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Costume Gun: The Ultimate Gift free porn video
Costume Gun: The Ultimate Gift
By Heather St. Claire
Joan Fuller sat in the lunchroom of the Dixon County Jail surrounded by
co-workers and friends. She was the center of attention, which was to be
expected, as this day marked her 50th birthday.
Joan's square face was framed by a short brown bob. Her large, liquid
brown eyes were her most compelling feature; usually, when she was on
the job as a Corrections Sergeant they burned with a fierce intensity;
but this afternoon, they showed she was in a relaxed, reflective mood.
She looked around the room at the d?cor; the usual black streamers and
balloons; the large birthday cake covered with black frosting and black
candles. Members of the law enforcement community treat each other like
family, and one of the joys of family is that you can tease them in a
way outsiders can't. The fiftieth birthday party for a member of the
Dixon County Sheriff's Office was usually such an occasion; with most
staffers being able to retire in their early to mid-fifties, the big 5-0
party was the last good shot at them until the farewell dinner.
Joan soon realized that something was missing, however; the cheesy
plastic tombstones with "R.I.P" emblazoned on them, a Halloween staple
that turned up at every milestone party for the Sheriff's Office.
She looked around the room and said, "You didn't have to keep the
tombstones in the closet to spare my feelings. He's been gone seven
years, you know."
"Uh, what are you talking about Jo?" It was Becky, the jail
receptionist. She was one of Joan's closest friends, but a terrible
liar.
Joan rolled her eyes. "You know very well who I'm talking about. The
incredible disappearing Sergeant."
There was an awkward silence in the room for a moment. Although no one
directly acknowledged it, they all know Joan was talking about her late
husband, Tom Fuller, also a Corrections Sergeant in the Dixon County
Jail. It had been seven years since he had vanished while in the final
stages of terminal prostate cancer.
The search for Tom Fuller had been exhaustive; law enforcement rarely
lets one of their own go easily. But no trace of him was ever found.
None of Joan's colleagues would have believed that Tom Fuller was
sitting there, right in front of them, at that very moment.
He was inside of his wife, thanks to an amazing device called the
costume gun.
As Joan opened the gifts, both serious (a weekend fishing vacation) and
gag (a box of Depends), she thought back 15 years to when she first
joined the Sheriff's Office, freshly graduated from the Police Academy.
It had been a mid-career shift that had left a lot of people scratching
their heads. She had abruptly resigned as Chief Deputy District Attorney
in neighboring McPherson County.
She had only been on the job a day at the Dixon Jail when she was
introduced to Sgt. Fuller. She was Joan Anderson then, still never-
married. He asked her why she had given up prosecuting criminals to
house them.
"I was tired of not getting my hands dirty," she said. "And I was sick
of having to wear power suits to court every day. This," she said,
grabbing a hold of her gun belt, "is a lot more comfortable to me. And
brown really is my color, don't you think?"
She gave him such a charming smile that he was immediately thinking
about where they could go on a first date. And a second. And a third.
"Do you like a good, thick juicy steak?" he asked.
"What woman doesn't?" she replied.
It had been a long time since Tom Fuller had thought about intimacy. He
had married his high school sweetheart right after graduation and
fathered two children, a boy and a girl, that he adored, but the flame
of their marriage had died a long time ago. They had stayed together for
the sake of the children, but had finally split four years earlier.
Then came the cancer. He had ignored the warning signs until it was
necessary to remove the prostate entirely and follow up with aggressive
radiation and chemotherapy, but the doctors had pronounced him cancer
free, and now, just past his 47th birthday, he was ready to open his
heart to love again.
Tom and Joan were married after dating for six weeks. "We're not kids,"
he told the Sheriff. "We know what we want out of life, so why wait?"
They both loved their work; they both loved outdoor activities of all
kinds; they both loved action/adventure films. It was a match made in
heaven, or so it seemed. Neither Tom or Joan were big lovers of talk for
talk's sake; their relationship often was built on meaningful silences.
When one had had a difficult day, the other was there with a hug, a
backrub, a strong drink. Neither had to ask; they were that much in
synch with each other's needs.
They had been together for almost eight years when one of their worst
arguments ever finally ended in Tom agreeing to see the doctor.
"Damn it, Tom, you know something's up, and if it isn't, I will be the
first to apologize, but please, please, we have to know."
For months, Tom had been complaining of back pain and shortness of
breath. He blamed it on the fact that he was almost 55 years old and was
carrying 30 extra pounds, the first time in his career that he had let
himself become overweight. "I'm going to retire soon, and then I'll
concentrate on getting back into shape. I want to enjoy sitting around
the house all day while you keep bringing home the check," he said with
a smile. But inside, Tom knew that something was wrong.
Even he was shocked to learn just how bad things were. The cancer had
returned with a vengeance, spreading to his liver, his lungs and his
bones. There was no question of a cure; all that was left was palliative
treatment focused on symptom and pain management.
"I'm done, honey, I'm done. I'm sorry," Tom told her.
But Joan Fuller was not one to take no for an answer. She spent long
nights on the Internet, searching out alternative treatments of every
description. Late one night, she clicked on a link and was led to a web
page advertising a device called the Costume Gun. The picture reminded
her of a child's toy from decades earlier, when toys were still made
with some detailing and quality. She was amused to read the claims?that
the gun could instantly transform the person into a wearable costume.
She was still confused about why the link had taken her to the page in
the first place and was ready to exit the page, when she felt a strange,
powerful urge to click on the "Free Trial" promised in the ad.
Sure enough, the gun was delivered to her doorstep a short time later.
She took the gun out of the box and examined it carefully. "Amazing
craftsmanship," she muttered. "More like a fancy movie prop than a toy."
She read the thick instruction book that came with the gun, then put the
gun and manual back in the box and set it on the floor of the hall
closet. She wasn't sure why she had sent for the gun in the first place
and she wasn't sure what she would do with it?if it even worked.
In the weeks that followed, Joan all but forgot about the gun as Tom's
condition rapidly worsened. He was losing weight at an alarming rate and
had begun to show signs of jaundice as his cancer-ridden liver started
to fail. She was exhausted, and finally accepted the doctor's
recommendation that Tom be enrolled in hospice care. The first worker
was due the next morning.
That night, she took the gun from the closet, re-read the manual, put
the batteries in the gun, and walked into the living room, where Tom's
sickbed had been set up. When she explained what the gun could do, Tom
managed a weak laugh.
"So what are you going to do with that toy?" he asked.
"I want you to use it...on me. If you turn me into a costume and put me
on, you won't die. You will live."
"I must be hallucinating...it must be the morphine. But if I really did
hear you right, here's my answer: A, that thing won't work, B, I don't
want to kill you, and C, I don't want to be a woman."
Joan sighed. "Well then, let's take care of one of your objections." She
aimed the gun at her husband. There was a beam of white light; then all
that was left in his bed was an empty Tom costume. She felt her heart
pounding heavily in her chest; even she hadn't been entirely convinced
that it would work. With a trembling hand, she picked up the costume
that had been her husband and put it on.
At the moment she closed the "zipper" under her new chin, she suffered
several moments of disorientation, thinking that she was Tom Fuller,
wondering why he was standing up when he had been in bed and where his
wife had gone with that ridiculous toy she had. Poor girl, the strain of
his illness was getting to her....
Then Joan's head cleared, and as quickly as she could, she removed the
costume and restored her husband.
"Good God, the thing works," were the first words out of his mouth. Then
he looked at his wife. "Jo, honey? Why are you crying?"
"I don't think I understood how much pain you're in...or how much you
really do love me," she said. Left unspoken was the other thought of her
husband's that weighed heavily on her; how much he was afraid of dying.
"Please Tom, do this. Do this for me."
"But why? Why should I live, and you die?"
"Well, as far as the world is concerned, Jo Fuller won't die...she's
still going to go to work every day, still hit the tavern every Friday
and the shooting range every Saturday." She swallowed hard. "And I'm
selfish. I can't stand to lose anyone else I care about so much."
Tom nodded. Joan didn't have to remind him of the murder of her father
by a home invasion burglar when she was just seven, a crime that led to
her pursuit of a career in law enforcement; or the death of her mother
just a year earlier from ovarian cancer. She forced a smile. "And
besides, I'm going into menopause. I'd just as soon leave the hot
flashes to you."
He smiled at her, then gritted his teeth when a wave of pain hit. "I
love you incredibly for even thinking of such a thing, but no. No, no,
no."
"O-K," she said softly, and then sat back in the chair. "Do you need
anything?"
"No, just stay with me please?"
Joan sat in the chair until she was sure her husband had drifted off to
sleep. Then she crept out of the room.
Tom Fuller didn't know how long he had slept when he came to. He called
for his wife, but there was no answer. He climbed out of bed, and began
searching the house. When he walked into their bedroom, he saw the
costume gun sitting on a makeshift tripod with a heavy piece of twine
attached to the trigger. On the bed he saw the crumpled figure of his
wife, reduced to a costume. And a note. He sat down and began to read:
"Dear Tom, Please put me on and save your life. I have never been more
certain about anything in my life. I cannot bear the thought of living
in this world without you. Do not, under any circumstances, zip me up
and restore me; if you do, I will leave, and you will never find me."
There were detailed instructions for the days and years ahead. Then,
these closing words: "Please accept this gift. Please live for me. Love,
Joan." He saw a couple of tear stains on the paper, then read the P.S.
at the bottom: "Being a woman isn't so bad. You might even like it when
you get used to it." He couldn't help but laugh. He sat there for a long
time, holding the empty costume, and muttering, "Oh Jo, Jo, Jo."
Finally, he stood up, removed his clothes, and began putting on his
wife's skin. He was just over six feet tall, while she was five foot-
seven; yet somehow, the costume was elastic enough to contain his entire
body. He found the zipper at the base of his abdomen and began to close
it up; it felt so strange to have wide hips, a round ass and breasts. He
put the head of the costume over his own head, and then finished closing
the zipper.
Wow, Joan thought, it's actually working. I hope he's going to listen to
me for once, the thick-skulled fool, and save his own damn life....
Joan shook her head and gained her bearings. Yes, it had worked, and Tom
was now securely locked inside the Joan costume. He walked into the
bathroom to give his new body a close going-over. He had gotten to know
it intimately over the past eight years, but this was a whole new
perspective. Once the new Joan had dressed in a sweater, jeans and
tennis shoes, she went to the phone to dial 9-1-1 and set the next phase
of the plan the original Joan had left behind in motion.
"Hello, this is Sergeant Fuller from the Sheriff's Office," she told the
dispatcher. "I went on an errand and came home to find my husband gone.
No note, no nothing. His car is still here, and so are his wallet and
keys. I am absolutely baffled."
Of course, despite an investigation, no sign of Tom Fuller was ever
found.
After a few days, Joan decided she ought to get back to work. It was
comforting to put on the familiar brown uniform, even if it was cut
differently, and even if there was a bra and panties underneath instead
of boxer shorts. The familiar routines helped make the transition a
little less jarring. Being able to tap into Joan's original memories
also made it easier.
Still, there was a lot to get used to.
It was her third day back at work when Becky Crenshaw, the receptionist,
looked at her and said, "Honey? I can't imagine how hard this is....but
I have to tell you, you aren't looking good. A little makeup goes a long
way."
Joan managed to mutter a weak "thanks" and went on her way.
That night, Joan stood in the bathroom of their home, staring intently
at her face. Tom had always thought it was a beautiful face when looking
at it from the outside, but now she had to admit there were flaws?dark
circles under her eyes, a bit of blotchiness, and lips that seemed pale.
"Oh God, am I starting to think like a woman?" she asked herself. She
opened her mind to her wife's memories and soon found herself applying
concealer, eyeliner, mascara and clear lip gloss. The effect was
remarkable; the face that Tom Fuller had fallen in love with was
starting back from the mirror once more.
There were challenging times ahead, including sitting through Tom's
memorial service. As if the whole idea wasn't difficult enough, she knew
she would be expected to wear a black dress, hose and heels; she even
found herself rummaging through Joan's jewelry box for a pair of clip-on
earrings (no pierced ears allowed in the jail.) "Thank God you weren't
too much of a girly girl, darling," she muttered.
Gradually, Joan got used to her new womanhood; every day, she silently
thanked her spouse for the gift of life. And when she experienced the
worst of menopause, she also cursed her, but that was okay, she knew
Joanie would be doing the same thing if their roles were reversed.
As the party was drawing to a close, Joan gave Becky a long hug. "Thanks
for always being there for me, hon," she said. It was true; Becky had
been close to Joan since her first days on the job 15 years earlier. She
had even been matron of honor at Tom and Joan's wedding. Joan looked
back on that day with bittersweet feelings. She could remember being the
proud groom, standing tall in his black tuxedo; and also being the
bride, feeling oh-so feminine in her mermaid gown. She smiled. Even Joan
had her days when she liked to feel pretty; it was a happy memory for
both of them.
As Joan and Becky cleaned up the paper plates, wrapping paper and
assorted debris, Joan couldn't help but reflect once more on the wisdom
of her spouse. She recalled something she had written in her farewell
note. "It really will be like in the Bible?the two shall be as one."
Joan knew how lucky she was to have found someone willing to live those
very words.
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