out the door and started toward me. I gunned the engine and zipped back down the street, but from the little glance I had of her face, there was no doubt she had seen me. Once I was back in my own skin, I would need to explain what a strange woman was doing in my car. Skin first, explanations later. I drove back to the motel as fast as I dared and went to the door of my room, but when I tried to open the door, it wouldn't work. I twisted the key desperately, but the knob would not turn. "I locked it," said a voice at my back. I turned around and found the motel manage walking toward me. "Can you open it?" I asked. "I left some things in there." The man stopped a couple of steps away and shook his head. "Can't do it. Not until Donnelly comes and pays up." I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached. The VCR tape was in my hand. All I had to do was get inside, pop it into the VCR, and in ten minutes I could produce Charley Donnelly, but until I got in, there was no chance. "Let me go in and call him." "Call him from the office," said the manager. I took a deep breath. "Look, Charley had to go out of town for business. How about I pay the bill and you let me in?" He considered this for a minute. "I'll need to see some ID." I could have flashed a credit card, but I didn't think he'd buy the coincidence that I just happened to have the same name as the guy who rented the room. "Couldn't I have just five minutes to get my things? I'll pay." "Charles Donnelly signed for that room. No one gets in there until I get paid my Charles Donnelly." The manager looked me up and down. "What do you work?" The question caught me by surprise. "I, uh..." "I bet you dance down at the Golden Calf," he said. A broad grin broke out on his face. "Don't you." "Dance?" I felt a flush that ran from my head down to my sneakered feet. I was walking around in October in a bikini top, and from that the guy thought I was some kind of stripper. "I'm an accountant." "Yeah?" He shook his head. "You can do my books any time." I risked a smile. "You let me into that room, and I'll do your books for a year. No charge." The grin disappeared from his face. "You want to get into that room awful bad." "Like I said, I left some things in there." "Must be pretty valuable things." His expression turned thoughtful. "You better come over to the office with me." I took a step back. "I don't think so." The manager's eyes went narrow. "Anybody wants to get into a room that bad, makes me think there's more going on in there than sleeping. What have you and Donnelly been doing in my motel? You running drugs? You whoring? I think the police..." However that sentence was going to end, it wasn't going to be good. I sprinted for the car, made it inside, and managed to punch the lock button before the manager could open the door. I left the parking lot with a stream of curses and threats following me out. My heart was beating so much, I could watch the bikini shake. By now, Terri had probably gone through the house and found the shirt, sports bra, and panties I had left behind. She might also notice the missing bikini and tape. And she had seen a strange woman leaving the scene in my car. She knew something weird was underway. The motel manager was sure that I had been doing something inside the room and wasn't about to let me in. Between the two of them, somebody was bound to be calling the police right now and they both had the license number for my car. Add it all up, and it looked like I was not going to get a chance to feed my tape into the VCR. Which meant that I was going to stay Elaine. I wanted to lie down, curl into a nice little ball, and practice the ancient art of going into shock, but there wasn't time for that. I zoomed to the bank, ignoring two stop signs, and took out the maximum amount from my account. Then I stopped at a small shop and suffered through the embarrassment of wearing a bikini into the store while I bought more clothes, a purse, and a small suitcase. I charged that mess. Then I ditched the car, packed all the things into the suitcase, and hiked to the bus terminal. Forty five minutes later, I was on my way to the left coast. I've never seen my house, my wife, or my life again.