Altered Fates - The Mistakes Of Others free porn video

Altered Fates - The Mistakes of Others By KathyB Learn from the mistakes of others; life is too short to make them all yourself. Chapter #1 Jim Collins was nothing if not methodical. An engineer by trade and obsessive compulsive by habit, he carefully planned his day's activities so as to minimize wasted effort. He rose routinely at 5:00 am, tended to personal hygiene as the situation warranted, poured a cup of hot black coffee from his pre-programmed drip coffee maker and set about perusing the morning's email. Jim had several email accounts and he used each for a specific purpose. He checked them all daily and in a specific sequence. In this sequence, he also checked items on e-Bay and Craig's List that interested him. Forever on the lookout for a bargain, Craig's List, particularly the 'FREE' section, was always on Jim's daily check list. And that is where he saw it, in a picture of an assortment of free stuff left over from some garage sale in the area. He checked the picture twice to be sure. There it was, big as life; the Medallion of Zulo. A couple of facts about Jim need to be revealed to understand why the Medallion caught his eye and why he knew about the Medallion in the first place. Jim, you see, was a closet transvestite and borderline transsexual. A transsexual wannabe would be a more proper description and a transsexual lesbian wannabe would be even more proper. Jim knew he liked girls. Whether they like him was another matter, however, and they usually didn't. But he always wanted to like girls as a girl rather than the 6'2", 240 lb male that he actually was. Which is why Jim kept his transvestitism in the closet. Jim was raised by a single father, his mother having died tragically when he was less than one year old. His father, who never remarried, was devoted to Jim and went to great pains to raise him to be a proper man. Jim was never had a female role model in his life and he regretted that fact deeply. Jim liked to wear female clothing. He liked to think of himself as a woman. He liked it a lot. But he was never very good at looking like a female in the process. Jim was, in fact, the classic "guy in a dress". His size didn't help. His undeveloped fashion sense didn't help either. And his complete ineptitude at the application of make-up sealed the deal. Jim could never "pass", knew he could never "pass", and he never attempted to. Jim had long ago resigned himself to being forever in the closet. Jim started acquired an inventory of female clothing when he was in college, all in sizes that would accommodate his bulky frame. He was now approaching his 30th birthday. He longed to be a petite girl of 5'2" and, perhaps, 120 lbs, which he could never be, even with the most advanced surgical techniques available. He knew this because he had done the research. One morning, on the internet, between checking one of his several GMail boxes or other, each established for a different specific purpose. Jim first learned of the Medallion in his web surfing. If it were real, and he doubted that it was, it offered Jim a small ray of hope. The Medallion could do what none of the world's best plastic surgeons could do. It could turn him into that 5'2", 120 lb girl of his dreams. And it could do it perfectly and without all the mental and physical agony (not to mention expense - did I mention that Jim was a tightwad?) of transitioning and conventional transsexual surgeries and therapies. That is, if it were real, which the logical Jim knew it couldn't be. But now he saw it, or at least a picture of it, in front of him. Real or not, he knew he had to have it! So he set to work. The Craig's List page gave an address for the garage sale leftovers. It said that all unsold goods would be out on the driveway for the taking, first come-first served. He just had to arrange to be the first to come. He finished his coffee, quickly got dressed and headed out. The address was some 15 miles south of his San Francisco condo. When he arrived at the specified address, it was about 6:30 am and (to employ a familiar phrase) not a creature was stirring. Perhaps he was a bit early. Certainly too early to knock on the door to inquire as to when the goods would available. So he decided to park and wait. That would guarantee him first position in whatever line might develop. So, with the car radio to keep him company, on a quiet cul-de-sac in suburban San Francisco, Jim sat back and waited. His wait was not in vain. Around 7:45, a lady raised the garage door and proceeded to lay out on the driveway several boxes of stuff that Jim recognized as the garage sale leftovers that he had seen on Craig's List. She was followed by a cocker spaniel that appeared to be delighted to be out of the house. Not allowing for even the slightest chance of letting this opportunity get away from him, Jim pounced. "Good morning," he said to the lady. "Are these the leftovers from your garage sale that were listed in Craig's List as free for the taking?" "Yes, they are," she replied. "Help yourself, but please try not to leave a mess." Having already spotted the Medallion amongst some other cheap jewelry in one of the boxes, and anxious to get back to his condo with his treasure while not arousing suspicion as to what his true interest was, Jim made a proposal. "How about I take it all. We live only a mile or two from here. We're planning our own garage sale next weekend and we can add all this to our own stuff. That way none of it winds up in a landfill somewhere. You gotta be kind to mother earth. And besides, one man's trash in another man's treasure." Jim lied about the "we" part since he lived alone, and also about living a mile or so away, but how would the woman know and why would she care? It was about at this point in the conversation that it registered with Jim that the woman he was talking to was drop-dead gorgeous. About 25, long brunette hair, 5'2", 120 lbs and a figure to die for; she had just the type of body Jim would have chosen for himself had he been given the choice. "That's very kind of you," she replied. "It'll really help not having this stuff under foot today. I have a moving van coming later this morning to pack up the belongings I'm taking with me. I'm moving, if you hadn't noticed. The "SOLD" sign on the lawn might have been your first clue. Say, would you mind doing me a huge favor?" "Sure, what is it?" he replied. He could have said no, he thought, but he was far too much of a gentleman and, besides, just looking at her had him all but speechless. "Well, as I said, I'm moving and I'm trying to clean the house as well, since I want to be out and gone after the movers leave. But I hadn't figured on the appliances being so heavy. I can't clean under and behind the washer without moving it and I'm not that strong. Could you move it for me, please?" "No problem." Jim answered. "Where is it? And my name is Jim, by the way." "My name is Becky. Becky Graham. Why don't you follow me," she said motioning Jim toward the garage. Jim followed Becky through the garage. Jim would have been lying if he said that he didn't check out the graceful sway of Becky's aft section as she walked. In fact he was studying it intently, fantasizing about having one of his own. Just beyond the entryway to the house was the utility room where Jim found the washer. The water lines were still connected. He knew he couldn't go further without tools. But being a former boy scout, he was prepared. "I'll need a pair of pliers. If you don't have them, I have a tool box in my car." "No need, I have lots of tools in the garage. Help yourself." A quick trip to the garage revealed she wasn't kidding. The garage was a tool toy land. In two separate tool cabinets were all kinds of general tools and a good collection of specialized tools as well. He had no trouble finding an appropriate pair of pliers and in no time had the water lines disconnected and the washer out and away from the walls. "Thank you so much for the help. It really helped me," she said, adding "Would you like a cup of coffee for your trouble?" "Sure, I'd love one," Jim responded, glad to have a few more minutes to observe Becky and her highly observable body. Becky motioned Jim into the kitchen. "Do you take cream or sugar?" she asked. "Black, please," Jim answered. "Black it is." Becky poured a mug of coffee, handed it to Jim and motioned for him to sit at the kitchen table. "So, where are you moving to?" Jim inquired. "Sacramento." "Do you have family there?" "Yes, I do, but that's only part of why I'm moving." She paused for a moment, before continuing. "If this gets boring, tell me. I feel like I'm burdening a perfect stranger with my troubles but it really helps to me verbalize." "Please, do continue", Jim replied. "Well, Graham is my maiden name. My married name was Gibbon. I was married for three years to a guy, Peter was his name. He was a mechanic. Those are his tools in the garage. He always was a tool freak; never had enough, always needed one more. "I was totally in love with him. He loved me the same way, or at least that is what I thought. The time we spent together was magic. The companionship was wonderful; the sex was even better. "But he had a side I never saw; he never really wanted to show it to me. I found out about it about some 18 months into our marriage. I don't know exactly how to say it in words, but he liked to dress in women's clothes. He called it exploring his feminine side. I didn't know what to call it. "Every other month or so he would go away for the weekend to explore this feminine side with other ..., what do they call themselves..., cross dressers. I asked him what they had to offer that I couldn't give him at home. I never got a good answer. What I did get was repeated requests for me to have sex with him dressed up as a woman. That wierded me out. Maybe I'm too straight laced for these modern times but men should be men and women should be women and sex should be between one of each. I really loved him. I was ready to do almost anything for him. But there are limits and making lesbian love to my husband was outside of my tolerance zone. "Anyway, his weekends went on for about a year. One weekend he returned but was very preoccupied. He never even spoke to me that next Monday. Then he disappeared. He did leave me a letter. It said the usual crap about having to find his true self and there was no way to find him and I shouldn't try. He apologized for wasting my time and for trashing our relationship, but that he just had to do what he had to do. He left me a power of attorney which would allow me to sell anything he left behind. He left all his personal belongings, all his clothing, his pick-up truck, his tools, everything. "I went to the police almost immediately. They told me that unless foul play was involved, they could do nothing. A person has a right to disappear if they want to. From his letter, it seems that is exactly what he did. "I waited for him to return or at least contact me. I waited almost 6 months. Then I stopped waiting. I sold his pick-up. I sold his tools to his lead mechanic. I sold most of his other possessions at the garage sale this last weekend. "I've sold the house. From those proceeds, I have a fair nest egg. My sister and her husband have a small wholesaling business in Sacramento which they are allowing me to buy into. I have no idea where Peter is today. Maybe he and his drag queen buddies are sharing an apartment somewhere holding fashion shows in clothes from Victoria's Secret. I don't know. And I don't care anymore. I've got a life to lead. I'm moving on. "Forgive me for spilling my guts like that to you when I don't even know you. This house is the only place Peter and I ever lived and it holds a lot of memories for me, both good and bad. Moving away from here is a very emotional event for me. I really needed someone to talk to this morning. Thanks for your patience and your kind listening ear. Can I refill that mug for you?" "No thanks" Jim replied. "I really have to be going and you have work to do. But thanks for the offer. And thank you for sharing your story with me. I know that wasn't easy for you. They left the table and proceeded back to the driveway. She asked him to put the pliers back where he found them since the buyer of the tools was due to pick them up later that morning. "Thank you, again, for your help." she said. She smiled and gave a quick "Here, Betsy!" to the dog, who instantly knew its place was in the house and responded accordingly. She returned to the house via the garage and brought the door down behind her. Jim loaded the five boxes of leftovers into his car and drove away. On his way back to San Francisco, Jim mulled over the last hour or so of his life. He had met a strikingly beautiful girl who was, at this point in her life, both available and vulnerable. He couldn't quite make up his mind which he wanted more; to make love to her or to be her being made love to. He kicked himself for not having somehow managed to procure a piece of her clothing for use with the Medallion but it was too late to go back now. As he drove further, it became obvious to Fred that he needed to do something about work. If he used the Medallion as soon as he was back to his condo, he would be in no shape (pun intended) for work that morning. And he knew that if he didn't use the Medallion and attempted a normal work day, his head would be well out of the game and his productivity would be nil. So he did what any red blooded American boy (who was anticipating soon being a red blooded American girl) would have done. He concocted a lie. He dialed his office number and asked for Martha, his manager. He got her voice mail instead. "Martha, this is Jim. Listen, I've had family situation develop overnight that I need to attend to. My brother, the one from Fresno, well he's been in some kind of automobile accident. He was driving through Western Colorado. He's in the hospital in Salt Lake City. From what I hear, he's not in good condition. I need to go there and do what I can to assist his wife. I will probably be out all week. I'll check in as I get the chance. Call me on my cell if you need me. OK? I'll be driving most of today and cell service is spotty across Nevada so you may get voice mail but leave me a message and I'll call you back when I can. I have my laptop with me and will try to check my email whenever I find an available WiFi spot. Thanks for covering for me, Martha. You're the best!!" As he hung up he thought that if you're going to tell a lie, tell a big one. This big one had just gotten him a week off work, enough time to explore the Medallion unencumbered by occupational obligations. Being the obsessive compulsive type, Jim couldn't help lay out a mental plan for the coming day. It started with a review the ground rules of the Medallion. Wear it and touch it to any piece of used clothing and you would take on the body of the last person to have worn that item. Touch it to a piece of new clothing and your body would change to accommodate that particular piece of clothing. Touch another person while wearing the Medallion and the two people exchange bodies. Any change brought on by the Medallion can be reversed but only after 12 hours. The Medallion would not change a woman while she was menstruating or pregnant. And the Medallion had a nasty habit of disappearing at inopportune times. With all that as prologue, Jim set about living out his wildest fantasy. When he arrived back home, there was no time to waste. He secured the Medallion in his pocket, locked himself in his condo and proceeded directly to his bedroom. He laid the Medallion out on the bed. Along side it, he laid his favorite dress which he retrieved from his closet. He proceeded to strip off all his clothing, all the better to view the upcoming proceedings. He noted the time: 9:12 am. Placing the Medallion over his neck, he could utter only a pathetic "Showtime!" as he donned the dress and waited. Chapter #2 He felt a small tingle in the pit of his stomach. The tingle spread throughout his whole body, then faded quickly. No obvious changes, but he noted that his facial stubble was disappearing. That was a good sign. In fact, most all of his body hair was disappearing. That, he thought, was a very good sign. He waited some more. Nothing. And then some more. Still nothing. He stood there, buck naked and hairless (and with a raging hard-on, I might add) for about 8 minutes before he concluded that something was wrong. The Medallion had, in fact, produced changes, albeit subtle, in his body. But it had not turned him into.... And that thought stopped him in his tracks. What the Medallion had in fact turned him into was an exact replica of the last person to have worn that dress. But that person was him. It was a closely shaved him but it was still him. He instantly grasped that he was now an exact replica of himself as he was when last he donned the dress. And he just as instantly recognized that Medallion was real and operating under its own convoluted rules of operation. True to its form, the Medallion had just handed him a huge "gotcha". Because not only did it not turn him into the woman that he was expecting, it simultaneously put a 12 hour hold on any attempt at another transformation. Here stood Jim, all dressed up and no place to go (or at least no way to get there). The Medallion did do Jim one favor. The sudden rush of disappointment relieved his erection almost instantly. Jim chuckled briefly at the irony; the reason that his male appendage was no longer primed for sex was that it was still attached to him. So now what to do? Concluding that the changes were finished and there was nothing left to see, Jim got dressed. He put his dress away, realizing that none of the female clothing in his closet would be of any use to him since he had worn every one in his male form. He unloaded his car of the boxes of garage sale leftovers and lined the boxes up in the entryway of his condo. He would go through them later. But now he was hungry. A little comfort food was in order. Jim lived within walking distance of a small shopping district. There was a greasy spoon in that district that Jim frequented. He thought both the food and the walk would do him good. So he secured the Medallion in a small safe he kept in the portion of the condo that he used as a home office and ventured out. The caf? was only a 10 minute walk. On the way, he tried to mentally sort out what had just happened. That the Medallion used magic to perform its wonders yet conformed to a strict operating code appeared, to Jim's engineer mind, to be a bit oxymoronic. Why were there such strict rules for something that defied all the laws of nature and physics? Yet it was what it was. So how best to deal with it? His present inventory of female clothing was useless to him because by using them all the Medallion would turn him into was a marginally younger and closely shaved copy of his male self. He could, he thought, go out and buy new, unworn, female attire. Using the Medallion with new clothing, according to the rules as he understood them, would turn him into a female version of himself. True, he could, to some extent, regulate the size and shape of the female version that he would become, but that wasn't what he wanted. He had two sisters, neither of which was particularly alluring, at least from his perspective. Many times while growing up he had secretly worn their clothes. He thought he looked better in them than they did. Who wants to be his own sister? No, other than possibly to experiment with the equipment unique to the female of the species, this solution would never do. As an alternative, he could go to the local thrift shop, which at the moment was only two doors down, and purchase used female clothing, preferably in sizes that approximated the woman he wanted to become. While the shape of the last wearer would be dictated by the size of the garment, it would be a crapshoot as to the age, ethnicity and "babe factor" of the eventual end product. Given time, he might find a body he liked but he knew that the Medallion had a mind of its own and a way of disappearing at inopportune times. It had already demonstrated its independence once. He thought long term experimentation might be tempting fate. Then he reasoned that he could find a body that he wanted and somehow beg, borrow or steal a piece of clothing from the owner of that body. A really good plan, he thought, but where would he find Ms. Right and how would he acquire the clothing without getting arrested as some sort of pervert? Though promising, this plan was shelved as too dangerous. As an alternative, he could return to Becky's house on some ruse or another and attempt to steal a piece of her clothing. While she had everything Jim wanted in a female body and then some, he had a sense of guilt about this plan. She had extended a hand of trust to him. He didn't want to betray that trust. He took the plan was off the table. Jim, it turns out, had a conscience. Which put him back to square one. He knew what he wanted but had not a clue as to how to get it. As he ate his breakfast, or brunch if you prefer as it was now about 10:30 am, it occurred to him that the waitress, although a rather plain Jane type, had potential. Mid 20's, a slight build but broad shouldered, not much in the way of hips, 5'8" tall, probably 150 lbs. He could have done without the "butch" haircut, the tattoos, and the piercings, especially the nose rings. He wondered if the waitress had nipple or vaginal rings, then quickly proceeded to another, less disturbing, thought. What the heck, he mused, you can't have everything. At least not yet. He thought with a little work, she might make a nice introductory package to life in the fairer sex. So as she cleared the table, he offered her $20.00 for her apron. Now, mind you, the apron belonged to the restaurant and wasn't hers to sell but Jim didn't know that and the waitress didn't care. She took the apron off then and there and handed it to Jim and pocketed the $20.00 bill. Jim thanked her, left a generous tip and exited the caf?, apron in hand. It wasn't exactly what he originally had in mind, but it was a start. To complete his just formed plan to become the waitress that evening and explore life from a female perspective, he stopped at the thrift store and bought a minimal wardrobe in a size that he felt would fit the waitress. His hope was that, transformed into the body of the waitress, he could walk through the neighborhood and, perhaps, stop in at a nearby lesbian bar for some light conversation. He wasn't ready for much more than that, at least not yet. Returning to his condo, Jim set about sorting out his "booty" from the morning's garage sale. He had lined up five boxes in his entry way. One box contained an assortment of kitchen utensils and gadgets. Most were well used; typical garage sale fare. He kept a couple for his own use and set the rest aside for drop off at the thrift store. The next box contained several used towel sets, some assorted cheap jewelry, a nice electric razor, and several partly used bottles of after shave. Jim laid the towels aside thinking that they might make good utility rags for cleaning, car washing and such. He consigned the rest of the box to the thrift store. The remaining boxes contained used clothing. From what he could see, it was all male attire, undoubtedly stuff Peter left behind. As he was about to dig into the boxes to see what he had, his cell phone rang. The caller ID said it was Martha calling. He let it go into voice mail. He would check it later. But the call broke his concentration. He left the remaining boxes unexplored. He spent the rest of the day puttering around his condo, cleaning and dusting mostly. He knew that the Medallion was "off-line" for him until at least a quarter past 9:00 that evening. There was nothing to do but wait. Around 5:30, he checked his cell voice mail. Martha was just checking in to say that everything was under control and that she wished him well with his family crisis. He called her back, knowing that it was after hours and he would get her voice mail. He thanked her for her concern and said he would check back in later. He also checked his email and found nothing of interest. As the appointed hour approached, he again stripped himself naked so as to watch the changes as they occurred. He laid the apron on the bed and draped the Medallion over his head. As he watched the clock count down to his private H hour, he accidentally knocked over a bottle of soda that he had been drinking. Reflexively, he grabbed for one of the towels he had been using to clean the condo earlier, one of the towels from the garage sale material. As it turned out, that was a very bad choice. Chapter #3 At that very instant, the clock struck 9:12 and Jim, towel in hand, felt that all too familiar tingle in his stomach. It crossed his mind that a towel wasn't a real piece of clothing but the Medallion apparently disagreed. He thought as he stood there frozen like some insect encased in amber, perhaps Becky Graham used this towel last. That was an appealing thought. But as it turned out, it was only wishful thinking. Jim began to shrink. The hair on his head began to grow. These could have been good signs but for the fact that the hair on his face, arms, legs, chest and just about everywhere else began to grow as well. His arms were shrinking; his fingers were reducing themselves to stubs that all but disappeared. Likewise his feet, which were attached to legs that were developing an odd and quite awkward backward bend, were reducing themselves to stubs. A quick gaze in the mirror sealed Jim's suspicion that this transformation was not going as planned. Because staring back at him from the mirror was something that was beginning to approximate Betsy, Becky Graham's dog, who was, apparently the last "person" to have "worn" the towel Jim had been holding at that inopportune moment. The shock of suddenly finding himself a quadruped gnawed at Jim. He knew that he was now 0 for 2 with the Medallion. Had the cherub whose image was emblazoned on the Medallion been real, it would be laughing uncontrollably at this moment, and it would have been laughing at, not with, Jim. But no one was laughing at this moment, least of all Jim. He noted the irony of finally becoming fully female as a fully female dog. Accepting his predicament, he understood that his only salvation lay 12 hours in the future. And since he had no other option than to wait it out, he jumped on the bed. He had no way of turning off the lights or the stereo, but at least he would have a soft place to sleep. To say Jim had a peaceful night's sleep would be a gross exaggeration but he did get through the night. Somewhere around sunrise, Jim woke with a feeling that he found hard to identify but that he took as fullness of bladder. He had to go. But go where? He hopped down off the bed and headed for the bathroom where it became immediately obvious that he had no means of reaching the toilet and he wasn't sure that he could balance up there even if he did. He needed something at ground level and he needed it quickly. Fortunately, he had left the door to the shower stall ajar. It didn't take much to open the door wide enough to accommodate him small frame. Once in, he let nature take its course. Thinking that he would have to clean it up later, he left the bathroom and closed the door as best he could behind him. He took a quick look at the clock. It read 5:25 am, which meant that he had 4 hours before he could change back. He briefly wondered if 4 hours was the same in dog time as human, then let the thought slide. How do you kill 4 hours when trapped in the body of a dog? You play mind games. At least that was what Jim did, maybe as a means to maintaining his own sanity. He had a suspicion that his thinking process was being invaded by dog thoughts, thoughts left over from the regular occupant of this body. He didn't like that idea and concluded that mind games would be a good defense. So he tried, as he waited, to create a mental catalog of the lesser known, or as yet undefined, operating rules of the Medallion. The major operating rules were well documented. But the Medallion had shown that it has a mind of its own and a series of lesser rules that must be obeyed or at least allowed for. Such as residual memories. Jim had read about this effect of the Medallion but the details were somewhat nebulous. Apparently, recreated bodies retain some memories of their original owner, mostly habits, routine activities, reactions and reflexive actions taken without thinking. It was just these residual memories that were telling Jim at this moment to lick his (her?) genitals. The conscious thought of that act repulsed Jim greatly but the act also seemed as natural as the morning sunrise. Or the towel effect. Apparently, using a towel to dry a wet dog leaves an impression of the dog on the towel. Presumably, the same applies to humans. Thus had Becky Graham been the last to use that towel rather than her dog, Jim concluded that he would be sporting her body now instead of Betsy's. Since it was reasonable to believe that it was Becky that has used the rag to dry Betsy, Jim wondered if the rag had Betsy's image on the side that rubbed up against the dog and Becky's image on the where her hands were doing the rubbing. Had Jim grabbed the rag on its other side, would he not be sporting Becky's body rather than Betsy's? The evidence was inconclusive. Or actual recycle time. Everyone knows about the 12 hour waiting period necessary between transformations. Nothing Jim had read in the internet (you do believe everything you read on the internet, don't you?) clarified when the 12 hour period started and ended. True to his engineer training, Jim needed more precision than this. From his recent observations, the 12 hours must run from the start of the transformation to the start of the next transformation. As opposed to from the end of the transformation to the beginning of the next. All which is pretty boring stuff to someone who isn't an engineer. An engineer trapped in the body of a dog. As he thought, he watched the clock. At around 9:00 am, he made a command decision. Rather than return to the safety of his own body when his next window of transformation opened, he would attempt to transform directly from the dog to the body of the waitress. To this end, he located the apron, which hadn't moved from its position of the prior evening on the bed. He noted that it looked somewhat different in black and white. He didn't have to look too far to find the Medallion. It was still hung around his canine neck. He never attempted to remove it after last night's transformation, and doubted if he could have if he had tried. Chapter #4 At exactly 9:12 he jumped up on the bed and then stepped on the apron, and touched the apron to the Medallion by lowering his neck. Again, he felt the tingle that spread throughout his body, then faded but less quickly this time. As before, he noticed subtle changes first. His fur thinned and then disappeared. His limbs returned to human proportions with developed feet and hands following in short order. His chest tingled and began, ever so slightly, to puff out. His body grew until he approximated the height and build of the waitress. His breast development continued. They were nothing to start a porn career with but he was, in fact, developing breasts. The nipples were not what he had hoped for nor were the areolas, but it was something. And, interestingly enough, he had a scar under each boob. The waitress, it would seem, had breast implants. As before, he started with a raging hard-on which, he was somewhat dismayed to see, showed no sign of abating. There was no major change in his crotch area what so ever with the exception of the fact that that his foreskin was growing back. This caused him to panic, if only mildly. Then it was done. The changes stopped and he saw himself as the doppelganger of the waitress, only with an attached uncircumcised penis. The thought didn't come to him instantly because his thinking process was somewhat muddled by this point. But he eventually reasoned that the Medallion, up to its old tricks again, had made him the exact duplicate of the waitress who was, unbeknownst to Jim, a pre-op transsexual. Thus, instead of being a fully functional female, Jim was now a chick with a dick, a doll with balls, part man, part woman but all of neither. He wasn't sure if he liked it or was repulsed by it. But whatever he was, he knew there was no way to change it for at least 12 hours. Having regained his senses and accepted his fate, Jim decided he needed to settle into his new body. He was relieved to find that, while the holes created by the multiple piercings of the waitress transferred to this new body, the rings and hoops themselves did not. Apparently the Medallion regarded the holes as flesh while the rings were considered accessories, like clothing. The tattoos were another matter. Apparently, since they were permanent, the Medallion considered them to as part of the flesh and part of Jim's new flesh they became. He mentally marked this as another minor rule of the Medallion to be catalogued. Having breasts was something new and interesting to Jim. They were much more sensitive to touch than he had imagined. And they jiggled when he walked. It didn't take long for him to conclude that jiggling was a significant distraction. He broke out a bra from his personal stash of female clothing. It was a bit big on his new smaller frame but worked well enough at jiggle suppression. He surmised that the waitress had undergone butt inflation in addition to the boob job. His hips were extraordinarily wide for a genetic male and his butt was fuller and bounced more than anything he had ever experienced. A combination of hormones and silicone can do strange things, he thought. The wonders of technonogy! Jim tried out his new voice. Jim assumed that the waitress, if she truly were a pre-op transsexual, would be on hormones. He knew that the voice box was not affected by hormones and that the attainment of a female voice is largely a matter of proper training and practice. Since the waitress's voice was passing quite nicely, she must have had some of both. He hoped that some of that residual training and practice would carry over to him. The tried a quick "The rain in Spain". He liked what he heard. He tried it again and liked it even better. Between his legs, however, was a reminder of his lack of true femininity and it was screaming for attention. Jim found all the changes in his physical make-up to be highly erotic and that resulted in an erection like none he had ever experienced before. Sexual tensions were building in Jim and needed to be set loose. So he attended to them, and his climax resulted in an ejaculation that shot half way across the room. Here was another mess that, like the shower stall, needed cleaning up. But even as he basked in the afterglow of his orgasm, he was planning his next move. After cleaning up the two messes he had created, Jim tried dressing. The clothes that he had bought from the thrift shop were a motley collection. But, when put together with make-up which he applied better than even he thought he could do, another of those residual habits carried with the body, and the fact that it is hard to screw up butch hair, he was feeling good about being able to walk down the streets of San Francisco without being made. Except for one thing. No matter how he configured his wardrobe, he still had something extra that a genetic woman never has. And given that Jim found the whole process of passing to be highly erotic, he had an almost perpetual erection which he couldn't find a good way to disguise. So, eventually he quit trying. He had gone, today, farther than he had ever been in his life toward his dream of womanhood. Night would come soon enough and, with it, another chance to use the Medallion. He resigned himself to staying inside for the day. So, again, he spent the day puttering about his condo. He more than enjoyed owning his own set of breasts. He found them a bit of an annoyance at first but quickly got the hang of navigating with them. His center of gravity was skewed somewhat from what he was used to. He adapted and found the entire process quite fun. Jim practiced being a woman. He practiced walking. He found it quite easy to sway his wider hips in that special way that women do. He practiced sitting and rising from a chair, paying attention to the smooth flow of motion that sets a woman apart. He practiced using his voice, using inflection and breathing techniques to soften his tone and delivery. Jim was like a kid in a toy store. It was all working and he was delighted. Except he still had a penis. In one of his putterings, he tripped over the remaining boxes of garage sale leftovers that he never quite finished going through. Jim hated unfinished projects so he set about sorting the boxes contents. As he had assumed earlier, the boxes contained male clothing, presumably left behind by Peter when he disappeared. There were several sets of coveralls, appropriate for a mechanic. There were a dozen or so T- shirts of various colors and logos and a half dozen pairs of blue jeans, well used. In the bottom of the box were work boots and a couple of pairs of running shoes. In the next box was what appeared to be Peter's dress clothes, Dockers, solid color shirts and even a couple of ties. None of the clothing appealed to Jim. Nothing was in his size and even the ties were not to his liking. It crossed Jim's mind ever so briefly that it might be interesting to use the Medallion to change into Peter and hook up with Becky for an evening or two of mad sex. But, when push came to shove, Jim knew that he would like less to be with Becky and more to be Becky. And, besides, Jim had that conscience that wouldn't allow him to hurt Becky any further. So, having no use for Peter's left behinds, he re-boxed them and set them aside to take to the thrift store. Jim picked up the last box, turned it over and dumped its contents on the floor. What he saw stopped him dead cold. Hidden under a layer or two of male clothes was a small assortment of blouses, skirts and sweaters, all female and all, apparently, in Becky's size. Could this be Becky's cast offs? Jim instantly saw this as a chance to be Becky, or to at least enjoy her body with the assistance of the Medallion. He quickly sorted what he found, thinking as he worked that the Medallion had blind sided him three times. Before he used it again, he would have to be very careful and have a fully developed plan. He quickly concluded that the box had supplied him with the basics of a complete outfit, one that would allow him to leave the condo and walk about in public. But he was missing some things. There was no underwear in the box, no nylons and only one pair of shoes, those being canvas athletic shoes. Remembering that Mark Twain had once said that the coldest winter he ever experienced was August in San Francisco, he knew that to go out at night, he would need a coat. He had none. He had only the barest of accessories and all his earrings were clip on. He knew he needed to go shopping. That put Jim on the horns of a dilemma. It was now early afternoon. He could venture out in his present form, hiding his male member as best he could, shop for the clothing he would need for Becky's body, and be prepared to change into Becky later that night, his next window of opportunity to use the Medallion. Properly clothed, he could attempt to sample a little of San Francisco's night life, as Becky, that evening. Or he could stay in, change into Becky that evening and then stay in, as Becky, getting to know and explore her body. Then he could change back into himself the next morning, do his shopping and go out on the town tomorrow evening having changed back into Becky. After great consternation, Jim chose, as he usually did, the conservative path. He stayed in and prepared for Becky's arrival. As noted earlier, Jim had a cheapskate element to his character. He loved a bargain. And the possibility of passing up a bargain niggled him just enough that afternoon so that, around 4:00, against his better judgment, he ventured out of the condo to visit the thrift store. He reasoned that he might find something in Becky's size, or something generic enough to where size wasn't a big issue. So, after insuring that the Medallion was safely locked away in his safe, Jim left the condo. Jim liked the thrift store. The clothes, though not the cutting edge of fashion, were serviceable, the prices were ridiculously low, and the clientele was best described as San Francisco eclectic. This meant that even if he had an obvious protrusion from between what appeared to be quite female legs, no one cared or even considered it strange. Today he was in luck. He found a gray ski parka in very good condition and exactly in Becky's size. He found both a pair of flat pumps and 2" black leather heels, both in Becky's size. He ventured into the jewelry section where he found several sets of earrings, a cute bracelet and a pair of gold necklaces. Having placated his cheapskate gene, Jim proceeded to check out. On his way back to his condo, Jim stopped at the grocery store. He purchased pantyhose in an assortment of shades and filled out his make-up kit a bit. Back home, he took the time to check his various email boxes. He found nothing of interest. Jim was a creature of habit. He usually checked his email boxes in the morning over coffee. This morning, however, he was a dog which upset his routine a great deal. He was still catching up. His cell phone had been thankfully silent all day which meant that Martha had things well in hand. He surfed the net for a while before his attention shifted to his upcoming transformation. He looked over Becky's clothing and decided which pieces he would use for the change. He chose a white silk blouse with a rather large red wine stain down the front. He chose it because it reflected almost exactly the shape of Becky's ample breasts and her narrow waist. His remaining male part was erect again from the anticipation. As was his pattern, around 9:05 he striped naked. He placed the Medallion around his neck and waited for the clock to read 9:12. Chapter #5 At the appointed minute, he touched the blouse to the Medallion and felt that familiar tingle. It lasted somewhat longer this time and then spread with more intensity than before. His skin started to lighten noticeably, he shank somewhat and his breasts grew and reshaped to a more natural profile. His waist narrowed and his hips and butt rounded more than before. His hair was lengthening all the while and changing color from jet black to auburn brown. It was all coming together, even his genitals. His penis, which had been in a state of raging erection, started to shrink. His testicles rolled back inside his body and the now stub of a penis followed. Within minutes he had a fully formed vagina. He was no longer a he. He was by any measure a she. Not only a she, a babe! Jim was, again, like a kid in a toy store; so much to see, so much to do. She didn't know where to start first. Being a creature of habit, Jim reverted to the routine that he (when he was a he) methodically used when he dressed. She took a warm bubble bath. There was something about a tub full of bubbles that seemed, to Jim, like the beginning point for femininity. So she poured herself a tub and immersed herself in warmth and softness. This first sensation was that the tub was bigger than it used to be. In fact, she was smaller which allowed her, for the first time, to lay out full length in the tub. After a minute or so of pure relaxation, the old Jim would have shaved his body to baby smooth. The new Jim was already there. So she took a bar of soap and proceeded to lather up various parts of her body, taking in the scent of the soap and the gently massage of the lather. Starting with the shoulders and down each arm, she massaged each of her breasts which were sensitive to gentle rubbing to a level that Jim had only dreamed. She slowly worked her way down her back and belly. She liked the feel of her wider hips; she liked the feel of the soft skin; she loved the feel of her full breasts. She stopped at the hips and skipped down to her feet. She marveled at how petite they were. Proceeding up from the feet, the legs provided her with her first touch of female reality. They needed to be shaved. But, she decided, not quite yet. Upstream from the legs lay undiscovered territory that was ripe for exploration. Saving the best for last, she acquainted herself with her vagina. And she did it the old fashioned way, one fold at a time. Her vagina was much more sensitive to the touch than she had imagined. Working a finger up each side, she arrived at the sweet spot which, when touched, sent electric shivers up Jim's spine. She worked it gently for a minute or so as the sensations built to a crescendo. As Jim reached her first female orgasm, she felt her entire body pulsate. If all her orgasms were going to be this good, Jim knew this body was a keeper. Saving further exploration for later, Jim lay in the water breathing in all the splendor of the moment. Eventually, though, she decided there was other fun to be had. She carefully shaved her legs and underarms before deciding it was time to move on to the fashion show portion of the evening's entertainment. Rising from the tub, she dried herself off. She paused a moment before the floor length bathroom mirror to see herself head to foot. The Medallion may have had a trickster element to its persona, and he may have been 0 for 3 with the Medallion before tonight, but this body was a grand slam. It was his every dream come true. Jim spent the rest of the evening dressing her new body in all the clothing she had that would fit. Her selections were limited, but she made up in enthusiasm what she lacked in soft goods. She even played around with her make-up and jewelry, trying different combinations and looks. The thought crossed her mind that, even with her limited wardrobe, she could cobble together something that would be very street presentable. There was a lesbian club within walking distance that she was eager to visit and she was running out of evening. As she tried to summon up the courage to experience her first night out on the town as a woman, the methodical portion of Jim's brain kicked in and reminded the now wildly emotional portion to take a go slow approach. A well thought out plan is always better than something made up ad lib. So Jim spent the balance of the evening and very early morning playing real life Barbie doll and, several more times, experienced female orgasm. Eventually, however, every Cinderella's ball must end. Around 2:30 am, Jim decided that it was time to call the evening's festivities to an end. She spent some time removing her make-up and moisturizing her skin for the night. She combed her hair and clipped it to avoid tangles. She knew that she had no sleeping clothes to fit her present frame but made do with a set of lace pajamas from Jim's collection. They were a bit big but who was watching? Tomorrow would be Jim's first whole day as a woman and she knew she needed some sleep. Jim slept like a baby. Untrue to Jim's old "early to bed, early to rise" persona, the clock read well past 9:00 am when she finally rolled out of bed. This would make the second day in a row that Jim awoke to an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling. And for the second day in a row the cause was a full bladder. Jim headed toward the bathroom and proceeded to take the usual position standing before the toilet, pants pulled down. It was then that she realized that she was no longer capable of peeing standing up. With some embarrassment, she turned around and sat down. Unsure of exactly how the new plumbing operated, she hoped that nature would provide the way. Nature cooperated, but not before Jim learned that one cannot control a female's urinary stream as precisely as a male's. She did, however, understand that, unlike a man, a woman must always wipe after urinating, front to back if you please. This was to be a day of discovery for Jim. Having bathed the night before, she still elected to shower this morning, only because it afforded her the opportunity to massage her female body. She shampooed her hair, then patted it dry. Jim discovered that her body carried with it some residual memories which allowed her to dry and style her hair without problems, something Jim worried she wouldn't be able to do with such ease. In his male form, Jim was all thumbs and never quite mastered the finer points of applying make-up; now it seemed like second nature. And Jim's lack of fashion sense had been cured as well, which is why the new Jim quickly decided that her available wardrobe selections were totally inadequate and bordered on embarrassing. Making do with what little she had, she dressed, all the while deciding she had to go shopping. That created an immediate confrontation between Jim's cheapskate male persona and his female persona's need to be properly attired. They say possession is nine tenths of the law and the female persona had possession of the physical body. The cheapskate side knew it had lost and retreated to a back corner of Jim's brain. But on its way out it reminded Jim's female side that she had no driver's license or any other ID for that matter. Driving to the mall, or using Jim's credit cards once there, were both bad ideas. Better to take a bus to the mall and better to make the day's purchases with cash. Jim made a quick side trip to an ATM that was around the corner, then waited on the corner for the bus. As previously noted, it was a day of discovery for Jim. Among those discoveries were that men frequently stare at women. Maybe the thought had never occurred to her because, as a man, she was either too polite or too intimidated by beautiful women to stare at them. But now, as one of them, she was finding herself being ogled and she didn't know whether to be angered or appreciative. She tried not to notice their noticing her. She discovered that at the mall, she was treated with some disdain by other women. Maybe it was out of jealousy, maybe out of fear, but it irritated her a bit. But then she remembered that she was the babe in the group and she let the competition stew. She discovered that shopping in a woman's clothing store can be as exhilarating for a woman as a trip to Home Depot can be for a man. Different genders, different toys, same thrill. She discovered that women's clothing costs more than men's and you get a less for your money. Often a lot less. The cheapskate side of Jim, whom the female Jim thought she had suppressed, kept creeping up into her consciousness to remind the female alter ego that she was overspending. The female Jim soon found ways to push the male Jim back to the recesses of her mind but he would not go away completely or for long. She discovered that her female body had less stamina than her male one. It could carry less and go less far without stopping to rest. When she stopped for lunch, she found that her residual tastes dictated she order salad rather than the bacon cheeseburger her male counterpart was accustomed to. And she found that the salad filled and satisfied her. Lastly she discovered that the number of hours in the day is finite. The trip to the mall had been a blast but, eventually, it became time to head home, a trip that would take her back onto the bus. The bus had a late afternoon crowd now, different from the mid morning crowd that she had started off with, but well populated with dirty old men none the less. She was both repulsed and flattered. Jim returned to her condo much later than she had anticipated. Having had a late lunch at the mall, she decided to forgo dinner as such. She browsed her refrigerator for something quick and light. She was appalled at the dietary choices made by her former male self. She settled, ultimately, on half a tuna sandwich and a mug of tomato soup. Her evening meal out of the way, she was ready to see San Francisco after dark. Not really ready, as she needed to dress and prepare herself for her first girl's night out. This being mid week, and her target for the evening being a lesbian bar, she chose her outfit carefully. Jeans were a given. She allowed her residual woman to pick the rest of the outfit from among the day's purchases. She let her residual woman do her make-up as well and it performed flawlessly. The final product was, as the Brits say, "smashing". Knowing that she still had no driver's license, and having had her fill of the bus, she called a cab. Chapter #6 She asked the cab driver to let her out up the street from the club, not wanting anyone to see how she had gotten there. This was California, after all, where only tourists travel by cab. Entering the bar, she did a quick scan of the territory. The crowd was light, mostly twenty-somethings and, as you would expect, all female except for a few of indeterminate gender. She noticed one girl, who was at a table with two others, eyeing her as she strode to be bar where she took a seat. She ordered a beer and nursed it while she studied her surroundings. The girl who had eyed her as she came in continued to watch her. She didn't know whether to be worried or flattered. She wished she could hear the conversation going on at that table but the place was far too noisy. Eventually, the girl got up and walked over to the bar, stopping just to Jim's left. Turning to Jim, she said, "Becky, why are you here?" Jim thought she was about to live her worst nightmare. Someone who knew Becky was about to "out" her as an imposter. Thinking quickly, she knew she had three options. The first was to impersonate Becky and hope that she could fake it long enough get the person to go away. The second was to deny any knowledge of Becky. The third was to admit that she wasn't Becky but really a man who had (without permission) borrowed Becky's body through some form of magic. The first option would be hard to pull off since she knew very little about Becky and nothing about the person next to her. The third option could wind her up in a psych ward. The second option offered the only practical way out of the situation. So she replied, "My name isn't Becky. You've mistaken me for someone else." To which the girl replied, "Becky, I know you better than that. I know every inch of your luscious body, including that mole on your right shoulder. If you are not Becky Gibbon, I'm Daisy Duck. So why are you denying it? Is it because you are too straight laced to be seen hanging out in a lesbian bar?" Realizing that option 2 was going down in flames, Jim shot back, "I'm still not Becky and don't know who Becky is, but if you know me so well, who the hell are you?" The girl paused a minute and then answered, "Well, explaining who I am would be a bit complicated. Maybe you really aren't Becky after all. But if you know anything of the Medallion of Zulo, why don't you join me and my friends and we can talk a bit." With that, the girl rejoined her friends at the table. Jim realized instantly that she had been made and that she was out of alternatives. She paused a minute, then picked up her beer and joined the group at the table. The girl introduced her friends as Linda Prodan and Rachael Burya, adding that her name was Celia Makey. Jim, doing a little improvisation, introduced herself as Janet, no last name specified. Had Jim not been seriously rattled at this moment, she would have noticed that each of the three ladies at the table was strikingly beautiful. Jim addressed Celia. "You called this meeting. What do you want from me?" "Well," Celia began, "that you're here tells me that either you really are Becky Gibbon or you're an exact copy. And your reaction when I mentioned the Medallion of Zulo leads me to conclude that you're a copy. Am I right?" Jim was busted. He had no idea of how Celia knew her secret or how she was made so quickly, but she knew that there comes a time when honesty is the best policy. She laid her cards on the table. "Yes, I've met a girl named Becky Graham whose married name was Gibbon. And I know of the Medallion of Zulo. And yes, I used the Medallion to transform myself into Becky's body. Now how do you know Becky and why do you care?" Celia paused a minute and then said "I care because I love Becky. I was married to her for almost three years." "Peter?" Janet asked in disbelief. "In the flesh, or more properly, in someone else's flesh. How do you know about me, anyway?" "Becky and I had a brief conversation in which she told me about you and how you dropped off the face of the earth after having left a message about going off to explore your feminine side. And that's quite some feminine side you have." "You haven't done so badly either," Celia retorted. "What say I tell you my story, and you tell me yours, OK? I'll go first since you apparently already know some of it. "Becky and I had known each other since Junior High School but we never dated in school. After High School, Becky went to college and got a degree in accounting. I went to trade school and became an auto mechanic. I made good money because people liked the quality of work that I did. Eventually I opened my own shop. Becky's accounting firm did my books. We got to know each other, professionally at first, then personally. We were married three years ago. "I have always known that I had a feminine side. I cross dressed a little in high school although my folks would have killed me if they had found out. I continued dressing after school. When I met Becky, I thought I could put that part of me aside. Becky was rock solid in her belief that men are men and women are women and there is nothing in between. But my other side wouldn't let me be. Eventually I went back to dressing, always in secret. I would tell Becky that I had cars backed up at the shop and had to work late. I think she saw through that lie because she once asked me why, if we had that much extra work, our revenue wasn't rising accordingly. That's what I get for marrying my accountant. "I thought it might help if I sought help. On the internet I found a TV/TG support group in the area and attended a meeting one night. That's where I met Linda and Rachael. Except they were Andrew and Jeff then. We'll get to that. "I attended support meetings every Wednesday for about a month and I came away as confused as ever. Andrew, Jeff and I would go out for coffee or beer after the meetings to continue the discussion. We each had an undeniable feminine side. We couldn't satisfy it but neither could we make it go away. None of us was willing to go any further than occasional cross dressing because anything beyond that was overkill and would devastate our careers and our families. "One day, I was under a car adjusting a parking brake cable when I noticed something wedged to the under side of the car with a small chain hanging down. When I looked closer, I looked like a necklace of some sort but it was all banged up and corroded. I unhooked it and put it in the pocket of my coveralls. Later, I cleaned it up, buffed it out and put it in my jacket pocket. I'd all but forgotten about it when, after the next meeting, the three of us went out for coffee. While we were talking, I put my hand in my pocket and found it. I took it out and laid it on the table. Andrew's eyes nearly came out of their sockets. He had read about the Medallion on the internet. He told us what it could do. "We agreed that we had to try the Medallion to determine if it was real. Andrew noticed a nasty burn on my left hand. I'd gotten it from a hot exhaust pipe earlier that day. He asked if I had the coveralls that I wore the day before I got the burn. I happened to have them in my pick-up. We adjourned to the truck. I put the Medallion around my neck and touched it to the coveralls. I felt a tingle in my stomach that spread across my whole body. Then I watched the burn disappear before my very eyes. The Medallion actually worked! We decided that it was too late that evening to start experimenting with the Medallion but that we would each think about it overnight and we would meet for lunch the next day. "It was actually Jeff who came up with our plan. He has a friend who runs a modeling agency. They do mostly fashion stuff, mail order catalog photos and the like. He talked his friend into allowing us to "borrow" some of the clothing left over from a local photo shoot. We knew we needed at least a weekend to experiment with transformation so we each concocted our own cover story and we met at a motel that Friday night. Jeff brought the box of clothing. One by one we donned the Medallion and selected a piece of clothing. That first evening our plan was to wear the outfit that had transformed us and visit a lesbian bar or two. But we still were functioning with our male minds despite our newly minted female bodies. We became like kids finding an unlocked candy cabinet. We showed no self restraint. One thing led to another and before we knew it, things got totally out of hand. Actually, into hands. And into mouths. Suffice it to say that more licking went on that night than at a convention of the Lollipop Guild." All the girls smiled and nodded their heads in embarrassed agreement. "The next morning our female psyches began to kick in. We knew that we had gotten out of control. We also lost sight of the degree to which we were flirting with danger. You must treat the Medallion with respect and caution at all times. It has a mind of its own and cuts slack to no man. No woman either. "Thereafter, we stuck to our plan. We spent our days being mall rats as a means of trying out our new personas in public. We spent our nights at bars, but always as a trio. We agreed that it was too dangerous for us to split up or pair off with strangers. On Sunday evening we would change back to our male personas and return to our normal lives. We tried to space these weekends so as not to arouse suspicion of our family or friends. "Over the space of the next few of our weekends, we tried various bodies and eventually we each found the one we preferred. And we found that we could "tweak" our bodies, that is make them taller or shorter, longer legged, give them a fuller bust, things like that. As we refined our bodies we became more comfortable in them. We found it harder and harder to leave them at the end of the weekend. What had started out as fun and games was developing into something serious. We were each coming to a decision point and we knew it. "One Saturday night we were driving to a bar that we liked to hang out at when a cop pulled us over. It seems that we had a tail light out. Linda was driving but the car was registered to Andrew. The cop routinely asked her for license and registration. Obviously, Linda had no driver's license. Linda faked it, handing the cop the real registration, then pretending to go through her purse in a futile effort to f