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Somewhere I've Never Been free porn video
Somewhere I've Never Been
by Alice Kramden
I woke up and ... something had changed.
The first bad sign? That I woke up. When's the last time I had to
sleep?
The second bad sign? That there weren't cries of anguish, concern, or
fawning when I woke up grumpy. Normally that's a one-on-one thing - if I
wake up in a bad mood, people are definitely going to feel it around me.
It's pretty much a gut reaction.
I got up and swung plain white cotton bedsheets off me. I was in a rat-
infested dunghole. Well, I suppose it'd be fine for most of you, but I'm
used to a little higher fare. I stepped into the bathroom. What a
quaint room, all white shiny tile and porcelain. I suppose if one needs
to wash off the dirt or squirt out effluvia into porcelain like a hairy
mammal, that one would want to make it easily cleanable. Ah, but there's
what I'm looking for ... the mirror.
And I nearly screamed. What the hell had happened to my body? I used to
look like a Greek god. Now I look like a Geek god. I no longer have a
chiseled jaw or broad shoulders or pectoral and abdominal muscles looking
as if they were rendered out of marble - now I just look rather gangly.
Well, at least that's easily fixable. Without barely a moment's thought
I push my will out upon the universe what I want and look into the
mirror.
And nothing's changed. And a bolt of sheer terror - yet another first
for this wretched day - bolts through my psyche.
* * * * * * * *
The next ten minutes are spent in futile attempts to affect my body and
my environment. I spend a good four minutes telling my body to re-sculpt
itself into an Adonis-like form before I, at least for now, give it up as
a lost cause. Then, I attempt to change my surroundings into something
more palatial ... but I can't even change the pillowcase.
And suddenly, I realize that non-omnipotent mammals can't wish their
effluvia away, and that's what I appear to be trapped as. And while I'm
sure I knew at one point - for humiliation purposes, of course - all the
various intricacies of how these mammals urinate and defecate, some of
that knowledge (which I hadn't accessed in a while - it's rather gucky,
after all, and one can be so much more creative) appears to have gone
with my power, and I learn about "splashback" and aiming this wretched
meat tube when one needs to get rid of it all.
* * * * * * * *
Some awfully bubbly female pop singer starts up an awful chirruping in
the other room, singing the same words over and over again in a loop. In
annoyance, I lash out and turn her and her whole family line into
baboons. When she keeps singing, I sigh and realize I can't do that
anymore. Walking into the other room, the noise seems to be coming out
of a phone on the nightstand next to the bed.
Although I'm not familiar with this device, it doesn't take much to press
the big green Answer button on the screen. Holding it up to my ear (a
bit of a new experience, I'm used to just summoning people), I say,
"What?"
"Robert ... "
Let me pause for a moment here, because something odd happens at this
point, something nearly as scary as losing my power. My name wasn't
Robert. But now it is. I didn't have a name. Those of us walking
through your worlds usually don't. But the moment he said "Robert", I
recognized that as my name, in the same way that you might recognize your
name as "Peregrine" or "Sebeliah". The moment he said my name, a small
bell rang throughout my soul (you should pardon the expression) and I was
Robert.
I'm used to DOING that to people, not to having it DONE to me, and I did
not like that. I. Did. Not. Like. That. One. Bit.
The mortal was prattling on, and since I could not turn him into a
baboon, I suppose I best pay attention to what he was saying.
"... hello? Are you there?"
"Yes," I replied, trying to modulate some of the annoyance out of my
voice. "I'm sorry, I was gathering wool."
"WHAT? You're 20 minutes late and you're not even paying attention?"
"20 minutes late? To what?"
"For your shift! Listen, I don't know how much hooch you drank last
night, I don't care how hungover you are right now, get your ass into
work in the next 20 minutes or don't bother coming it all! Only reason
you're not fired already is that I don't want to have to train another
shithead and get him up to speed!" And with a click, he was gone.
Shithead, eh? Let's see how you like being a sentient Port-a-Potty, my
friend. Oh, damn.
* * * * * * * *
Mammals have to go to jobs, of course. They get coin for it, and they
exchange that coin for shelter and for bread and for cloth to put on
themselves. And as much as I hate to admit it, even to myself, right now
I'm about as powerless as a mammal. I appear to outright BE a mammal.
And as much as that'll change at some point, that means I have to "dress
the part". Slum it. Walk amongst them. And since I don't want to be
one of those vagabonds I see on the street asking for coin (whose number
I have occasionally added to), I best get to this "job" I am apparently
late for.
I apparently don't need to drag a blade across my face at the moment;
it's actually quite soft to the touch. Comes from a newborn body, I
suppose. With 20 minutes to get there, no time for ablutions. I swipe
the odor remover stick under both arms - God's wounds, that's an awful
stink.
I open his ... my ... wardrobe door and pull out ... wait a minute, where
am I going? Who am I dressing for?
I go back and look at this phone. "The Choice Canteen." I'm working at
some form of saloon?
I pull a button-up shirt and dress slacks from the wardrobe. I look in
the mirror - my hair is a little bit shaggy, I best have a barber address
it at some point - but it's manageable.
I pull the dress slacks up to my waist, slip the apartment's keys into
the left front pocket (a tight fit), look for the billfold, shove it into
the right front pocket (a tighter fit), run my fingers through my hair,
and take a step forward, expecting to step into a remote corner of the
restaurant.
DAMN IT!
* * * * * * * *
I run, majorly out-of-breath and sweaty, in through the front door of the
restaurant. A brown-haired serving-girl quickly comes up to me and says
"Roberto ... "
And that bell rings again. And I am Roberto, and always have been. And
I am unnerved even more.
"What are you doing, coming in the front? You want Graydon to chew you a
new one? Go around back to the employee entrance."
Of course. "Thank you," I say to the woman, and walk around to the back
of the diner, quickly finding the kitchen entrance. To which I am
greeted by a round of apparently good-natured hooting, all along the
theme of "Whoo-eee! Don't you look fancy!"
A man quite a lot taller than me comes through the kitchen on a direct
line for me, an angry look on his face that gets darker as he sees me. I
feel an emotion I haven't felt in an epic age: I grow nervous at his
approach. What have I done wrong, aside from my lateness?
"What, did you come straight from one of your clubs?" the man I assume is
Graydon says, looking at my outfit. "This is not your busboy uniform! I
can't have you bus tables when you're dressed up like some sort of ...
suave homeboy. I'm going to have to have you wash dishes today. You're
lucky I don't send you home."
I'm ... going ... to ... WHAT?
I cast him into the vilest pits of Hell. I wish him into the cornyard.
I turn him into a sentient piece of defecation worming its way through
the small intestines of a constipated dachshund. I turn him into a
garden snail whose shell is just about to be painfully shattered by an
army boot. And I realize I can do none of these things.
And I say, gritting my teeth, "Yes, sir." And head back towards the
sinks.
And suddenly, a bolt of pure fear goes through me, because the world has
changed in just the last few seconds. I am hyperaware as I realize that
this room and each thing and person in it seems noticeably bigger than it
was just a few scant moments ago before my mental tantrum. And my hair
now suddenly seems not only longer but seems to be gathered and resting
against my back.
* * * * * * * *
I wash what's there and ask the kitchen lead for a quick bathroom break,
which he grants with a silent affirmative motion delivered with an
arrogance worthy of my former self. I step into the bathroom and look in
the mirror, and finally my intellect seems to wake from the damnable
sleep it must've been in for this entire morning.
No need to shave. Slacks fitting tight around the waist with little
pocket room. Long, shaggy hair now resting in a ponytail against my
back. Diminutive frame, now even shorter than it was when I woke up.
I am apparently being turned into a wench.
ZWOUNDS! BLAST! GOD'S TEETH! ... SHITDAMNFUCK! My anger blasts in a
million exhortations a second as I curse those around me to various fates
that my now paltry mortal will cannot effect.
There is a banging on the door as the kitchen lead's rough voice comes
through. "Yo, fairy, you fall in?"
I might have dismissed that as merely a semantic barb in the infantile
traditional male-to-male "no-YOU-are-gay" vocabulary exchange, had I not
caught a glimpse of myself on the way out.
I had changed even more. I had ... small breasts, pushed down by a
sports bra which was apparently visible through my unbuttoned shirt. The
hair looked even more roughly shaggy, although still held in place by a
rubber band. My eyebrows were apparently plucked and shaped (damn, did I
have no sense of protective coloration?) and my face seemed more tapered
and ... dare I say it, haunted.
I reached down and still felt the male equipment in place. I was
apparently now on hormones, transitioning from male to female.
"Coming," I said, as I swiftly buttoned up my shirt.
* * * * * * * *
I have cursed people to their own figurative hells before. (Do I
actually send them to Hell? I don't know. I never knew of a Heaven or a
Hell, of a God or a Satan. I could curse people to an environment I
visualized in my head, and visit them there, but was it merely my own
mental construct or the actual Hell? Beats the ... you'll pardon the
expression ... hell out of me.)
But. As I was saying. I have cursed people to their own figurative
hells before, but I had never thought of this particular hell that I was
living through ... and what made it particularly vicious was how these
brutes put their imaginations to work to employ virtually no powers other
than their mammalian bodies and what was around them.
Now, granted, they didn't result to outright physical torture. We were
at the job, of course, and certain pretenses must be maintained. But the
number of times hot water was abruptly dumped into the sink ... or knives
nearly caused cuts. The number of times I was accidentally shoved hard
to the ground.
And what made it worse? I had to hold onto my temper. I kept a tight
rein on myself. Because I had figured out something.
I'm sure some of you have it by now. But for those who haven't ... every
time I angrily lashed out with my non-existent powers, my transformation
into a woman took a step forward.
So each time a brute shoved me, each time I picked up a dish and endured
the simple humiliation of having to wash off people's half-masticated
saliva-saturated food bits off their plate, each time I heard
"faaaaaaggot" hissed under someone's breath, not only did I restrain
myself from lashing out a fist (which would have had little effect from
this small body), I had to restrain myself from lashing out my temper.
And this went on for hours. But I will not subject you to the
repetitiveness of the hatred that I had to deal with. Original or
creative, they were not.
* * * * * * * *
One very small thing I will give this process. Hell makes you enjoy the
smallest of heavens. When you can't adjust the weather to suit your
whim, you actually enjoy sunshine and a warm spring breeze with the
smallest hint of loam to it, because it's all the more random.
Out in the back, I was eating a ham sandwich and a bag of chips from a
local sandwich chain (like I would trust the cretins inside there with my
food) while letting the sun shine on my face and the breeze help refresh
me from the muscle fatigue that washing 20 million dishes had brought
about. The back door opened. My gaze instantly turned in that
direction, certain that I was about to be manhandled once more.
The brunette waitress from before came out. "Are you okay, honey?"
"Yes," I said firmly. "Thank you for your concern."
And then to my great surprise and embarrassment, and for the first time
in quite literally my existing memory, I burst into tears.
* * * * * * * *
Fortunately, she wore a name tag, so I needn't guess at a name I was
supposed to know ... my savior's name was Jody.
When I began to weep, she gathered me in her arms and leaned my head
against her shoulder, saying soft "there there"s as she patted my back.
For perhaps the first time, I found myself deeply grateful for at least
one aspect of what was happening to me. I had not been embraced by
someone under their own volition in nearly all of my memory, and
certainly not in a body small enough that a woman could circle her arms
around it. I presume that perhaps I had as a child, but those memories
vanished so very long ago.
Finally, the tears ran dry and I looked at her. I had left tears and
snot where I was sobbing. She saw where I was looking and said, "It's
okay, honey, I'll run it under some water for now and throw it in the
wash tonight." She held out a hand underneath my chin and lifted my face
up. "You are so brave to be transitioning like this, but you needn't put
up with the shit they're subjecting you to in there. File a claim with
the EEOC! Tell Graydon you'll sue his ass and the restaurant's if they
don't shape up! You don't have to be so tough!"
She started to walk back in, and then turned back and came up to me.
"And please know ... I am your friend. I don't know how to handle all
those guys in the back for good, and I can't do it all for you, but I am
your friend and I will support you however I can. The world is not only
comprised of those fuckheads back there."
* * * * * * * *
Try as I might, a few errant curses freed themselves from my temper in
the days that followed. And, boy oh boy, would they have been creative
had I actually had the power to implement them! My community's circle
would've given me a standing ovation. But the cost, oh, the cost! My
hips swelled outward, my ass sticking out of the slacks. My breasts grew
just enough to become difficult to hide even with the sports bra. And my
voice, while still sounding male, sounded weak and even somewhat breathy.
Needless to say, my even more feminine appearance was even more
antagonizing to the kitchen critics.
And finally ... that Friday ... I had a full stack of dishes I was
bringing over to the drying rack. And the most elementary of childhood
pranks was done ... an outstretched foot. I tripped, and 30 dishes went
flying everywhere, most shattering on the floor. I heard a round of
ironic applause from the dining room, as well as hooted laughter from the
men around me.
And my anger grew, and grew, and grew and I stepped down on it but it
grew, it grew, it grew ... and it exploded.
And the world changed.
* * * * * * * *
A gravelly female voice said, "Christ, Berty ... "
And that bell rang in my soul that had rung twice before. And I knew ...
I was Berty.
" ... are you okay? Ramona, ya dumb bitch, you gotta watch where you're
going!"
A skinny Latina, who hadn't been there before, who I had never met, in
haircap, white T-shirt and black jeans - the kitchen outfit - gave me a
grin both sheepish and apologetic, and grabbed one arm to help me up,
with the owner of the gravelly voice helping me up by the other arm.
"Ooof-ta!" she said as she pulled me up with one meaty arm. I looked
around the room and realized that the entire back kitchen crew were all
... women.
I said, "No, it's okay," and tried not to startle at the female voice
coming out of my own mouth. I reached down to dust myself off and DID
startle when I saw what I was wearing: a waitress outfit.
* * * * * * * *
In the past that had never happened but apparently it just had, I-as-
Berty had evidently come in and by doing so rammed the swinging door into
the formerly non-existent Ramona - making her drop the dishes.
Once more quickly back into the bathroom, although Graydon was screaming
for me up front. My face was just on the female side of androgynous. I
was short as hell, with hip bones jutting out from a rather straight-as-
a-rail-ish body. A sort of brittle ugly-orange hair was tucked
haphazardly into that same rubber band. A swift cupping of my pelvis
confirmed that I had no dangly bits, just a warm mound in-between that
gave me a slight shock as I touched the more sensitive bits. My self-
examination was swiftly cut off by a bellow:
"BERTY! GET YOUR ASS OUT THERE!"
* * * * * * * *
Had I know how much of an improvement the life of Berty would've been
over the life of transitioning Roberto, I would have lost my temper quite
a while ago. Plus, it meant I got to work the tables with Jody.
Whenever I was on shift, she was on shift, so we got to know each other
quite well.
How did I turn the kitchen crew? I didn't. At least I don't think I
did. I didn't wish them into women, I just angrily yelled into the ether
and wished for a kinder, more settled world. But either way, it
happened, and the all-women kitchen crew were a far nicer and less
homophobic, transphobic, chauvinist bunch than the people that had been
there before.
Nonetheless, I was afraid to lose my temper again - now that I was a
woman, I didn't want to "bounce" off this gender pole and start going
back in the opposite direction. I didn't enjoy being a transitioning
man, and I didn't want to revisit that circumstance.
So I did what I could. I started listening to meditation tapes in the
morning. I learned how to breathe with my diaphragm to calm me down when
a dish got dropped or I got stiffed on a tip.
I bought a small television set and began to accumulate the cultural
knowledge of the day. I went to the library and checked out books and
started reading them too. John Grisham and Tom Clancy weren't Ernest
Hemingway or William Shakespeare, but I did enjoy their stuff
nevertheless.
And I enjoyed making Jody laugh. She was a good friend. She'd look at
me with bright eyes when she laughed. And one day, she gave me a quick
peck on the cheeks after recovering from a fit of giggles I had caused
with a particularly good (if ribald) joke, and looked to see how I'd
react. She seemed to like the fact that I didn't say anything, but
looked at her with wide eyes that must've shown at least an inkling of
something.
* * * * * * * *
I don't know where it would've gone from there, because something
happened. Something horrible.
* * * * * * * *
"Berty, Table 12 wants you."
"Quit joshing me with, Gray, there's no one at Table 12."
"Are you high, girl? You just served him a well-done steak."
What?
I looked out at Table 12. A very nondescript man sat there looking
towards the kitchen. When he saw me poke my head out, he gestured with a
"come over" gesture. I had never seen the man before in my life, yet
supposedly I had not only taken his order but served up his food. What
was going on here?
Taking a deep breath, I headed on over. "Hello, sir. Is the food not to
your liking?" I said, falling back on the precanned waitress-lingo I had
picked up and could dish out without much thought.
He grabbed my hand, yanked me towards him, and took a deep breath from
the inside of my wrist.
What. The. Fuck.
And then he smiled. And I knew. I knew that one of my circle had found
me.
This was the worst of all possible outcomes.
* * * * * * * *
"So," he said, smiling with a mouth full of sharp teeth. (He had always
liked the theatrical, this one. I'm surprised there weren't darkened
clouds rolling in ... ah, yup, there they go.) "I've finally found you."
"You were looking?"
"When one of us who walk across the world completely disappear without a
trace, there's usually something juicy at hand. But now that I've
scented you, I know the truth. Someone's ... NEUTERED you ... *girl*,"
he said, putting a particular mocking emphasis on the last syllable.
"Who got here before me?"
"No one," I said mildly. "I woke up one morning to find myself this way.
Could be a hidden player in the shadows - you might want to clear out
before they get you, too."
"You're in an all-fired hurry to get rid of me," he said, smiling.
"Listen," I said, keeping my voice calm, trying not to think of Jody
waiting for us to take our lunch break together out back, most likely due
to come in any second, "just don't want to watch someone else fall victim
to whatever got me. Take a friendly warning and stay clear of the area."
"Friiiiiiiiiiiiiendly?"
"Consider it payback, then, for the favor you did me in Polrugaria."
"Ah," he said, lost momentarily, "that was a fine meal." Snapping back
to the present, though, I saw his greed reassert itself. I know what he
was after.
"Still," he said, pulling me down to the table, "I don't think so.
Neutered or no, I think you'll still offer me a fine meal. And the meal
you offer me ... won't be this diner's crappy steak, either."
If the situation wasn't a life-threatening one, I would have rolled my
eyes at the lame supervillain dialogue. Before he became omnipotent,
this one had read far, far too many comic books.
I heard an "ahem" and looked up. I had never been so glad to see Graydon
looming above me, looking down angrily at my seated self. I also felt
guilty about what was about to come. Even Graydon didn't deserve
snailhood, or bimbohood, or whatever teenage-wet-dream he was about to be
conjured into.
"Berty, you know better than to sit down at a guest's table! Sir, I'm
afraid we need our waitress on the floor. Can we fix whatever's wrong?"
"Oh, I think so," the "guest" said. With a snap of his fingers Graydon
...
... turned inside out.
* * * * * * * *
"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" I yelled as the thing that had been Graydon let
out an inhuman sound that was the product of a mutilated esophagus and
voice box, and then swiftly crumpled to the ground, accompanied by a loud
splat of liters of blood.
Evidently this one had shifted his modus operandi from super villain to
horror flicks, and the situation had become all the more dire.
And ... at that moment ... Jody walked in.
And I couldn't. I couldn't help Graydon, and I couldn't stop him, but
I'd kill myself trying before he got to Jody.
And he smiled, as he detected my love for her starting to shine strong in
me.
And he looked towards her.
And before he could think, before he could do anything, I reached down to
the very bottom of my soul, and regardless of what happened to me or my
form or my life, I reached down deep into the bottom of my soul, said a
quick prayer to Whomever might be listening to me, and started casting
curses.
* * * * * * * *
When you curse, you hook into the current of life all around you.
Through the movies I Netflixed and the books I read ... well, let's put
it this way: I smiled when I first saw a grappling hook being used in an
action flick. Because in many ways, it's like that - except instead of
pulling yourself towards the hook, you're pulling the thing you hooked
towards you. You're mentally pulling reality towards your will.
When I saw him look at Jody, I frantically cast hook after hook after
hook after hook into the universe. Imagine me frantically running down a
field full of cannons, all of them loaded with grappling hooks, all of
them firing one after the other into the universe, all of them designed
at saving her.
They affected me. But not the way I thought.
I didn't bounce off a gender pole and start ricocheting back towards
being a man. I became more of a woman.
I felt my ass and breasts become lovely and rounded. I felt my abdomen
become flat. My hair went from neon orange to a lovely shade of red that
cascaded down my back in lovely plaits. My legs felt as if they changed.
I became taller and my legs and calves felt stronger and were, no doubt,
more shapely.
But the "hooks" felt as if they were skittering down the wall of the
universe. They weren't catching hold. I wasn't going to save her.
And then, there's no other way to say this ... I felt someone yank my
"hooks" up from where they had fallen, and sink them into the stream of
the universe. And they TOOK. This one time, they TOOK. And, Saints be
praised, she was saved.
Our "guest" looked at me in astonished surprise.
I didn't know what I had cast ... just that I wanted her to be safe. And
so I didn't know what happened to him ... only that he disappeared. Not
in a flash of white light (or anything as theatrical as he would've
wanted) ... just that he was there one picosecond and gone the next.
(Not that I can see on the scale of picoseconds any more, mind you.)
And with his disappearance the diner's noise resumed as if nothing had
happened. I stood there for a second or two, dazed. "Hey!" I heard a
voice distantly. "HEY!"
A voice came up to me. I looked up and saw Graydon, whole and
unblemished. "Why are you standing by an empty table? We've got the
lunch rush coming in any second! If you've got nothing else to do, you
can roll silverware."
Graydon was very confused when I gave him a huge hug that lasted a few
seconds, followed by an emphatic smacking kiss on the cheek ... but I did
notice a very small smile and some color rush to his cheeks.
* * * * * * * *
I went through the back door so hard that it slammed open, causing
another background "hey!" from Graydon inside. I saw Jody waiting for me
by the wood picnic table we kept to take lunch out back during good
weather. I ran towards her, grabbed her cheeks in both my hands and gave
her the longest, most loving kiss that anyone had ever given in the
history of kisses. (And I ought to know. Omniscience, whether former or
no, you know.)
"I love you," I said. "Be with me forever?"
"Absolutely, Bobbi," she whispered back. "Absolutely."
And a bell ran in my soul. And I know, now and forever, that I am hers.
That I am her Bobbi.
* * * * * * * *
EPILOGUE 1
"That's no fair," Satan said. "You helped! At least twice!"
God cast her smile upon her fallen one. "It proves the test, though.
The omnipotent strangers you've set a-walking across the land ... they
can be redeemed." She looked at him sadly. "Anyone, you know ...
*anyone* can be redeemed."
Satan harrumphed. She suddenly looked uncomfortable as she readjusted
her black leather bustier. "Yeah, well ... you helped out."
"That wasn't against our rules. And you tilted the odds a bit against
her with that entire kitchen full of transphobics. She deserved a hand."
"Yes, well, that stranger was bad, but he wasn't nearly one of my worst.
I bet you can't do it again with a worse one. Want to play again?"
"Sure," God said, a smile warming her face. "I'd love to prove to you
again that ... *anyone* ... can be redeemed, Lucy."
* * * * * * * *
EPILOGUE 2
I felt her weak, MORTAL love for another female in the vicinity shine in
that old beat-up musty soul she had. And although the light of that love
shook me, I saw its ephemeral trail leading me to who she loved, and
smiled when I saw that woman enter in the room. To crush her one true
love like that ... someone who had been so bereft of it for so long ...
it would be the most delicious meal I had had in ages.
And then I felt something snag hold in me, and the world twisted around
me.
I opened my eyes, and ... something had changed.
Wait a minute. When's the last time I had to sleep?
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