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Rejuvenation By Bill Hart Thomas Higgs hobbled slowly up the walk of the imposing mansion. His knees ached. He'd slowed down considerably in the last several years as advancing age took its toll. He was going to turn eighty-four next week. He wasn't as young or as spry as he'd once been, but then who was after making it into their ninth decade. Of late, there had been several times he wished he could be young and full of vigor again. If only he could be young again, there were many things - weren't there always - he would do quite differently in his life. However, he knew regaining his spent youth was simply an impossible dream. He'd already lived his life - in all likelihood nearly to its undeniable and inescapable end. A life once lived was lived just once and for all time. There could be no rewinding of a lifetime. And yet, even if he somehow could begin his life anew, he wasn't sure he would. Thomas sighed. It was a longer walk than he'd expected. And the walk only served as a reminder of his advancing age. But there were things even worse than getting older as each day passed day. And the worst of those was continually losing those good friends he'd known his entire life. There weren't too many of his friends left anymore. Some of their passings had been particularly hard on Thomas. But none of them had been as difficult as the one he'd endured last week. Arnold Wheeler had been his best friend in the whole world ever since they were kids way back in grade school. He'd passed away so suddenly - old age can sneak up on a body sometimes - that Thomas hadn't even had the time to say goodbye. Even at his funeral, he hadn't been able to say goodbye. The casket had already been sealed. Arnie had never been comfortable with the idea of people staring at his dead body. But all this thinking only made Thomas wonder again what he was doing here. He didn't know anyone in this posh and expensive neighborhood; nobody he knew even had enough money to rent the gardeners' shacks in these places. But that name - Alan Wheeler - on the letter he'd received had intrigued him. Thomas wondered if this Alan were related to Arnie somehow. He couldn't be his son. Thomas knew that Arnie, just as he himself was, had been a bachelor his whole life. That didn't preclude his having kids, of course, but Arnie had never mentioned having any. And Thomas was certain he would have known if there had been any. He and Arnie had few secrets between them. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Thomas reached the front door. On the front step, Thomas took a couple of long deep breaths, exhaling each of them in similar manner. He slowly reached for the large brass knocker - oddly he could find no bell - in order to rap on the heavy front door. It wasn't long before a man - somewhat overdressed to Thomas' mind - answered the door. "Might I be of assistance, suh?" asked the man in a resonant, but still somewhat reserved, monotone voice. "I'm here to see Alan Wheeler." The overdressed man looked Thomas over carefully for several seconds. "Have you an appointment with the mastah, suh?" "Was I supposed to make an appointment?" Thomas was certain this man was getting annoyed with him, but he had been asked to come here at this time. "The letter from Mr. Wheeler said nothing about making an appointment. It just said to come over today." Thomas handed the man the letter - he was glad he'd brought it along. The man at the door read the letter, before handing it back again. "Why didn't you just say you were Mistah Higgs, suh?" He backed away from the door slowly, allowing Thomas to enter. "Please follow me, suh. The mastah is expecting you." "Pompous windbag," muttered Thomas under his breath. But if the man leading him toward his meeting with Alan Wheeler had heard him, he showed no discernible reaction. Thomas was led down a long hall to the only closed door along its length. The peculiar butler opened the door. "Please wait inside the library, Mistah Higgs. You may look around at your leisure, if you so wish. But please, touch nothing. I shall inform the mastah that you have finally arrived." "Thank you," replied Thomas, as he entered the room. And once again the odd butler said nothing as he turned and headed away. Thomas wondered where someone would have to go to find anyone so peculiar. Thomas was surprised to see so many books in the room. He generally never saw this many books in one place unless he was in the public library. But then, the strange man had called this room a library. And it certainly lived up to that name. As he wandered among the numerous shelves of books, Thomas was surprised to find some very familiar books. They were books he had neither seen nor even thought about in several years. On the shelf sat four old leather bound volumes, as well as four additional albums of a decidedly more recent origin, of 'El Oroso' - the Golden Bear - his old High School yearbook. Even more strangely, the four older volumes were for those same four years he and his best friend Arnie had been in attendance there. What were the odds that someone he didn't know and had never heard of before had those four particular albums in his library? Who the hell could this Alan Wheeler possibly be? He couldn't be Arnie's son. Arnie had had no children, at least none that Thomas knew about. He'd never even married. And now that Thomas had had a little more time to think a few other things through, he remembered that Arnie had also been an only child. Feeling increasingly confused by everything he'd seen and no longer knowing what he might expect in this strange unknown place, Thomas slid down into the plush chair that faced the large mahogany desk, where he expected Alan Wheeler would sit when he finally arrived. Thomas had scores of questions he wanted to ask; he only hoped this Alan Wheeler had all the answers to his questions. When the door finally opened again, a young man, clearly of college age and not that long out of high school, entered the room. Thomas' mouth dropped open, as he stared at the youngster who might have easily been mistaken for a ghost from his past. "Barton!" exclaimed the young man in an imperious tone. "Get my good friend Tommy here a drink." He looked over at Thomas. "You were always a Scotch man as I remember, Tommy," he said with an oddly familiar smile. He turned back to his strange manservant whose name was Barton. "Chivas Regal for my friend, Barton. Three fingers, neat." With a swagger as imperious as the tone of his voice, the young man entered the room and, just as Thomas had expected, sat down in the chair behind the mahogany desk. "How did you know that?" Thomas asked nervously. "I know a great many things about you, Tommy Higgs." "Do I know you?" Thomas suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable in this young man's presence. Alan smiled at Thomas. "Of course you do. We've known each other a very long time. It's just been quite a long while since you've seen me this way." "I don't understand." "That's to be expected, Tommy. I didn't really understand at first." "What the hell are you talking about?" "Just look at me Tommy," smiled Alan. "Look real close. Once you do I'm convinced you'll be able to tell exactly who I am." Thomas continued staring at the young man's familiar face. "I know who you appear to be," he replied with nervous caution. "But I know that's impossible. You can't possibly be who you appear to be." At this point, Barton entered the room. "Here is your drink, suh. Chivas Regal, three fingers, neat, as the Mastah Alan has requested." Thomas took the glass. "Thank you, Mr. Barton." But the manservant said nothing, even as Thomas emptied the glass in one swift gulp. "I haven't seen you do that in quite a while, Tommy. At your age, I'm certain the tummy tends to do flip-flops after the chugging of a glass of scotch." Alan turned to his butler. "Fetch another Chivas for my good friend, Barton." "At once, suh." "Oh and Barton." "Yes, Mastah." "Why don't you just bring the bottle back with you?" Barton raised an eyebrow in apparent surprise, but, as it wasn't his place to contradict Alan, he replied simply, "As you wish, Mastah." Alan then turned his full attention back to Thomas. "Have you finally decided who I am, Tommy?" "I've already told you it's not possible for you to be who you appear to be," snapped Thomas. "Arnie's dead and buried. You can't possibly be Arnie." "Tommy, Tommy, Tommy," sighed Alan. "You were always a remarkably stubborn cuss, even when we were little kids." Thomas stared at the young man. How had Alan known something about him that he thought only Arnie had known? "You're wondering how I know what I know," replied Alan. "Maybe you'll believe what is obvious if we talk about Mary Ellen." "Mary Ellen?" replied Thomas. "What the hell could you possibly know about Mary Ellen?" "I know everything there is to know about Mary Ellen, Tommy," replied Alan. "You should have asked her to marry you all those years ago. We both know you wanted to ask her. How many times have I told you she would have said yes?" "More times than I can possibly count, I'd imagine," replied Thomas absently. Once he realized what he'd said, Thomas stared at Alan. "How can you know something like that?" he finally asked. "I never discussed Mary Ellen with anyone except..." "...Your best friend Arnie Wheeler," finished Alan with a widening grin. "Yes, I know everything," he added, eerily anticipating Thomas' next question. "I know what I know because I was there with you. I listened to every word you had to say to her and watched nearly everything the two of you did when you were together." Thomas, finding the young man's story disturbing, continued staring at Alan. "How can you possibly claim to be Arnie Wheeler? He was three months older than me and I'm going to turn eighty-four next week. You are nowhere near Arnie's age. Hell, I doubt you're any older than twenty-five, if even that." "You really think I look that old?" replied Alan with that odd smile that made Thomas distrust him. "Actually I'm only twenty-three - at least, that's the age that appears on my drivers' license - and just recently out of the State University." "You haven't answered my question." Thomas' growing impatience with the young man's evasions was beginning to show. "How can you possibly claim to be Arnie Wheeler? Arnie's dead; I went to his funeral." "It's not a claim, Tommy. It's the full and absolute truth. Why do you think the casket was sealed? It was so people wouldn't start asking questions when I wasn't in it, of course." "But how is this possible?" asked Thomas. Even though he wanted to believe his best friend was still alive, the idea that he could have somehow found a way to lose better than sixty years just seemed too ludicrous. "It was magic," replied Alan. "Just plain and simple magic." "Magic?" Thomas wasn't sure he believed that story. "I was dying, Tommy. Slowly to be sure, but I was dying all the same. I made a wish to be young again and a demon overheard me and appeared in my room. After a little negotiation, I cut myself a deal with the demon - or perhaps it was Old Scratch himself who'd come calling - to restore my youth and make me a young man again." "But why would you do that?" "Why wouldn't I do that?" replied Alan. "It makes perfect sense. Wouldn't you agree that being young again is better than being dead?" Before Thomas could think of an answer, Barton re-entered the room. Without saying one word, he handed Thomas another three fingers of Scotch, neat, and left the bottle on the desk, just as Alan had asked, and left again. Flustered and confused, Thomas chugged this drink just as he had the first one. And then, with little effort, he leaned towards the desk, picked up the bottle of Scotch, and poured himself another round. Only this time, the Scotch rose nearly to the rim of the glass instead of merely three fingers. "That's irrelevant," replied Thomas. "Regaining your youth is neither right nor natural. That's why you wouldn't do that." "You always were somewhat of a prude, Tommy." Alan began grinning. "Should I assume from what you've just said that you're not in the least bit interested in regaining your own long lost youth?" "What are you talking about, Alan?" Thomas still couldn't bring himself to call this youngster Arnie. "Why do you think I asked you here, Tommy? Even with my regained youth I'm still lonely. And I really miss having my best friend around to share in my good fortune." Alan's sorrowful face suddenly seemed far older than it actually was. "Just think about this for a few seconds, Tommy. It would be the two of us young and together again. Can't you just imagine us doing all those things we only dreamed of doing when we were young the first time?" An interesting notion, thought Thomas, if it's true. He took a long sip of the Scotch, then began thinking he'd had too much to drink. More often than not strange things started happening whenever he mixed too much alcohol with his medications. He was no longer the young and daring man he'd once been, a thought he suddenly found repugnant and more distressing than ever before. "What would I have to do?" Thomas asked calmly. Despite knowing deep down it was all wrong, Thomas also knew he was still facing that upcoming eighty-fourth birthday. And this chance of becoming young again - if it were as true as Alan claimed - was just too good an opportunity to pass up. "I was certain you'd be interested, Tommy. "You're a stubborn old cuss, but practical when push comes to shove." As soon as he saw Barton reenter the room, Alan beamed, "He's agreed to the deal, Barton." Barton looked Thomas over carefully. "I can't really say that I'm surprised by his acceptance, Mastah Alan." Casually, the butler reached inside his coat and pulled out a pen and a sheaf of papers. "If you will sign these few papers, suh, then we shall be able to continue." Thomas looked surprised. He'd though the man strange, but his being a demon was nothing he'd ever considered. "Are you trying to tell me that you're the Devil, Mr. Barton?" "Certainly not, suh. I am merely Barton. There is no mister honorific prefacing my name. I am just Barton - the humble servant of Mastah Alan. There is nothing more, nothing less." "Then why should I sign these papers?" "It's a simple formality, suh. The protocols demand it," replied Barton. "You are simply being made a party to the deal that Mastah Alan previously struck with me. The papers are merely the codicil to his contract." "Are you saying I don't have to forfeit my soul to become young again?" "Forfeit your soul, suh?" queried Barton. "I'm not aware of any such forfeiture of assets on your part being involved. I'd certainly know if Mastah Alan here had surrendered his soul for the return of his youth; I would have never allowed that to happen." "In that case, give me those papers." Thomas hurriedly signed and initialed the papers in every indicated place before returning the papers to Barton. "I'll file these papers with yours, Mastah Alan." With a sly grin that neither Alan nor Thomas saw, Barton turned, papers in hand, and hurriedly headed for whatever place Alan's contract was stored. "What do we first, Arnie?" asked Thomas, after he took another long swig of his Scotch. "You must remember to call Alan. You'll also have to get used to answering to a new name once your rejuvenation is complete." Alan paused for several seconds, not knowing how his friend would respond to what he was about to tell him. "The initial phase has already been completed. You've already partaken sufficiently of the requisite youth restoring potion." "What?" questioned Thomas. As he shook his head, it dawned on him what must have happened. "It was in the Scotch," snarled Thomas. "You weren't really going to give me any choice. Were you, Alan?" "But you have already chosen, just as I knew you would, old friend," replied Alan. "Where is the harm in simply speeding things along their destined track, Tommy?" "You might be right about that," agreed Thomas. "And yet, what would you have done if I'd refused your offer." Alan smiled. "That my old friend is a moot point. It's certainly not worth wasting any time over." "I suppose you're probably right." replied Thomas. "So what do we do next?" "Go over and get one of our old 'El Oroso' annuals from the bookshelf. Any of the four will work, but the one from our senior year has the largest picture, as I'm sure you remember," replied Alan. "And while you're over there, grab the newer one sitting near it that corresponds to the same school year." "Okay." Thomas went over to shelf and picked up the two yearbooks - the one from his and Arnie's senior year and the fourth book of the later series. "It all sounds so simple, but I don't understand what any of this means." Alan simply continued with his instructions. "In our annual find the page where my picture should be." Thomas flipped through the pages of the old 'El Oroso' until he finally found the page he'd been seeking. But for several seconds, he could little more than stare at the page in disbelief. "What happened to your picture, Arnie? It should be right here between Mary Wheldon and Cynthia Wells; that's where I remember it always being. But it's not here now. Where did it go? And why are Mary and Cynthia's senior pictures now right next to each other? It's almost as if your picture had never been there in the first place." "Very good, Tommy." Alan smiled. "Now check for the same thing in the newer 'El Oroso'." Thomas set the older book down on the desk. And once again, Thomas found himself rapidly flipping through its pages until he found the exact page for which he was looking. There on that page was the senior picture of Alan Wheeler - only slightly different than the one of Arnie he remembered - sandwiched between Marli Webber and Jeannie Whipple. "I don't believe this." "Belief isn't a necessity, Tommy. Now open our book again and find your picture, Tommy." Once again, Thomas did what he'd been told. He found his senior picture between Jeffery Hibble and Martha Hill right where it had always been. "Okay, my picture's here right where it ought to be. What comes next?" "Set the book down on the desk, leaving it open to the page with your picture," replied Alan. "Once that's done, open the newer yearbook and find the page where your picture would be if you were a member of the class." Thomas opened the newer 'El Oroso' and readily flipped through its pages. He stopped and looked over a page, before finally turning to the next one. "I suppose if I were in this book, I'd be right about here." He pointed at the small white space between Julie Hendricks and Marlena Hinton and smiled. "I certainly wouldn't mind getting to know either of these girls better once I've become their age again and am no longer older than their great- grandfathers." "They're real babes, Tommy," replied Alan. "Maybe I can introduce you to them." "That would be most kind of you." "Now set the yearbook down on the desk next to the other one. Touch your left index finger to your picture in the old book and your right index finger to the space where your picture would be in the new one." Thomas looked puzzled, but he did what he'd been told. Who was he to question how magic worked? Once he'd completed the connection between himself and the two books, an unexpected jolt of electricity threw him to the floor. "What the hell was that?" he exclaimed. "I'm still an old man; I can't take much of that shit." "Don't worry about it, Tommy. The process has already begun." "What's begun?" He didn't feel any different, but his nerves had been frayed by the apparent shock. His fingers still tingled. But even as Thomas asked the question, he could see his picture in the older 'El Oroso' begin fading. At the same time, in the more recent edition, the pictures of Julie Hendricks and Marlena Hinton were beginning to separate. They appeared to be making room for another picture to be inserted between them. As the last of his old picture faded away, the pictures of Jeffery Hibble and Martha Hill slowly began moving towards each other. They were clearly filling in the gap caused by the removal of Thomas' picture. Once sufficient space was available, another picture began appearing in the newly opened gap between Julie and Marlena. At that moment, Thomas began feeling peculiar. If asked, he doubted he could adequately describe the strange feelings. But he was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that his body was becoming younger. He could sense the vigor of youth flowing back into his body. He hadn't felt this great in several years. Thomas realized that after his new picture fully materialized within the newer yearbook, he'd be about the same age, give or take a few months, as Alan. He was suddenly looking forward to being young again. He also began hoping he could find someone in this new life like Mary Ellen again. He wouldn't make the mistake of letting her get away from him this time. And yet something - he didn't know what exactly - didn't seem quite right. Suddenly, Thomas began wondering why he was still shorter than Alan. Of course, the young Alan had been the taller of the two when he'd entered the library, but that was easily explained. Thomas had once read people the age he'd been often shrank somewhat as they grew older. It was something about the compaction of bones or something like that. However, from the time they'd been boys, Thomas had always been taller. There was no reason he could think of to explain why that shouldn't continue being true. But it definitely was no longer the truth it once was. In fact, Thomas thought he was getting still shorter. "What the hell's going on, Alan?" Thomas' voice cracked with every syllable he spoke. "It's nothing to worry about, Tommy," smiled Alan. "You're simply changing to fit into our world. Just as we agreed on, you'll soon be young like me again. You'll be a child born of the generation of this new 'El Oroso'." Alan began smiling, even as Thomas frowned. "Why don't you take a look at your new senior picture?" Without thinking about what he was doing, Thomas casually brushed his dark hair away from in front of his face. He didn't know exactly when his hair had grown so long - he'd never allowed his hair to grow so long - or regained the dark color of his youth. In the old yearbook, there was now no more space between the pictures of Jeffery Hibble and Martha Hill than there was any other pair on the same page. Thomas swallowed nervously as he realized that who he had once been was now no more. As he turned his attention to the newer 'El Oroso', Thomas wondered what he looked like now. He was also a little worried he might not like his new appearance. But even if he hated what he'd now become, Thomas was uncertain what, if anything, he'd be able to do about it. When his eyes finally focused on that picture between those of Julie Hendricks and Marlena Hinton, Thomas was dumbfounded. He couldn't believe his eyes. This was nothing like he'd been expecting. "What the hell have you done to me, Alan?" he asked in a steady light soprano totally unlike his former voice. "According to the caption that identifies this picture, my name is now Theresa Higgs." Thomas felt at his chest, quickly finding the two small breasts now pushing his shirt away from his chest. One of his hands shot down to his crotch, where he just as quickly discovered another part of his anatomy could now be considered AWOL. "I'm a girl!" he exclaimed in stunned amazement. "You certainly are," grinned Alan. "I'm a girl," whispered Thomas again. In spite of all the supporting evidence - a pair of small breasts and the decidedly feminine mound at his crotch being the most notable - he still didn't want to believe what had happened. "I don't want to be a girl." "Just what's wrong with you being a girl, Theresa?" asked Alan. "I'm sure you know that we'll be able to do things together now we never even dreamed of doing together before." Thomas stared at Alan in angry disbelief. "What the hell did you do to me? How the hell did you do it?" Thomas ran his now smaller hand slowly through his mass of soft and silky shoulder-length dark brown hair. It was a far cry from his formerly sparse, mostly white, short hair. "Why am I a girl, Alan? Nothing was ever said about turning me into a girl." "If you'll think about for a few minutes," smiled Alan smugly, "there was nothing ever said about leaving you male either." "I don't understand." "You of all people should know how foolish it is to assume anything. Don't you remember what I told you earlier?" Thomas shook his head in reply. "I told you I was lonely and missed having my best friend around all the time. Although, to be perfectly honest, you're not quite the girl I had envisioned you becoming in my mind. But I'm sure we'll have plenty of things to talk about now that you've moved in here with me. And when those times come when we tire of talking, I'm sure we'll be able to think up a little something that will keep us both satisfactorily amused." Alan smiled at Thomas, leaving no doubts in his mind just what 'little somethings' Alan was already referring. "I'm planning on never being lonely ever again, Theresa dear. There are also a great many things that I'm not going to miss out on while I'm young this time. The two of us are going to have more fun together than you could have ever imagined possible." Thomas' face visibly paled. "You can't possibly mean what I think you mean." "Of course I can. Why wouldn't I?" replied Alan with the cunning smile of a thief. "I mean let's face facts, Theresa - 'Me Tarzan, you Jane,' if you know what I mean." "You can't possibly mean that," snapped Thomas, his mind spinning with both anger and confusion. "I'll never do something like that with you, Alan Wheeler." "Maybe not this instant, but sooner or later you will," replied Alan. "It's inevitable - a part of the program. "When you're finally ready for a little action I'm convinced you'll enjoy yourself. I'm already certain I will enjoy your company." "I'll never be ready for that." "I really wouldn't want to bet on that. Trust me, it'll happen." Alan looked Theresa over carefully. "It's too bad you're not more well-developed. As I've already told you, Theresa, it's completely unavoidable. As your body has been changed, so too will your likes and dislikes follow suit." "Before that can happen, change me back to the way I was before." "Are you actually trying to tell me you want to be an old man again?" "I don't want to be a girl, Alan." "Why not?" asked Alan. "From where I'm sitting there's absolutely nothing wrong with you being a girl, Theresa." "Damn it, Alan! Quit calling me Theresa. You know it's not my name." Thomas glared angrily at Alan, then crossed his slender arms below his small breasts. "From where you're sitting, you've been staring at my small breasts, probably wishing they were bigger. If you really don't see anything wrong with turning me into a girl, then why don't we switch places? You can be the girl and I'll stare at your tits for a while." "Will you just relax, Ther... er, Thomas," replied Alan sheepishly. "Nothing's been permanently cast into concrete... just yet." "What the hell does that mean?" "What the hell do you think it means?" Alan slowly shook his head. "I'd almost forgotten how totally dense you could be sometimes." "Me? Dense? What the hell do you mean dense calling me dense?" roared Thomas back, although truthfully his new voice wasn't nearly as intimidating in his current situation as his own one would have been. "You're not the one who underwent an abrupt and totally unexpected sex change." "Why don't you just give it a rest for a few minutes? Look at your picture in the 'El Oroso' for a moment or two? I really can't believe that you'd give up being young again just because you didn't like the idea of being a girl." "You just don't understand. Do you?" sighed Thomas. "I don't really like your ideas behind me being a girl." Without thinking he looked down at the picture of his young girl self. "She's certainly a very pretty girl." "But still a little-underdeveloped. Wouldn't you say, Thomas?" "You and that one-track mind of yours." Without really wanting to, Thomas smiled at his friend. "I wouldn't consider her as that underdeveloped... exactly." Subconsciously, he lifted a hand to his chest. His hand poked cautiously at his small new breasts. "You're an A-cup at best." Thomas' face tinted scarlet at Alan's comment. Then unexpectedly Alan added, "Why don't you tell me what you remember about the day that picture was taken?" "Sure. Why not? I remember that day as if it were yesterday," replied Thomas absently as he looked at the girl's picture once more. "It was still summer vacation between my junior and senior years. School hadn't started yet; we still had about a month to go before we'd have to return to our classes. However, the people at the school had made and sent out appointments at the local photographer's for all of us would be graduating seniors." Feeling suddenly confused and disoriented, Thomas stopped his reminiscences of the day and slowly shook his head. "Just what the hell have I been saying?" he asked Alan, sounding angrier than he'd been just a few moments earlier. "You were just telling me about the day they took your senior picture," replied Alan. "But then suddenly you stopped." "Oh, that's right." Alan's tone of voice mellowed dramatically. "You really must forgive me, Alan. I really don't know what could have possibly distracted me." A moment later, Thomas continued his story. "I don't know how they managed it, but my appointment was set for what turned out to be a beautiful summer day. I wanted to be outside in the sun, not in some old photographer's room. I was still somewhat of a tomboy back then, as I'm sure you must remember." After a small pause, Thomas began smiling. "I didn't really want to get all cleaned up and sit around waiting to get my picture taken on such a beautiful summer day. However, my parents had bought me this new dress to wear that special day." Thomas sighed. "But I never really wanted to wear some stupid dress if I could avoid it. Can you even imagine me back then wearing a dress? However, I didn't want to be a disappointment to my parents either. As the time of my appointment approached, I put on the dress, brushed the tangles out of my hair, and then went to the studio and had my picture taken. It wasn't as bad as I'd expected." Thomas stared at Alan for a moment. "I remember you. You were one of those silly boys who whistled at me as I was walking to the photographer's studio. Weren't you?" he asked with a huge grin. "Mom always said that picture was the best picture ever taken of me. I'm not sure I ever believed it." Thomas sighed again. "However, I still think it would have looked even better if only my boobs had been a little larger." Once again Thomas shook his head. "What the hell just happened to me?" he asked in a harsher tone. "A little adjustment, I would suspect." "What the hell do you mean by a little adjustment?" asked Thomas. His stance had altered subtly in the time he'd been discussing the day his picture was taken. "Just that. It's nothing really sinister," replied Alan. "Your mind and your body are a little out of sync and need to be realigned. You don't really to worry about it, Thomas. It's all perfectly normal and natural." "Perfectly normal and natural?" mused Thomas. "What can be perfectly natural or in any way normal about being changed into a young girl. There must be a way to reverse this, Alan. I don't want to be Theresa Higgs; I want to me." "Is that all you're worried about?" "Isn't that more than enough to be worried about? Why shouldn't I be worried about being someone I'm not?" asked Thomas. "Don't you get it yet, Alan. If I'm supposed to be Theresa Higgs, then I simply won't remain the real me. And if I won't be Thomas Higgs, then I might just as well be dead." "Who told you that you won't be you? It's a lie - a complete and total fabrication," replied Alan. You'll always remember your entire life as Thomas Higgs - none of that will change simply because you've become a girl sixty years younger than you were before. Why would I want your memories stolen away from you when I wanted my best friend to share in my regained youth with me?" "I don't know," pouted Thomas. "But I still don't know why I have to be a girl?" he sniffled. "I don't make the rules; I don't really know who does," replied Alan. "But whoever it is who does clearly decided you were supposed to be a girl in this world, not me." Alan casually slid his arm around Thomas' soft shoulder. "You know, it could have just as easily been me they decided on turning into a girl." "That doesn't really make me feel much better, Alan," pouted Thomas. "I'm still a girl. And you're not." "You know, I've got a little something here that might make you feel a little better," smiled Alan, as he held out a photograph to Thomas that he'd just picked up from the desk. "Although to be perfectly honest, I'm not too sure it will make you feel as good now as it would have before your recent transformation." Thomas reached out and took the picture. "You're right; this would have made me better before." Thomas stared at the picture. It was of an oddly familiar looking girl with an overabundance of curves in all the right places. She had dark blonde hair. And tight-fitting cheerleader sweater she was wearing clearly revealed the wearer's possession of a very full and firm pair of C-cup sized breasts. "Where did you get this picture?" he asked suddenly without having the vaguest idea why he'd asked the question. With an odd smile spreading across his face, Thomas set the photograph of the busty cheerleader down on the same page of the yearbook on which the senior picture of Theresa Higgs could now be found. "It was just sitting here on my desk." Alan looked puzzled. "I don't where it came from originally, but you must have seen me pick it up." "That's not what I meant, Alan. And I think you know it," said Thomas indignantly. "How is it that you have this picture of me at the cheerleader camp held prior to the start of our senior year." He glared at Alan. "There weren't supposed to be any cameras there?" "That's you in the picture?" asked Alan with obvious surprise in his voice. "I would have never guessed that was you." "Oh really. And why would that be?" asked Thomas as he casually flicked his dark hair out from in front of his face. "I know it has been a few years and it isn't really a very flattering picture, but I really think I'd know me when I saw me." With total indifference, Thomas stretched out his arms. Once that was finished, he let loose with a rather long sigh. "Cameras were supposedly banned from that cheerleader camp," he began. "But I'll bet you already knew that, Alan," smiled Thomas. "Someone obviously smuggled one in to take pictures of us." But even as Thomas continued his railing, his form began altering, slowly at first, but rapidly picking up speed. "Just who was it, Alan? Who violated our trust that day?" "I have no idea who it could have been." Alan couldn't keep from staring at Thomas as his small A-cup sized breasts swiftly swelled into a more impressive C-cup size. Although his shirt was clearly strained by the effort, it still somehow managed to keep his newly enlarged impressive bust in check. While Thomas had retained his current height, his waist had contracted slightly. His pants now clung to his hips and seemed to hug tightly his waist. His hair had also lightened from dark to dark blonde, while growing out roughly another four inches. "Just what are you staring at, Alan?" asked Thomas in a more sultry tone of voice than he'd used before. He was clearly totally unaware his form had been altered again. With the most casual of motions, he flicked his now blonde hair away from in front of his now blue eyes. As Alan continued staring at him, Thomas' playful smile widened. "You're really going to have to learn to control that wondrous lust of yours, Alan," he smiled. Thomas seemed quite pleased with himself that he had this effect on his friend, even though he wasn't exactly sure why he should find messing with Alan's head so pleasurable. Alan looked down at the 'El Oroso' on his desk just in time to see the last of the cheerleader's photograph Thomas had placed on it fade from sight. An odd glow that was swiftly vanishing was all that apparently remained of it. However, the senior picture of Theresa Higgs had also undergone substantial changes. Instead of the dark hair and small breasts she'd previously had, she now had the longer dark blonde hair as well as the clearly more impressively developed bust of the cheerleader. Alan wondered if Thomas - or Theresa as he'd been listed in the yearbook - still remembered being a tomboy on the day that picture was taken. Somehow he doubted that it could be true. And once Alan saw the name that captioned the girl's picture, he was thoroughly convinced she would neither recall nor ever admit to having been a tomboy. Alan had never yet met - and truly doubted he ever would meet - a busty tomboy with the highly unlikely name of Taffy. And if that weren't enough to be totally convincing, Taffy Higgs very definitely looked like no other tomboy he'd ever encountered before. "I was a real babe in high school," smirked Thomas as he gazed at his picture. "Don't you think that's true, Alan?" Thomas stretched his arms out languidly again, before slowly running his hands along the delectable curves of his female body. As he cupped one of his newly enlarged breasts, he began smiling. "Of course you think that's true, Alan. Why wouldn't you?" he smiled sexily. "Those guys you were with that day my senior picture was taken dared you to kiss me. Don't you remember, Alan." Thomas grinned widely. "But before you could even try kissing me, you ran away like a scared little boy." Thomas turned to face Alan. "You were such a cute little boy. I really don't know why I was having so many problems with this being a girl shit, Alan." Thomas carefully scrutinized his best friend. "I'm sure you must know by now that being a young girl is a helluva lot better than being a really old man... or even dead." "Is that really you, Thomas?" "Of course it's me. Who else would I be, silly boy?" With an unmistakably mischievous gleam in his sexy blue eyes, Thomas batted his eyelashes at Alan. "Just what are you doing later tonight, big boy?" "What are you saying, Thomas?" "If you're too busy for me, I suppose I'll understand," replied Thomas coyly. "It's just that I'm new in this town; I really want to test out my new equipment. But if you can't find the time for me, then I guess you just can't." Thomas, feeling incredibly friskier than he had in more years than he could remember, smiled sexily at his best friend. "By the way, Alan, please don't call me Thomas any more. I still know that Thomas is really my name and all that, but I simply just don't feel very much like a Thomas anymore." His smiled grew wider. "You can call me Taffy now. I really like the sound of that name. Don't you, Alan?" She - it was getting increasingly more difficult for Alan to think of Taffy as a he - is much better than Theresa, thought Alan. He began wondering what it would be like discussing old times with Taffy. And those times when they tired of talking of the past were likely to be more interesting, as well as more frequent, then he'd originally anticipated. He reached for the new 'El Oroso', knowing that once he closed the yearbook the spell affecting Taffy would finalize. But as he did, Alan noticed that a new photograph had appeared near the annual. Instead of closing the book, he picked up the photograph and looked it over carefully. It definitely wasn't a picture of Taffy Higgs. And yet... if this new photograph did for Taffy what Taffy's photograph had done for Theresa... What the hell, he mused silently. "What do you think of this picture, Taffy?" he asked, as he handed it to his unsuspecting friend. As Taffy took the picture from Alan, he involuntarily shivered for a moment, perhaps even two, but certainly no more than that. "I didn't know there were any of these still in general circulation," replied Taffy with an overtly naughty smile. "Where did you ever find this picture of me from my days as a sultry adult film star, Alan? Please don't call it porn; I hate that dumb 'P' word with a passion," giggled Taffy girlishly. Taffy set the photo down on the still open yearbook in the same way he'd done with the earlier one. He never noticed that the other picture was nowhere to be seen. Alan doubted that Taffy remembered it had ever existed. At the same time, Alan, not that Taffy seemed to mind, didn't - perhaps couldn't - answer the question. He couldn't concentrate, as he watched something he found far more interesting than answering questions. Just as before, Taffy apparently didn't notice he was changing in any additional way. His already impressive breasts swelled easily to a D-cup in size and were clearly in the loftier neighborhood of a pair of 44's, if not even larger. His already overstrained shirt quickly gave way under the increased pressure. There seemed to be no further contraction of his waist. However, his hair had spurted out another ten to twelve inches, while lightening to a nearly white platinum blond. Unlike before, his clothes - perhaps prodded in part by his now tattered shirt - had altered this time. His pants had become a tight black leather miniskirt. The remains of his shirt had reformed into a skimpy halter top that revealed a nearly unbelievable amount of cleavage. And he now wore shoes with two-inch heels that made him seem that much taller than he really was. Alan continued staring. Taffy had once more been altered into the woman in a mysterious photograph that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Alan was now totally convinced that he'd long since lost any conscious control of whatever was going on. "You're staring at me again, Alan," chided Taffy in a sensual voice that simply reeked of sex. "Or did you ever stop?" he added with a knowing wink. "I know exactly what we should do now," he smiled. "How about you, Alan? Do you wanna go somewhere quiet and fuck for a while?" "What?" exclaimed Alan. He hadn't been expecting to hear something like that from her - just yet. However, given her earlier admission of being a por... that is, adult film - star, maybe he had on some subconscious level. "I wanted to know if you wanted to go somewhere quiet and fuck," Taffy repeated calmly. "Although truthfully, it doesn't really need to be all that quiet," he smiled. "Just because I'm really an almost eighty-four-year-old man in this hot busty babe body doesn't mean I can't use and enjoy a good fucking every now and again from my best friend." Taffy brushed his hair away from his eyes. "You just have no idea what this is like for me, Alan. I'm feeling so hot and horny right now I just might explode any moment," smiled Taffy wantonly. "And if you don't want to fuck me because you have problems with me having been born male, then I'll understand. I'll just go out and find myself a real man who will." Taffy ran his hand along the curves of his upper body. "That shouldn't be too hard for me to do looking as totally hot and awesome as I do." Arnie looked at Taffy's yearbook picture. Not surprisingly, the photograph she had looked at had also vanished. And her yearbook photo had also been altered accordingly. The girl's senior picture was now simply a younger version of this new sensual form Taffy had taken right down to the same stunningly wicked impish expression. "I was such a stunning mischievous total fox when I was younger," he smiled. "Wouldn't you fully agree with my assessment, Alan dear?" But without waiting for his friend to answer, Taffy suddenly pulled Alan closer and laid one squarely on his lips. When the two of them finally separated, Taffy was smiling. "Wanna do that again, sailor?" he asked playfully. "That was certainly a lot of fun for me, although I never would have dreamed I'd ever enjoy kissing you, Alan. I hope it was as much fun for you." "Are you all right, Taffy?" "Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be, Alan," smiled Taffy impishly. "I just couldn't help myself, you know. I've wanted to kiss you like that since that day my senior picture was taken. Don't you remember how your friends dared you to kiss me that day? I was more than willing to kiss you then, but you fainted dead away right on the spot. I always thought of you as cute and cuddly, but a little too shy for own good, after that." "I thought you didn't want to be a girl." "That was earlier, silly. A girl is entitled to change his mind," smiled Taffy. "I just love being a girl now, you know. I mean being a man was fine while I was one, but now I'm not one. If you haven't yet noticed I'm in a hot and sexy girl package." Taffy's smile widened. "You know, you just might say my being a man just got a little too old to be any fun for me any more." Taffy giggled at her small pun, but wasn't upset when Alan failed to crack a smile. "And don't call me Taffy any more either, Alan. I want to be called Twyla now. I'm sure you must have seen some of my movies. You know, when they were showing in all the theaters, not on real late night cable TV. They always cut out the good parts in the cable TV versions. I have an awful lot of good parts, you know," he teasingly smiled, "but I'm sure you've never forgotten that." When Alan looked, he wasn't surprised to see the photograph in the 'El Oroso' had altered once again - it was now clearly labeled Twyla Higgs. He would have been far more surprised if it had said something different. "Have you got another pent up kiss waiting for your 'old' best friend, Alan?" smiled Twyla playfully, even as he accented the word 'old'. "Or are you simply prejudiced against minorities?" "Minorities?" "Of course," replied Twyla. "I'm a totally hot busty young babe, who used to be an octogenarian male. I don't think there can be very many of us running around - I might even be the only one - which definitely qualifies me for minority status. Don't you agree?" "But Twyla..." "Don't 'but Twyla' me, Alan Wheeler," he snapped. "Hot busty young babes like me have their needs, you know. It's all in the body, you know. Nothing is really different simply because I happened to be born male over eighty years ago." Twyla suddenly smiled at Alan. "You know something Alan? I think I've just figured out your whole damn problem. You poor boy. You just haven't got a clue about what it's like being a hot sexy babe like me. And I could never adequately describe what its like, you know. I think it's something you'd have to discover for yourself first hand. If I only had a wish, I'd wish you could know exactly how it feels being a hot sexy babe just like me." Alan was definitely glad Twyla didn't have that wish. He didn't want to be a girl any more than Thomas had wanted to be one earlier. He was quite satisfied with things just the way they currently were. He didn't think any more improvements in his situation were possible. However, when Alan looked over in the general location of the annuals again, he was once more surprised to find still another photograph had materialized next to it. How long would this go on? What could possibly be done to make Twyla even better than she already was? Despite what he considered marked improvements as Theresa became Taffy and Taffy in turn became Twyla, Alan still doubted there was anything that could possibly improve her. But the lure of the new photograph was strong. Just in unlikely case he might have overlooked some potential improvement, he went over and picked up the new photograph so he could take a good look at it. But as soon as he saw it, Alan realized he'd been right. Even though the girl in the new photograph was even more beautiful and incredibly more buxom than Twyla, she still possessed a couple of major flaws that Alan wasn't prepared to overlook. Firstly, the girl in the picture was dressed in a white bridal gown with a long flowing train. Alan definitely wasn't ready to be married just yet. He hadn't even had enough time to start playing the field, which was something he had undeniably planned not to miss. And secondly, the girl was at least six months pregnant. And Alan was clearly even less ready to be called 'Daddy' than he was to get married. As far as Alan was concerned becoming a father was simply something he could put off for several years. There was only one possible thing Alan could do. He crumbled the new photograph in his hand, then tossed it into the wastebasket. He reached over and closed the 'El Oroso' in which Twyla's senior picture appeared. Alan breathed a sigh of relief, knowing the spell on Twyla was now irrevocably finalized. Twyla shivered momentarily. "Oh my," he moaned softly. "What just happened?" he whispered. "Whatever it was, I really hope it happens to me again real soon." Alan smiled contentedly. Twyla wasn't entirely perfect, but then what girl he'd ever known really had been. However, with all of Thomas' memories of their youth in her head she'd be exceptionally good company whenever he needed her to be. And with Twyla's sensual young body and heightened sexual drives she'd also be an exceptionally entertaining fuck whenever he needed that aspect of her. However, at that very moment, Barton unexpectedly entered the room unbidden. "Are you ready to conclude our business transaction, Mr. Wheeler?" he asked much to Alan's consternation. "Hi there, Barton," smiled Twyla warmly as he swayed sexily towards the desk. "How do you like the new me, Barton?" Twyla calmly poured himself a drink, then tossed it down as if it were nothing more than spring water before pouring himself another. With a casual grace and minimum of excess motion, he slid back into the plush chair where he'd been so comfortably sitting earlier. "It's a very marked and becoming improvement I must say, Ms. Higgs," replied Barton in his stuffy manner. "I should say so." Twyla took a long swig from the glass of Scotch. "I'm young again, not old. Just look at these swell boobies I've got now." He raised himself up from the chair just high enough and long enough to wiggle his butt at the butler. "What do you think of my fine tight ass? Not too bad for pushing eighty-four," he smiled. "Don't you think I'm one really hot blonde babe now, Barton?" "You are most certainly that, Ms. Higgs." "Lighten up a little, Barton. You don't need to be so formal," said Twyla. "Now please... you really must call me Twyla. It means 'newly created', you know. And that's just what I am. Isn't it just the most perfect name you can think of for me now." Barton smiled, then nodded his agreement. "As you wish, Ms. Twyla." "Not Ms. Twyla, Barton. Just Twyla." "What the hell is all this shit all about? And why the hell are you still here, Barton?" asked Alan. "I thought our bargain was fully concluded at the time I'd shut that yearbook and finalized Twyla's form." "Almost, but not quite yet, Master Alan," smiled Barton, dropping his affectations. "There's still one last unfulfilled item of business left on the agenda." "What the hell can that be?" barked Alan. "My youth was restored. Thomas came here at my invitation. He agreed to the restoration of his youth. And finally, he was transformed into my attractive and busty female companion with all of Thomas' memories intact." Alan stared at Barton. "That's all the terms I remember being in that contract I signed." Alan didn't like that sly conniving look he saw growing in Barton's eyes. In spite of all the precautions he'd taken, Alan wondered if he'd still been somehow tricked. "I hope you're not talking about that damn soul shit of yours again. Is that what you think remains to be done? I really thought we'd conclusively settled that before I agreed to sign your damned infernal contract in the first place." "We had," replied Barton. "the possession of your soul as well as any potential legal lien against the same has been specifically excluded ipso facto from the terms of the contract, just as we agreed upon. Although not for lack of trying on my part, your immortal soul is not a part of our bargain, Mr. Wheeler." "You really are old Beelzebub, aren't you?" exclaimed Twyla. "Somehow I just knew it." "At your service, Ms. Twyla." Barton bowed gracefully. "You have a most lovely name to be sure now. I shall never tire of speaking it, Ms. Twyla." "Thank you," he replied sheepishly, even as he stared at Barton. "You lied to me!" Twyla suddenly exclaimed. "You told me earlier that you weren't the devil." "Really, Ms. Twyla. I'm sure you're not as naive as you're pretending to be," smiled Barton. "Among other things, I'm called the Prince of Lies. And trust me - if you dare - I'm called that for very good reasons. Why should I speak the truth and risk losing business when a small lie - something my client simply wanted to hear regardless - is more than eminently sufficient to guarantee me that business?" "What about my soul, Barton?" asked Twyla anxiously. "Did Alan save his soul by giving you mine instead?" "You have no need to worry about that, my dear. Your soul is as safe as Alan's is," replied Barton. "It is not now nor will it ever be a part of his bargain with me." Twyla's eyes narrowed as he gave Barton a good looking over. "You lied to me before, Barton. How do I know you're not lying to me again? You're not very trustworthy." Barton smiled at Twyla. "You have a very suspicious mind, my dear. You're definitely a girl after my own heart," he sighed. "It's really rather simple really, young lady. The exclusion of your immortal soul results from the codicil you signed that was subsequently appended, with his prior consent of course, to Alan's original contract. It basically extended those same general protections to your soul - as well as the soul of anyone else who might sign a codicil to Alan's contract at his invitation - as it conferred on him." "You really agreed to give Alan all of that?" "I didn't want to, but he didn't give me a better choices," said Barton calmly. "Old Arnie was an intelligent and very shrewd bargainer. In fact, he was one of the best I've ever dealt with." "But Mr. Prince of Lies," began Twyla sarcastically, "you've never been known as someone who honors his contracts." "I'm crushed, Ms. Twyla. I'm afraid you've cut me to the quick," replied Barton disconsolately. "My contracts are always cast in the finest available stone. Despite the despicably bad press I'm constantly getting, I've always honored my contracts to the letter," he smiled. "However, I'm sure even you must admit that it isn't really my fault if some unexpected loophole carelessly finds it way into the contract. Its those little loopholes that allow me to bend - never break - a few of those letters as I see fit remaining well within the agreed upon contractual parameters." Barton paused to let his words sink in. "You're supposed to read contracts fully before you sign them, you know." "I read every damn line of my contract, Barton," snarled Alan. "I even went through that abominable fine print you tried sneaking into it that I had you remove before I would sign that contract. I found no loophole in it," boasted Alan. "That's simply because you left none to be found, Alan," replied with a smile Alan found disconcerting. "That was an extremely impressive demonstration of your negotiating skills. You should know that was the very first time that I've been so cleverly outnegotiated. I believe you've earned yourself a well-deserved place in Hell's Hall of Fame." "Then just what the hell - I hope you'll pardon the pun - is left to be done in order to conclude our business?" "There is still the matter of Twyla's wish, of course," stated Barton rather matter of factly. "What wish?" demanded Alan. "I really get a wish?" Twyla sounded surprised at this bit of knowledge. "Just how did I manage to get a wish?" "You didn't read the codicil in its entirety before signing it. Did you, my dear girl?" smiled the devil. "The terms of the codicil included granting you one wish totally free of devilish strings and complications in exchange for your willing and voluntary participation in the fulfillment of Alan's contract." "I skimmed over it," blushed Twyla. "I don't remember seeing anything about being granted a wish. However, some of the print in it was so teensy weensy I couldn't possibly read it without my reading glasses. And not thinking I'd really need them, I'd left them at home." Twyla looked towards Alan. "You know my eyesight wasn't all that great when I was still Thomas. Those damn cataracts took their toll," she tried explaining. "But if it means anything, I can see like a hawk now." "I never authorized any wishes be given Twyla, or anyone else for that matter." "You didn't specifically prohibit the granting of wishes either," smiled Barton. "But as you should well remember, the terms of your contract authorized fair and appropriate compensation to any and all participants willingly engaged in its fulfillment at your behest. Said compensation was to be agreed upon in writing and signed by said participant prior to the codicil's attachment to your contract." "What of it?" snapped Alan. "Twyla was a willing participant seeking the fulfillment of your contract. She was invited here by you, as well as invited to become part and party to said contract," explained Barton. "As such, the terms of your contract require Twyla to receive fair and appropriate compensation for her willing services on you behalf." "Why give her a wish?" asked Alan. "You could have given her just about anything." "I suppose that's true," replied the devil with that impish smile of his. "However, I felt that granting her one wish was still well within the contractual boundaries of what would be considered fair and appropriate compensation as so stated and agreed upon." His impish smile widened. "If Twyla had felt otherwise, then she simply wouldn't have signed the codicil. But she did. And given that it was pre- authorized by you as codicil to your own contract, you're bound to its conditions as well." "Fine," snarled Alan, clearly irritated with the way Barton had twisted the terms of his contract to suit him. "Grant her her damn wish and then get the hell out of here." "The granting of Twyla's wish shall conclude our bargain, Mr. Wheeler. It's been a pleasure doing business with you." "Yeah, sure," grumbled Alan. "I really can't believe that I'm actually about to get a wish," said Twyla dreamily. "I wonder what I should wish for. There's so many good things for which I could use a wish." "You needn't wonder or worry about that. Ms. Twyla," replied Barton. His impish smile had taken a clearly devilish turn. "You've already made your one authorized wish, Ms. Twyla." "I did? When did I do that, Barton?" Twyla sounded puzzled. "I really don't remember making any wishes." "When did she make her wish?" added Alan nervously. "Not all that long ago," replied Barton with that same infuriating smile. "However, just when she made the wish doesn't actually matter here. All that really matters is that the wish has been made after the signing of the codicil, appended to Alan's contract, and duly recorded. All that's left to be done is the physical granting of her wish." "Oh shit," moaned Alan suddenly, as peculiar feelings began racing throughout his body. When Twyla turned to see what was troubling Alan, he was taken by surprise at the sight of his friend. Alan's dark hair had already lengthened and thickened considerably. Much as his own hair had done earlier, Twyla watched Alan's hair flow onto and over his shoulders. When it fell across his face, Alan casually brushed it aside with apparent practiced ease. As Twyla continued watching in awed amazement, Alan began squirming, his body being remolded away from his current masculine form. His waist very noticeably thinned. His butt seemed positively bloated. And twin mounds of unmistakably female flesh swiftly swelled on his chest. Once the legs of his pants fused together, the newly formed skirt quickly rode up to a spot just above the middle of his thigh. Two long and slender, exquisitely sleek, feminine legs were exposed for everyone to see. The sleeves of his shirt separated from the rest and fell to the floor, where they vanished. Not far behind the fleeing sleeves were the now equally unnecessary buttons up the front of what had become a pullover tube top. His new top clung so tightly to his only recently developed large pair of breasts that the material clearly outlined his nipples. At the same time, the new top exposed his bared slender tummy for the whole world to see. "I'm a girl," Alan whispered in stunned amazement after one of his hands discovered his new breasts jutting out from his chest and the other had found the moist slitted mound of his radically altered crotch. Twyla stared at the transformed former man. "You changed Alan into a girl," he said, clearly stating the obvious, while Alan just continued standing there in stunned silent shock. "Why did you do it, Barton? Why did you change Alan into a girl?" "That was your wish, Twyla." "I don't remember anything about wishing Alan was a girl." "Neither do I," added Alan in a soft feminine voice totally unlike his former male voice. "Then let me remind both of you." Barton cleared his throat. As he started to continue, the voice coming from his throat was Twyla's, not his own. "If I only had a wish, I'd wish you could know exactly how it feels being a hot sexy babe just like me." After clearing his throat again, Barton's own voice returned. "You wished Alan could know how it felt being a hot sexy babe like you. How else could he ever find out what its like - since you had already confessed your inadequacy of describing those feelings to him - unless he actually became a hot sexy babe just like you?" "That kind of makes sense, Barton." Twyla swept his blonde hair from his eyes. "But you really could have waited until after he'd fucked me," he pouted. "Alan was really going to fuck me, you know. But he can't now that you've changed him into a girl. Even worse, I'll have to go out and find another guy - some stranger most likely. And on top of everything else, I'll have to worry about my new guy liking Alan more than he likes me." "Wow! Would you get a load of these boobs I've got now," smi