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Author's Note: Cepi corpus is a Latin legal phrase denoting a sheriff's written declaration that he has arrested a defendant in response to a writ of capias. Literally translated, the phrase means, "I seized the body." This story may not be re-posted without the permission of the author. Cepi Corpus By Lana B. *** As the sounds of explosions echoed in the distance, Mirela Hearne affectionately gazed at her 12-year-old daughter and said, "I want you to listen to me carefully, Lyuba. What I have to say is very important, and time is of the essence. Do you understand?" "Yes, mama." Before Mirela could proceed any further, a solitary thunderous boom erupted in the foreground. Mirela felt the earth vibrate under her bare feet. She walked to the edge of the tent and lifted the flap. She gazed upward and saw flashes of light illuminate the darkness. The Soviet tanks were bearing down on Budapest. Mirela had an impulse to cry, but she suppressed it for the sake of her daughter. She had to be strong, even in the worst of times, to ensure the survival of her precious Lyuba. And this was, without a doubt, the worst of times. It was November 4, 1956, and the Soviet Union had just invaded the country to crush the Hungarian Revolution, a spontaneous nationwide revolt against the Stalinist government of Hungary and its Soviet-imposed policies. Mirela released the tent's flap and returned to her daughter. She knelt on both knees and grasped Lyuba's soft hands in hers. "You will leave here tonight, my child, and go to America, where you will be safe. I have made all the arrangements." Lyuba questioningly looked into her mother's eyes and asked, "But what about you, mama?" The urge to cry returned, and Mirela mustered every ounce of her resolve to hold back the tears. "I must stay here, my daughter." "But why, mama?" "I will join you in a few short months, Lyuba, but for now I have duties that require me to remain in Budapest," she lied. Mirela did not have the will to tell her daughter that she couldn't accompany her due to a lack of funds, for it had taken all of Mirela's resources to purchase the rail and ship fares that would bring her daughter to the safe haven of America. "But I don't want to go without you, mama." "You must do as I say! Now listen to me. I have more to tell you." Mirela easily detected her daughter's brewing anxiety, and she rubbed Lyuba's hands with her thumbs to calm her. "Listen closely to what I say," she said in a stern tone. "Yes, mama." "You come from a long line of gypsies, my child. You are of the vlach order of the Roma people, and as such, the power of immortality lies within your grasp. Do you understand what it is to be immortal?" "No, mama." "It means that you can live forever, but only if you do as I say. I will now tell you our people's secret. Are you listening?" "Yes, mama." "On your 65th birthday, you must lay with a man. Upon completion of the act, your soul will enter your lover's body and seize control of it. Do you know what it means to lay with a man, my daughter?" Lyuba shyly gazed down at the floor and quietly answered, "Yes, mama." "Good." Mirela then reached into her bosom and came away with a small paper note. She said, "And during the act, you must say these three words." She handed the note to her daughter. Lyuba gazed at the yellowed slip of paper and read the words inscribed on it: "Activut. Drunsic. Brumla." She looked back up at her mother. "You must never lose that. Do you understand me, Lyuba?" "Yes, mama." Proudly emulating her mother, Lyuba stuffed the note into her nascent bosom. "Good. And every time you reach your 65th birthday in a new embodiment, you may repeat the process with someone of the opposite sex." Mirela saw her daughter's incredulous expression, and she exclaimed, "I speak the truth, Lyuba! I have already lived for over 300 years and this is my fifth incarnation! You must believe me!" "I believe you, mama." "Then never forget what I have told you. And you must never repeat a word of this to anyone not of your own flesh. Do you understand what I say?" "Yes, mama." Mirela smiled in satisfaction, but her expression quickly turned to one of apprehension as the sound of an ear-splitting blast filled the air. She then saw the tent's flap open and watched her nephew, Gunari, enter the tent. She breathed a sigh of relief. Gunari would accompany Lyuba on the 350-mile rail trip from Budapest to the Yugoslavian port city of Sibenik, and he'd then join her on the passenger ship to America. He, too, had planned to start a new life in the Promised Land. Mirela was happy for Gunari, and she knew without a doubt that he would watch over Lyuba to ensure her welfare during and after their long voyage. She smiled at him and said, "I am happy to see you, my nephew." Gunari sadly gazed at Mirela and replied, "It is time for us to leave. I only wish that you could join us, Aunt Mirela." Mirela softly nodded and said, "It simply was not meant to be, Gunari. But I rejoice in the good fortune of my precious daughter and my favorite nephew." "I thank you for your kind words, dear aunt. Do not worry over Lyuba. I will keep her from harm." Gunari then extended his arm and said, "Come, Lyuba. It is time for us to go." Mirela saw her daughter's reluctance to leave, and she cried out, "Go with your cousin, Lyuba, before it is too late!" She watched her daughter clasp Gunari's hand and walk with him to the edge of the tent. As Gunari opened the tent's flap, Lyuba turned her head and locked eyes with her mother. She whispered, "I love you, mama," before she disappeared from Mirela's view. Mirela thought she would never forget that soulful look on her daughter's sweet face for centuries to come, but twenty minutes later a Soviet shell slammed into the tent and put an end to her immortality. Fifty-two years later... Michael Britton unlocked and opened the sliding glass door and reached into the cabinet for the DVD box set. He turned around and handed it to the customer. He said, "Enjoy, Sir. The first season was a classic." Michael truly believed that the inaugural season of "NYPD Blue" might possibly have been the finest television police series ever made. Michael glanced at his wristwatch and saw that it was a few minutes past ten. It was time for his morning break. He headed over to the magazine rack and grabbed a copy of "Sports Illustrated," and then he made his way to the store's caf? where he bought a medium-sized French roast coffee. He found a nearby table and took a seat. Michael scanned the store and saw that it was fairly busy for a Tuesday morning. He sampled his coffee and opened the magazine. And as he looked at pictures of horses from last week's Kentucky Derby, he reflected on his lot. Just two years earlier, Michael lived with his beloved mother, Sarah, in a modest eight- room ranch house in Montpelier, the capital of Vermont. His father, Andrew, had been tragically killed in the Persian Gulf War in 1990, but he'd prudently taken out a modest life insurance policy that allowed Sarah to pay off the mortgage and defray her and her son's living expenses for a decade. By the year 2000, however, the insurance proceeds had dipped to below $10,000, and Sarah had contemplated getting a job for the first time in thirty years. She'd last worked as an office administrative assistant prior to marrying Andrew. And then good fortune struck. While visiting a friend on Long Island, Sarah purchased a New York State lottery ticket and she hit the jackpot, winning 12 million dollars. It was the only worthwhile thing she'd ever won in her entire life, but it had more than made up for her timeworn scarcity of halcyon days. Wisely taking into account her heredity, Sarah elected to receive her lottery winnings prorated on a monthly basis, with payoffs going to her son in the event of Sarah's early demise. Sarah's mother and her maternal grandmother had each died of ovarian cancer at the age of 54, and Sarah was more than a little concerned about her own outlook in that regard. So she provided for her son's welfare, just in case. As fate would have it, Sarah outlived her mother and grandmother, but only by a year. She succumbed to ovarian cancer at the age of 55. Michael grieved the loss of his mother for several months. He then decided to sell the ranch house and move to Burlington, where he hoped to get a fresh start on life. He knew that Burlington was a lively college town with nearly 20,000 students enrolled in local colleges and universities, and it had a variety of shops, restaurants and caf?s filling the Church Street Marketplace. Burlington also boasted a lively local music scene, and it bordered Lake Champlain, where one could take advantage of boating, fishing and water sports. Michael had always loved the water. Although there were many reasons behind Michael's decision to move to Burlington, his primary motive in relocating there was to meet a nice young girl. He wanted to find a girl who'd love him for what he was, and if did, he'd love her back with all of his heart. That aspect of his life plainly hadn't worked out for him in Montpelier. So nine months after his mother's death, Michael sold the ranch house and purchased a lovely nine-room Tudor on a quiet tree-lined street in South Burlington. He truly looked forward to building a new life for himself there. It hadn't taken long for Michael to become bored in his new habitat, however, so he decided to look for work. He received $7,000 a month from the New York State Lottery Commission and didn't require the additional income that a job would bring him, but as it turned out, he needed a job to keep himself occupied. And, most importantly, he believed that a job might give him the opportunity to meet a nice girl. He'd recently read somewhere that nearly a third of all married couples had met in the workplace. So three months after arriving in Burlington, Michael secured a job as a sales associate at The Tree Branch in the downtown business district. The Tree Branch was essentially a copycat retail store of a common Borders establishment, and the owner, a nice man in his forties by the name of Tim Nolan, maintained an office there. "Hi, Michael. Mind if I join you?" The friendly greeting startled Michael from his ruminations. He looked up and set his eyes on the pretty face of his friend and co-worker, Janice Karger. He responded, "Sure, Janice. Have a seat." "What are you reading?" "Sports Illustrated." "You men and your sports. Sometimes that's all you guys seem to think of." Michael smiled. He really liked Janice. He'd had a secret crush on her ever since he met her on his first day of work. Like Michael, Janice was a sales associate. He asked, "Don't you like any kind of sports, Janice?" "Nah. Sports are so boring. I just want to slap some sense into Jeff when he talks about the Red Sox. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he likes baseball more than me." Michael knew that Jeff was Janice's latest boyfriend of a few months. She'd met him at the store, helping him find a CD he'd been looking for. He considered Jeff a lucky man. Janice was so pretty. She was a petite brunette of about five-three with classically beautiful facial features and a great figure. She was just the type of girl that Michael wanted. But he also knew that, unfortunately, he simply wasn't her type. Janice liked her men tall, dark and ruggedly handsome, and Michael lost out on all three counts. He said, "Baseball can be a fun experience, Janice. You ought to give it a chance." "No way. There are so many more interesting things in life, like music, movies, the arts and fashion." "Okay. Have it your way." Shifting gears, Janice asked, "Hey, what are you doing tonight?" "Nothing special." "Me neither. Why don't you come over to my place. We can share a pizza and check out a video. What do you say?" "Okay. It's a date," and Michael silently wished that that's what it was. That night... Watching the credits roll, Michael took a sip of wine. He and Janice had shared a sausage and mushroom pie and then they'd watched a video while polishing off two bottles of pino grigio. He had a great buzz. "Don't you just love 'Sense and Sensibility,' Michael?" Janice asked. "Yeah. It's a great film. It's the movie that made Kate Winslet a star. And did you know that Emma Thompson won an Academy Award for best adapted screenplay?" "Yeah. Say, you know a lot about movies, Michael." "Sports aren't my only interest, Janice. There's plenty of room for other things. You ought to consider the proposition." "Maybe you're right." She paused for a moment and added, "Nah. I don't think so." They both laughed. Janice gazed at Michael on the other end of the sofa and asked, "So tell me, how's your love life?" Michael had confided in her that he was on the prowl for a girlfriend. "Not too good, I'm sorry to say. But I'm still looking." "Have you considered checking out one of those Internet dating services?" "Not really. I want to meet a girl the old-fashioned way, Janice, if you know what I mean." He didn't want to admit that he was getting desperate and had been thinking of it. But he meant what he'd said. He really wanted to do it the old-fashioned way. Janice regarded her friend and felt sorry for him. He wasn't exactly the type of guy that most women would consider a catch. He was slight of build for a man, about her size, if that. And he had girlish looks. If Janice had to describe him with a single word, she'd choose the word 'pretty.' And on top of all that, he had a fair complexion with straight light blond hair that obscured his ears. Janice visualized what he'd look like in one of her dresses and some makeup, and before she could think it through, she asked, "Did you ever wonder what it'd be like if you were born a girl?" Janice's question released a flood of repressed memories for Michael. He'd been harassed by more than a few students throughout high school. If he had a nickel for every time he'd been called 'pretty boy,' he'd be a rich man. He replied, "No, not really. I'm not that type of guy, Janice." "I know, Michael. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked you that. I've obviously had way too much wine. Can you forgive me?" Michael considered Janice his best friend. He decided to open up to her. He said, "It's alright, Janice. Don't feel bad. I know that I have some effeminate features. It's the way I was born, and that's all there is to it. There's nothing I can do about it, so I just go about my merry way." He paused for a moment and added, "But it hasn't been easy." "How so?" "I was harassed by bullies in high school. And I've been mistaken for a girl more times than I care to admit, in person and on the telephone, too. I can't even manage to grow a beard or mustache to remove the doubt. Like I said, it hasn't been easy." Janice saw that her friend's expression had turned to one of despair. She was so sorry that she'd brought the matter up. But it was too late now. She'd opened the barn's gate and the horse had galloped out to the field. "I feel your pain, Michael. Is there anything I can do to help?" Michael detected sincerity in Janice's tone, and he appreciated it. He said, "You're a good friend, Janice. That's all the help I need. But thanks for asking." He then looked at his wristwatch and saw that it was past eleven. "It's late. I should go," he announced. At the door, Janice hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. She told him, "I'm going to find you a girlfriend if it's the last thing I do, Michael. One that deserves you." Two hours later... Michael lay on his back in bed. He couldn't fall asleep. His conversation with Janice kept resonating in his mind. And that made him think of his conversation with his mother while she was on her death bed. She'd actually suggested that he consider surgery to change his sex. He could have been toppled by a feather. He'd said, "How could you even think that, Mom?" His mother had responded, "I've seen your anguish, Michael. I know you've been hurt. Maybe it's a way out for you? You'll have the money to do it, you know." "I'll be alright, Mom. Don't worry about me." "I love you, son. I'll always love you." "I love you too, Mom." Michael had bent down and hugged her, and then they'd cried together. It was the last conversation he'd had with his mother. The next morning... Lyuba sat at a table in The Tree Branch Caf? and sampled her espresso. It was good and strong, just the way she liked it. She took another sip and glanced at her wristwatch. It was 9:45. She'd see Michael Britton in 15 minutes, when he'd appear for his customary morning break. A rewarding smile stretched across her face. While she waited for her prey, Lyuba reflected on her time as an American citizen. When her ship had docked at Ellis Island 52 years ago to the day, she'd been met by a representative of the American Hungarian Federation, a refugee relief agency that assisted Hungarians who'd fled the Soviet suppression. The agency had secured political asylum status for her. It had also placed her, as a foster child, in the home of a Hungarian family in Forest Hills, Queens. She'd graduated from high school five years later, and four years after that, she received a Bachelor of Arts degree from City College. A few months after her graduation from college, Lyuba obtained a job as a claims representative with the Social Security Administration at the agency's local district office in Forest Hills. She was promoted to operations supervisor seven years later, and she was thereafter given the position of assistant branch manager in 1985. The branch manager of the office subsequently retired in 1992, and Lyuba competed for, and gained, that position as well. It'd taken her 27 years, but she'd attained a very prestigious position in the Federal Government before retiring with a lucrative pension in 2003. Her mother would have been very proud of her. Lyuba fondly thought of her mother and choked back a sob. She'd not fared as well. A representative of the American Hungarian Federation had informed her shortly after her arrival in America that Mirela Hearne had perished in the Soviet invasion. Lyuba's cousin Gunari also had not enjoyed good fortune. He'd died of smallpox three weeks after their ship had sailed from Sibenik, failing to reach The Promised Land. Lyuba became saddened thinking of her deceased loved ones. She expelled the sad thoughts from her mind and thought of her charmed life in America. On her retirement, she'd moved to Stowe, Vermont, where she purchased a magnificent Victorian on a secluded one-acre plot. She'd comfortably lived in that house for the past five years. Although she'd never married, Lyuba had had her fair share of men. She was very fond of sex and saw to it that long periods did not elapse without experiencing the pleasures of the flesh. Stowe had no small shortage of widowed and divorced men, and she'd canoodled with no less than four of them over the past year. She was also very practiced in the art of self-stimulation. Three months prior to her 65th birthday, Lyuba set in motion a plan to test her mother's immortality scheme. In her heart, she believed her mother's words, but it was only a theory until proven otherwise. It had to be tested, and in that vein, she'd scouted locations for a suitable subject within a thirty mile radius of her home. When the smoke had cleared, she'd found two potential marks. Michael Britton was, however, her first choice by a landslide. His natural beauty appealed to her in an erotic way. If she had to be a man, she wouldn't mind looking like that at all. As a young girl, Lyuba had been a real beauty herself, and she saw no reason to change the quality of her long-lost youthful elegance by significant strides. She clearly thought of the other potential victim, her beautician's handsome 21-year-old son, as a backup option. For the past two months, Lyuba had visited The Tree Branch on a weekly basis and cultivated a pleasant relationship with the Britton boy. Lyuba sincerely liked sports and she guilefully used that to her advantage. She'd recently had several long conversations with the boy about the Boston Red Sox and thoroughbred horse racing. Lyuba returned her thoughts to the present moment. She reached into her purse and came away with a frayed slip of paper. She stared at it. 'Are these words truly magical? Will they actually give me the power to steal the boy's body?' she excitedly thought. "Hello, Ms. Hearne. It's nice to see you." Lyuba looked up to see her quarry smiling at her. She quickly returned the paper note to her purse and said, "Why hello, Michael. Please sit down and join me?" "Okay." Michael sat down and took a sip of coffee from the paper cup in his hand. He thought of the first time he'd seen this friendly woman two months earlier. She'd been looking for a book on the history of sports in New England, and he'd tracked one down for her. They'd become friends of sorts, and he looked forward to seeing her when she visited the store every Wednesday morning. "Did you watch the Red Sox game last night, Michael?" Lyuba asked. "No. I went to a friend's house last night, Ms. Hearne. But I checked out the box score in the paper an hour ago. They were lucky to win that one. I couldn't believe that their pitching staff gave up eight runs." "You can say that again, Michael." "Say, what are you doing here on a Tuesday, Ms. Hearne?" "Please call me Lyuba?" "Okay. Lyuba it is." Smiling in mock satisfaction, Lyuba responded, "It's actually my birthday today, Michael, and I thought it'd be nice to see you." Lyuba was vain and didn't want to tell the boy that it was her 65th birthday, and she certainly neglected to mention the significance that that milestone portended. Michael was flattered that his friend had come to the store a day early to see him on her birthday. He smiled and said, "Happy birthday, Lyuba." "Why thank you, Michael. Say, would you like to join me for dinner tonight to celebrate my birthday? I'll make you a nice home-cooked meal. Have you ever had Hungarian stuffed cabbage?" She'd taken him by surprise. "Well... I don't know... " "Please, Michael? I have no one else and it's my birthday. I don't want to spend it alone." Michael empathized with her. He knew how it felt to be alone. And it was her birthday, too. He said, "Okay, Lyuba." "Thank you so much, Michael. When do you get off from work?" "Five o'clock." "What if I come back at five and you can follow me home? It's about a half-hour's drive from here." "Sounds like a plan." "I'll see you then, Michael," and then she stood up to leave. She was barely successful in stifling a wry smile before she turned around and walked away from her Fountain of Youth. Three hours later... Michael had just finished a light lunch of vanilla yogurt and apple juice, and he made his way to the stock room. He retrieved the computerized inventory sheet from the small wooden table and studied it. He took note of the DVDs and CDs that needed restocking in the store. He walked to the large metal frame shelf unit at the far end of the stock room and saw that the DVDs he needed were on the top shelf. He couldn't reach that high, so he scanned the area for the footstool. "Can I help you, Michael?" The voice from nowhere made his heart jump. He turned around and fixed his gaze on Ted Bruchmeyer, a co-worker. He said, "Jesus, Ted, what are you trying to do, give me a heart attack or something? Make a little noise, will ya?" "Sorry, Michael. I didn't mean to sneak up on you or anything. What are you looking for?" "I need the footstool so I can get some DVDs from the top shelf." "I'll get them for you. Which ones do you need?" "'The Civil War' box set. As many as we have." Ted reached up and took hold of the three remaining copies on the top shelf. He asked, "Would you like me to carry them out to the cabinet for you?" Michael rolled his eyes and said, "I think I can manage, Ted. Thanks." He took the DVDs and walked away. Michael reached the cabinet and he unlocked and opened it. As he restocked the items, he considered that Ted had been acting very solicitous toward him lately. On further reflection, Michael concluded that Ted had been treating him as if he were a girl, and the idea of that made him blush profusely. That evening... Michael pulled his Civic coupe up the pebbled driveway and viewed the large Victorian. From the looks of the house, as well as the brand-new Lexus he'd followed for the past half-hour, he inferred that Lyuba Hearne lived quite comfortably. Once inside the house, Lyuba encouraged Michael to remove his shoes and make himself comfortable on the black leather sofa in the living room. She offered him wine, and he accepted. Lyuba went to the kitchen and poured merlot into two wine glasses. She then retrieved a small manila packet of ketamine from an overhead cupboard. She opened it and emptied the white powder into one of the glasses. She returned to the living room and handed the spiked drink to her guest. She said, "I hope you like merlot?" "It's one of my favorites." Michael then took a sip of his drink. It tasted a little funny, but he didn't want to say anything and risk offending his host. 'Maybe it's just my imagination?' he thought. He took another sip. It tasted better, but not by much. "How do you like your wine, Michael?" "It's okay." He felt a little dizzy and disoriented, and he brought the glass to his mouth and took a few gulps to clear his mind. Then he ironically considered that the contemplated remedy may have caused the ill-effects in the first place. Lyuba smiled and said, "I think you should finish your wine, Michael." "Okay." Michael raised the glass and finished his drink in one long pull. Lyuba walked to him and took the glass. She placed it on the coffee table and sat down next to him. She clasped his left hand and rubbed it. "Did you know that I'm a gypsy, Michael?" she asked. His head spun, but the hand rubbing felt good. "No, I didn't know that," he answered. Lyuba smiled and whimsically said, "If you must know, I'm from the vlach order of the Roma people. And our people have a little secret." "Secret?" Michael asked. He wondered what the hell she was prattling on about. "Yes. It's sort of a rite of passage. For me, anyway. And you and I are going to test it tonight." Lyuba paused for a moment and asked, "Have you ever been with a girl, Michael?" "Been with a girl?" The slight tremor in his voice made Lyuba snicker. She asked, "Have you had sex with a girl?" Michael hadn't, but there was no way he'd admit it to her. "No, I haven't," he responded. He then thought, 'That's not what I wanted to say.' "Well, it's time to fix that, Michael." Lyuba then stood up and, still holding his hand, led him into the bedroom. Ten minutes later... Lyuba stared at the naked boy on the bed. She'd told him to take off his clothes and lie on his back. He'd had a bewildered look on his face as he complied with the directive. Lyuba saw that his expression was now one of anxiety. She viewed his penis. It was a nice one. She'd expected it to be smaller. She was pleasantly surprised. Lyuba removed her clothes and joined him in bed. She grasped his penis and stroked it to attention. She then mounted the boy and captured his erection in her moist cavity. She hadn't had sex for weeks and had become hot and wet simply by touching him with her hand. Lyuba rode the boy like a feral Hungarian stallion. His pants and groans intensified. She knew he was ready. She cried out, "Activut! Drunsic! Brumla!" and a few seconds later, she felt his warm seed spurt into her in fits and starts. She rolled off of the boy and looked at him. He was fast asleep. Out of the blue, drowsiness overcame her, and she, too, quickly nodded off. The next morning... Lyuba awoke and yawned. She rubbed her eyes and stretched. The events of the previous evening tumbled into her mind, and she abruptly sat up on the edge of the bed. She looked down at her naked body and saw the flat chest. She looked further down and took in the sight of the penis and scrotum dangling from her groin. A reflexive "whoop!" issued from her mouth, and she exclaimed, "Mama was right! It worked!" Lyuba immediately wondered what had happened to her old body. She looked back at the bed and saw that it was vacant. She then went to the living and found her answer. She glimpsed the naked body scrawled in the middle of the room with its face on the floor. Lyuba walked to the motionless body and knelt beside it. She grasped its wrist and felt for a pulse. There was none. She then maneuvered the body onto its back and stared at its lifeless face. It was unsettling. 'That's me,' she thought, and a sense of dread swamped her. Then she thought, 'It used to be me. I'm someone else, now,' and the dread quickly dissipated. She stood up and returned to the bedroom. The swinging weight between her legs felt so unusual. She sat on the bed and looked down at herself. She viewed the penis that'd been inside of her just a few hours earlier. It was an eerie thought. Lyuba then wondered what had happened to Michael Britton's essence when she'd seized his body. Had it simply been expunged? Had it transferred into her old body and died with it? Or was it still inside the body she'd captured? She concluded that there was no way to know for sure. Her mother's description of the process hadn't covered all of the fine points. Lyuba took a shower and dressed in the boy's clothes. She considered what to do next and it suddenly came to her. It was time to call the funeral home. An hour later... Lyuba watched the two men from Ziegler's Funeral Home zip up the canvas body bag. She said, "There was nothing I could do. She had cardiac disease. It must have been a massive heart attack. I tried CPR but it didn't work." One of the men shrugged and said, "When it's time to go, it's time to go. Are you related to her?" "No. I was her friend. She has no family." "Who'll be taking care of the funeral arrangements?" the man asked. "I will. I'll come down to the funeral home in an hour or so." After a brief pause, Lyuba added, "It's the least I can do for her." The men departed with the body, and a few minutes later, Lyuba left the house and drove Michael's car to his home in South Burlington. She dialed up The Tree Branch and took a sick day. She then located the boy's check book and returned to the car. A half-hour later, she pulled into the parking lot of Ziegler's Funeral Home in Stowe. Lyuba entered the establishment and talked to the receptionist, who summoned one of the owners on the phone. A minute later, a short balding man approached her. He extended his hand and she shook it. "I'm Nicholas Carlson. I'm so sorry for your loss," he said. Lyuba responded, "Thanks. That's very gracious of you." Carlson discreetly studied the young man and thought, 'My God, what a looker." Ever since he could remember, Carlson had been attracted to young boys, a predilection he'd managed to successfully hide from Natalie, his wife of 27 years. This one was, he thought, an unqualified 10. He felt stirrings in his loins. He loudly cleared his throat and said, "May I escort you to my office?" and he then led the young man there. He worked hard to maintain his composure while he elicited information to complete the necessary paperwork. He then reached into a desk drawer and came away with a thick catalogue of caskets. Carlson offered it to him but he shook his head. Lyuba saw his uncertain expression. She said, "I don't need to go through that book, Mr. Carlson. Just show me your finest casket. Lyuba Hearne was a wonderful woman. She deserves the best." The next day... Lyuba ran her time card through the attendance clock and returned it to the slot in the wall rack. She turned around and saw Janice Karger approach her. She said, "Good morning, Janice." Michael had introduced her to the girl on one of her visits to the store. "Hi, Michael. Feeling better?" "Yeah, I just had a slight head cold. It's gone now." "Good. Say, you look a little different." "I do?" Lyuba's heart rate quickened. "Yeah. You look, I don't know, content?" "Uh... I'm actually a little sad." "Sad? Why?" "I just found out that Lyuba Hearne died." "You mean that old lady who came here every Wednesday." "Yeah. That was her." "I'm so sorry, Michael. I know that you liked her." "Thanks. Her funeral's on Sunday. I think I'll go to pay my respects." Sunday afternoon... Lyuba stood at the gravesite and stole glances at the other attendees as the pastor from the funeral home spoke. She saw all four of the local men she'd laid over the past year. They appeared genuinely saddened. Lyuba knew they'd surely miss dipping their pens into her well in a big way. She slyly smiled. She saw her beautician, Betty Fox, too, with her 21-year-old son, Tommie. She fancifully thought, 'You don't know how close you came, Tommie. It could have been you headed for that gaping hole in the ground.' Lyuba also saw that Ben Utley, her attorney, was present. She suspected that Ben would be talking to her in a few minutes. The pastor concluded his remarks and the cemetery workers began the chore of lowering the casket into the grave. Lyuba watched as the small crowd began to disperse. She was pleased to see her attorney approach her. Ben Utley stopped a few feet before the young man and asked, "Are you Michael Britton?" "Yes." "I'm Ben Utley, Lyuba Hearne's lawyer and the executor of her will. I have some good news for you on this sad day, Mr. Britton. Ms. Hearne made you the sole heir of her estate. And her estate's quite substantial. Including the equity in her house, it comes to nearly two million dollars. She must have liked you very much." Lyuba twisted her face into an expression of feigned surprise and said, "Really? Well, I was her only true friend. And she had no family." "I suppose that's more good news for you, Mr. Britton. Then there won't be any relatives to challenge the will. Can you come to my office this Wednesday morning at ten o'clock?" "Certainly." "Good. We'll carry out Ms. Hearne's last wishes at that time." He handed the young man his business card and left. Lyuba heard thumping sounds. She turned around to see the workers shoveling dirt into the open grave. She thought of her cunning plan. Its sheer perfection was impressive. On Wednesday morning, she'd inherit her own estate. She broadly smiled. Mimicking the gravesite on a small scale, the gaping hole between Lyuba's teeth persisted for another minute before she returned to her car and drove it home. That night... Lyuba lay on her back in the darkness of Michael Britton's bedroom. She decided that the bed was a little too hard for her tastes. She'd returned to the house in South Burlington out of convenience. She was in no mood for a long drive to work tomorrow morning. She'd decided to hold onto the boy's job for a while until she could fashion a new life for herself. She concentrated on the events of the past few days. Seemingly out of nowhere, it came to her that she had access to Michael Britton's memories. She recalled the bullying he'd been subjected to in high school. She also summoned up his embarrassing conversation with Janice Karger after they'd watched a video in her apartment. And she looked back to the boy's unbearable conversation with his mother right before she'd died. The memories planted a seed in Lyuba's mind as she drifted off to sleep. An hour later... Michael stared at the dim point of light at the end of the darkened tunnel. He had an inkling he'd been staring at it for quite some time. All at once, the point of light grew in size and brightness. Either he was approaching the light, or it was moving toward him. He couldn't tell exactly how things stood. The incandescence grew brighter by the moment, and before long, he was suffused in brilliant white light. It hurt his eyes. He closed them. Thankfully, the light petered out and the darkness returned. He sensed familiar surroundings despite the total darkness. He tried to move his arms and legs. He couldn't. He attempted to talk. He couldn't do that, either. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't open his eyes. 'What's happened to me? Am I paralyzed?' he frantically thought. A sense of panic germinated in his bowels and quickly spiraled out of control. He would have trembled if he only could. The next morning... Lyuba stepped out of the shower and toweled herself dry. She returned to the bedroom and stood before the full-length mirror adjacent to the closet. She dropped her gaze and studied her new genitalia. 'I look like a damn ape,' she agitatedly thought. She'd always enjoyed the unremitting pleasure of having a man's penis inside of her, but owning one herself was something else altogether. She didn't like it. She then lifted her gaze and eyed her flat chest. She didn't like that, either. She sorely missed having breasts. The memory of the boy's final conversation with his mother slithered back into Lyuba's mind. 'Is that an option for me?' she asked herself. Lyuba dressed in a pair of black jeans, a red polo shirt, and sneakers. The clothes were reasonably comfortable. She then went to the kitchen and sat at the table. She considered her new circumstances. As hard as it was for Lyuba to believe, she was 20 years old again. As a result of the furtive gypsy gambit, she'd managed to shave 45 years off her life. But it had come at a steep price. She'd have to live for the next 45 years in a male body. In Lyuba's mind, that was a huge drawback. Over the course of her adult life, Lyuba had seen a number of television documentaries and fictional shows on the subject of transsexualism and the various treatments for the affliction. She knew that gender reassignment surgery was widely available at many major hospitals. But she also knew that in her particular case, there were collateral issues to consider. Would having surgery to change her sex adversely affect the body seizure she'd pulled off? She recalled her mother's words: "On your 65th birthday, you must lay with a man." Lyuba then wondered, 'Does that mean that I have to live out my time as a man in order to stay alive?' And there was another issue to consider: how might gender reassignment surgery affect the next body seizure on her attainment of the milestone age? If she reverted to a female form through surgery, would she then have to sleep with a man on her next 65th birthday? Or would she have to sleep with a female on the premise that the first body she'd seized was male at the time she took it? Lyuba pondered the question for a moment, and the answer came to her: she could cover all of the bases simply by sleeping with a man and a woman on her next 65th birthday. There were, of course, no guarantees it'd work, but it seemed like a reasonable plan. Lyuba's head throbbed from the mental laboring. She wiped her mind clean and relaxed. The strain slowly lifted. As a sense of serenity returned to Lyuba, Michael's disorientation sluggishly peeled away in thin layers. It came to him that he'd gone from the bedroom to the kitchen, but he couldn't recall the reason he'd come to the kitchen. He also couldn't recall actively walking the short distance. It was as if his body had taken him to the kitchen on its own free will. He attempted to stand up to no avail. He tried to say, "What's wrong with me?" but no words were spoken by him. Then he remembered lying in bed last night. He'd been unable to move or talk then, either. All of a sudden, he raised his right hand and brushed it through his hair. He was surprised by the movement. He hadn't thought of doing that. And then he heard himself say, "It's all settled, then. I'm going to go through with it." He'd talked without thinking of what to say. He didn't even know what the words had meant. Michael focused, and pieces of the puzzle slowly came together. As far- fetched as it seemed, someone else was in control of his body. It was the only answer that he could come up with. He concentrated harder, and he recalled the visit to Lyuba Hearne's house to celebrate her birthday. He also recalled the funny-tasting wine and the woman's nonsensical ramblings about some gypsy rite of passage. Recollecting the sex she'd forced on him and the strange words she'd shouted, the last piece of the puzzle then fell into place, completing the picture. He silently exclaimed, 'Holy shit! She stole my body right out from under me with some damn gypsy curse!' It was unreal, but there was no other explanation. Lyuba stood up and retrieved her car keys from the bedroom. "Time to go to work," she announced. She left the house and entered her car. Michael found his body's movements disconcerting. He'd moved, but had had nothing to do with it. He'd simply been carried along for the ride. It was like he was a puppet whose strings had been pulled. It was a discombobulating experience. 'What am I going to do?' he thought, while vigorously trying to suppress the mounting frenzy that'd taken hold of him. Two hours later... "So how was the funeral, Michael?" Lyuba looked at the pretty girl sitting across from her at the table in the store's caf?, and answered, "It was depressing, Janice. The poor woman was only 65 years old." Janice pursed her lips and slightly shook her head. She felt bad for her friend. She wanted to do something to ease his pain. "Hey, I have an idea. What are you doing tonight?" "Nothing, really." "What do you say about dinner and a video at my place? You know, to get your mind off of things." Lyuba considered the offer and a thought occurred to her. "Okay. Why not?" she responded. Michael had been nothing more than a disabled observer to the conversation. He recalled his last soir?e at Janice's apartment and wondered what was in store for him tonight. That evening... As the credits to "Duck Soup" rolled, Janice said, "That's one funny movie, there." She'd attempted to cheer up her friend with a good comedy, and judging by his laughter during the film, her plan had worked well. "Yeah, it's one of their best films." Lyuba had always liked The Marx Brothers, and she'd enjoyed the movie. Glancing at the white cardboard cartons that littered the coffee table reminded her that she'd also enjoyed the Chinese takeout they'd eaten during the movie. Janice stood up and collected the empty food containers. She then placed them in the two brown paper bags they'd come from. "Can I help you with that?" Lyuba asked. "Nah, I'm fine. How about a little nightcap? I've got a nice bottle of Riesling." "Sounds good to me." "I'll be right back." Janice carried the bags into the kitchen. A few minutes later, she returned with two glasses of wine and offered one to her guest. "Thanks, Janice." Lyuba took a sip of wine and said, "I want to thank you for inviting me over. It's just what the doctor ordered." "My pleasure, Michael. I enjoyed having you." Lyuba considered that the girl was a very nice person. She was so attractive, too. In sorting through the Britton boy's memories, Lyuba had discovered he'd had a secret crush on her. She figured the time was right and asked, "Do you remember what we talked about the last time I was here, Janice?" "Uh... yeah." Janice wasn't sure what else to say. She wondered where Michael was going. "Well, I lied to you. I guess I was too ashamed to admit it, but I do wonder what it would've been like if I'd been born a girl. I think about it a lot. In fact, I think I'd be better off if I had been born a girl." Janice was surprised. He'd been so adamant in denying it just a few weeks earlier. "Really, Michael?' she asked. "Yeah. And I often wonder what I'd look like dressed as a girl." Janice softly smiled and said, "Well, I think we may be able to do something about that, Michael." An hour later... Lyuba stood before the wall mirror in Janice's bedroom and admired herself. Just as she'd suspected, her new body was a real beauty all dolled-up. She was actually prettier now than she'd ever been. A satisfying smile spanned her face. Michael's broad smile in the mirror's reflection hadn't escaped Janice's notice. It was obvious that he enjoyed seeing himself dressed like that. And Janice enjoyed it, too. She always believed he'd look like a knockout all dressed up. The makeup, red dress, nylons and black leather three-inch pumps all came together to make her friend look as elegant as any girl that Janice had ever laid her eyes on. She said, "You look very nice, Michael. How do you like the way it feels?" Lyuba pulled her stare from the mirror and faced Janice. She responded, "It feels great. I could get used to this in a hurry. You know, there's something else I haven't told you, Janice." "Yeah? What?" "Well, for the past week, I've been thinking about having gender reassignment surgery." It took a moment for the news to sink in, and Janice asked, "You mean like sex change surgery?" "Yeah." "Are you serious, Michael?" "I am. And seeing myself like this reinforces how I feel about it." "That's a big step, Michael. Have you thought this over?" "I have. Look at me, Janice, and tell me that I shouldn't have been born a girl." Janice couldn't. Michael was right. She then recalled his accounts of the harassment he'd endured and the pain he'd felt. Her eyes moistened and she said, "I understand, Michael. I want you to know that I'll be here for you." Lyuba thanked her and then they hugged. Wearing a dress and makeup had severely embarrassed Michael. However, Lyuba's latest disclosure had transformed his embarrassment into a marked sense of foreboding. He tried to communicate with her through his thoughts. He desperately wanted to talk her out of it. 'Please don't do this!' he implored, but she didn't respond. 'She doesn't have the slightest clue that I'm in here,' he sullenly thought. He concluded, 'There's nothing I can do to stop her.' A sense of profound helplessness then enveloped Michael like a dark storm cloud. The next night... Lyuba comfortably sat in the green leather chair and stared at the computer monitor. As soon as she'd arrived at her cozy Victorian in Stowe an hour earlier, she went to the study and got on the Internet. Lyuba looked away from the screen and found her pen. She scribbled a few notes on the pad of paper. Then she returned her attention to the monitor. Michael gazed at the web page displayed on the screen. It was titled, "Understanding Sex Reassignment Surgery." He was mortified. The next morning... Lyuba stood behind the cash register and scanned the store. She counted just four customers. It had been a slow morning. She saw Janice emerge from behind the greeting card display rack. Lyuba pleasantly smiled at her. Janice walked up to the cashier's counter and asked, "What are you doing here?" "Kathy's at the dentist's office. One of her fillings dropped out. I volunteered to fill in for her until she comes back." "That was nice of you, Michael." "Well, I'm a nice person." "I'd agree with that. So tell me, what's new?" "Well, I've been doing a little research on the Internet. I want to know as much about the gender reassignment process as I can before I sign up for it." "That's a smart move. What do you plan to do about work?" "I'm not sure. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable. I guess I'll quit." "You don't have to if you don't want to, Michael. Mr. Nolan's a very understanding man. Did you know that one of his sons is openly gay?" "No, I didn't." "And for the most part, our co-workers are a good bunch. They'll understand, too. You shouldn't quit unless you really want to, Michael." Janice then looked at her wristwatch and said, "I have to go. I promised Paul that I'd help him sort out and display the new calendars. Are you interested in lunch today? Maybe a few slices of pizza?" "Absolutely." "Good. Will Kathy be back by noon?" "She should be." "Okay. See you then," and Janice walked away. Lyuba spent the rest of the morning thinking about what the young girl had said. She'd come to enjoy working at The Tree Branch. She liked literature, movies and music, and she was virtually surrounded by her interests in the store. 'Maybe I won't quit?' she mused. In the end, Lyuba decided to talk to Mr. Nolan to see how he felt about it. That afternoon... Lyuba reached into the cardboard box and removed a stack of compact discs. A dozen boxes had been delivered to the store this morning and she needed to check the CDs against inventory. She heard footsteps and looked up to see Ted Bruchmeyer approach her. Collating the Britton boy's memories, she'd learned that Michael had suspected Ted liked him in a way that went beyond normal male bonding. Ted stopped a few feet from Michael and asked, "Can I give you a hand with that?" "Sure, Ted. I'm getting a little tired. These boxes are really heavy. And they're so hard to open, too." "No problem, Michael. I'll open them up for you." Lyuba sat on a metal folding chair and watched Ted whip a box cutter out of his back pocket. He then sliced open the rest of the boxes with efficiency. Lyuba suspected that he was showing off. She said, "You know, Ted, I want to thank you for all the help you've given me since I came to work at the store. You're a real gentleman and I appreciate it." She saw his face redden and thought, 'Hmm. He's a bashful one.' "Well... you know... I don't mind helping people out. No problem, Michael." He then looked at his wristwatch and said, "Uh... I have to go, now. I have an appointment for an oil change. On my car, I mean." "Okay, Ted. It's been lovely chatting with you." Lyuba watched the boy head for the exit door. She considered that underneath his nerdy exterior, he wasn't such a bad-looking guy. She figured that with a new wardrobe, hair style and eyeglass frames, he'd make a rather handsome young man. Michael had helplessly stood by while the gypsy woman made him flirt with Ted Bruchmeyer. It was another humiliation to add to the pile The following morning... Lyuba exhaled and said, "That's about it, in a nutshell." She anxiously awaited Mr. Nolan's reaction. "Well, Michael, it sounds like you're in line for the adventure of your lifetime. Are you sure that this is what you want?" "I'm sure, Mr. Nolan. It's what I've always wanted. I've finally gathered the courage to go through with it." "Well, good for you, Michael. A person should always go after what he or she wants, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone. What about work?" "I was thinking of leaving, Mr. Nolan. I don't want to make my co- workers feel uncomfortable or anything." "Is that what you really want to do? I could be wrong, but it seems to me that you like working here." "Oh, don't get me wrong. I do like working here. It's just that I don't want to unsettle the other employees. It'll be easier if I just resign." "Nonsense. You've been an excellent employee, and you have every right to stay. I have zero tolerance for discrimination based on age, race, religion, sexual preference, or any other irrelevant things. You're welcome to stay, if that's your preference, Michael." "I guess it is, Mr. Nolan. Thanks a lot. I appreciate it." "I suppose I should call a meeting and announce it to the staff. Are you agreeable to that?" "Absolutely." "Good. Just one more thing, Michael. I want you to let me know if anyone here gives you any grief about this. I promise you that I won't stand for it." Two weeks later... "Are you sure that this is what you really want, Michael?" "Yes, Dr. Eiler. This is what I've wanted ever since I was a young boy. Just take a good look at me. It's easy to see that I should've been born a girl." Lyuba leaned back in the chair and awaited the doctor's response. She'd chosen Dr. Evan Eiler, a board-certified psychiatrist at the University Of Vermont College Of Medicine in Burlington, because her research had shown that he'd been active in transgender medical care for nearly two decades. Dr. Eiler studied his patient. He could see the boy's point. He was the most feminine-looking male-to-female transgendered patient he'd ever had. He said, "Okay, Michael. I need to go over the protocols with you." "I've already read about them, Doc." Lyuba had left no stone unturned in researching the matter. "Good. But I want to discuss them with you to ensure that we're on the same page." "Okay." "In order to have sex reassignment surgery, Michael, you first have to undergo at least twelve months of hormonal therapy. That means you'll be given estrogen and progesterone. They're female hormones. As a consequence of taking these medications, your skin will soften. Fatty tissue will redistribute to your hips and rear end. You'll grow breasts and develop curves. You'll experience female emotions. The production of testosterone by your testicles will be suppressed. And you may become unable to attain an erection. Do you understand?" "Yes, Dr. Eiler." "Good. You'll also have to live and work as a woman for at least twelve continuous months." "I understand." In that respect, Lyuba was grateful she'd been able to retain her job at The Tree Branch. "And before you can have gender reassignment surgery, a qualified health professional that's been acquainted with your case has to make a recommendation for the procedure. As your psychiatrist, I can make the recommendation as, if and when the time comes." "I understand." "Good." Dr. Eiler then reached into his desk drawer and came away with a small prescription pad. He said, "I'm writing you a prescription for female hormones, Michael." He quickly scribbled down a few words. He then tore the slip from the pad and offered it to his new patient. Lyuba took the prescription and stuffed it into her purse. She said, "Thank you." "And I want to see you on a monthly basis to monitor your progress, Michael. Okay?" "Absolutely," Lyuba responded. Michael had hoped against hope, but now there wasn't any doubt about it. 'Holy Christ. She's going through with it. She's actually going to do it!' he frightfully thought. Two months later... Lyuba looked down at her naked form. She shook her head in disapproval. Despite taking hormones as directed, there was no discernible difference in her body, at least as far as she could tell. She'd complained about it to Dr. Eiler last week, and he'd urged her to be patient. "It's not unusual for there to be no changes during the first two months. Give it another few weeks," he'd said. She slipped into a pair of panties and rolled a fresh pair of nude pantyhose up her legs and over her waist. She then put on a white silk blouse. Perusing her new wardrobe in the closet, she selected the grey pinstriped woolen pants suit. She slipped into it and then she stepped into a pair of black leather flats. Lyuba returned to the closet and scanned her wardrobe again. She'd bought plenty of nice dresses and skirts. She'd also purchased a fair number of shoes with high heels. However, she was wary of doing too much, too fast. She wanted to avoid rattling her co-workers. It would work out best if they acclimated to her transition on a gradual basis. For the same reason, Lyuba had thus far avoided cosmetics, except for a very light coat of pink lipstick each morning. Viewing her new clothes made Lyuba think of Janice Karger. The young girl had been so helpful. She'd accompanied Lyuba on several shopping expeditions, assisting her in assembling a new wardrobe. Lyuba was now several inches shorter and 20 pounds lighter than she'd been before she'd seized the Britton boy's body, so her old wardrobe was largely useless. Just last week, she'd donated her old clothes to The Salvation Army. She'd also given them all of the Britton boy's male clothes. Lyuba inspected herself in the wall mirror and primped her hair a bit. It'd grown to the point where it was only two inches from her shoulders. She planned to have it professionally styled when it was shoulder-length. She held out her hands and examined her nails. She'd let them grow and shaped them, too. She figured it wouldn't be much longer before she'd use nail polish. Lyuba pulled herself from the mirror and retrieved her car keys and purse. It was time to go to work. Michael silently looked on as he went about what'd become his normal weekday morning routine. Unfortunately for him, all he could do was watch and worry. Two hours later... Lyuba sat across from Janice at the table-for-two in The Tree Branch Caf?, where they sipped at their coffees and shared a lightly buttered bagel. Janice said, "You look nice in that outfit, Michelle. I remember when you tried it on at Macy's." Lyuba had gotten used to being referred to as Michelle. For obvious reasons, she'd asked her co-workers to use that name for her. "As I recall, Janice, you urged me to buy it," she said. "Well, it does flatter you. I liked it then, and I like it now. I'm just waiting for you to come to work in a dress." "All in good time, Janice. I want to go slowly with this. Besides, I'm still waiting for the changes in my body to come about, if you know what I mean." Janice eyed her friend's flat chest and said, "I get the drift. Hey, are you doing anything tonight?" "Not really." "Why don't you come over to my place for dinner and a video?" "Okay. It's a date." That night... Janice returned the DVD to its plastic case and said, "Now that's what I call a first-rate movie." They'd eaten greasy tacos and burritos from Taco Bell while watching "Million Dollar Baby." "Yeah. Eastwood's clearly one on our best directors. Who'd have thought that Dirty Harry would evolve into such a superb director in his old age?" "Not me. But I'm glad that he did. He makes such great films," Janice agreed. "You got that right." Lyuba raised the glass and took a sip of her margarita. They were both on their second drink of the night. Janice placed her empty glass on the coffee table and turned to Michelle, who, she noted, was dressed in brown cotton slacks, a white cotton blouse and black leather flats. "So you haven't seen any changes in your body yet, you said? Are you taking your hormones?" she asked. "Yeah, I am. Dr. Eiler said that it's still a little early in the process. He told me to give it a few more weeks." "Oh. Can you still get... you know...?" Lyuba saw Janice's flustered expression. She believed she knew where the girl was going. She finished the sentence for her: "Hard?" Janice shook her head in embarrassment. "Well... yeah. Forget that I asked, Michelle. I'm a bonehead who's had too much to drink." "It's alright, Janice. Your curiosity is understandable. The answer is yes, but Dr. Eiler told me that the time may come when I can't anymore." Janice looked down at her lap for a moment and then trained her gaze on Michelle. She quietly asked, "Would you like to get off while you still can, Michelle? I've been told that I have wonderful hands." She prayed that her friend wouldn't take it the wrong way. Lyuba was as surprised by the offer as she was pleased with it. She replied, "I'm sure you do, Janice. And to answer your question, I'd love to use it before I lose it." Lyuba then stood up and placed her drink on the coffee table. Before she sat back down, she lowered her slacks, nylons and panties to her ankles. Janice walked to the other end of the sofa and sat next to Michelle. She eyed her friend's penis and was surprised at how well-endowed he was. She took it in her hand and stroked it. In a matter of seconds, it sprang to attention. Lyuba sunk into the sofa and closed her eyes. The girl's massage was absolutely delightful. She gasped and softly said, "You do have wonderful hands." Janice giggled at the compliment and stroked harder. She brought Michelle to the brink and slowed the pace. Hearing her friend's gasps and sighs made her smile. A moment later, she skillfully caught Michelle's spurting ejaculate in her palm. Lyuba caught her breath and said, "Thanks, Janice. That was so nice." Lyuba had played with herself in the shower, but it'd been nothing like this. The girl was truly an expert. "It was my pleasure, Michelle. I'll be right back," and she went to the bathroom to wash up. She returned a few minutes later with a wet hand towel and cleaned her friend. Michael was absolutely stunned. He'd secretly fancied intimacy with Janice since the first day they'd met. Unsurprisingly, it was as good as he'd dreamed it would be. He facetiously thought, 'If there's one good thing that's come of this whole mess, then it has to be this.' Four months later... It was Sunday night, and Lyuba was preparing to turn in. She sat at the vanity and rubbed moisturizing cream over her face. Then she found the hair brush and pulled it through her long golden locks. It had taken several months, but her hair had grown to the point where it'd finally reached her shoulders and beyond. She'd had it styled at the salon for the first time a week earlier by Betty Fox, her long-time beautician. She was pleased with the outcome. Her hair was parted in the middle and stylishly curled into soft u-turns where it met her shoulders and back. Lyuba placed the brush onto the counter and walked to the wall mirror. She slipped out of the white silk kimono and gazed at her bare form. Dr. Eiler had been right. It'd taken three months, but she'd finally seen some changes in her body. Her skin had softened, tiny breasts had sprouted on her chest, and discernible curves had developed at her waist and hips. Her legs had taken on a more shapely appearance, too. Even better, the changes had proceeded at a steady pace over the past three months. Just last week, Lyuba had discarded the training bras and purchased replacements with an A-cup. It was so nice to have notable breasts again. Lyuba scanned her full body. She considered that she looked quite feminine. 'Except for that package between my legs,' she quickly thought. 'Don't worry, it'll all be gone soon enough,' she reassured herself. She walked to the bed and got into it. She turned off the light and tucked herself in. A profound sense of self-satisfaction imbued her, and she was sound asleep in a matter of minutes. Michael, in contrast, was filled with a vast sense of gloom. On this night, he didn't sleep a wink. The following morning... Lyuba relieved herself. She flushed the toilet and stood up to hoist her panties, pantyhose and slacks. She left the stall and unhurriedly walked to the sink to wash her hands. Viewing her image in the mirror, she decided that her lipstick needed freshening. Lyuba carefully ran the pink lipstick over her lips. She then stepped back and viewed her body's reflection. She decided that she looked quite nice in the eggshell white linen slacks and matching jacket over a brown silk blouse. She dropped her gaze and approvingly regarded the beige leather shoes with two-inch heels that completed her outfit. Lyuba had not yet worn a dress to work. It was part of her plan to capture the affections of Ted Bruchmeyer. She'd been without a man's touch for a long time. She badly craved it. She'd decided that Ted would suit her needs. Lyuba left the bathroom and made her way to the stock room. She walked to the area where the DVD storage racks were located. She set her eyes on Ted, who busily removed DVDs from a large cardboard box. She silently stepped up to him and said, "Good morning, Ted." She'd startled him and added, "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to scare you." "Oh... hi, there... Michelle. How are you today?" She saw that the boy looked a bit nonplussed. "I'm fine, Ted.