Life Out Of Joint - Chapter 5/7: The Life And Times Of Miss Cindy Caldwell free porn video

LIFE OUT OF JOINT by Crazy Baron Chapter 5/7 -- The Life and Times of Miss Cindy Caldwell Synopsis: With a possible rescue on the horizon, Mike does his best to adapt and, while he is at it, even tries to have a little fun. But he has no time to get comfortable; whatever or whoever is responsible for his adventure sees to it that he stays on his toes, and reality itself is becoming an increasingly slippery concept for poor Mr. Caldwell. Is he still himself, living his usual life without any strange occurrences-- or might he in fact be the chosen one to stand against the forces of darkness? ***** Monday morning brought very warm and sunny weather. Kate was once more up early, having decided that this was the perfect day for a trip to the town, and she drove me out of bed with a cheerful smile. Not fully sharing her enthusiasm, I went through my new morning routine somewhat lackadaisically, had a small breakfast, and was then subjected to yet another makeup session. It was a little past ten o'clock when she deemed us both to be ready, and she went to get my car as I picked up my things. I was dressed in a light pink blouse and skinny blue jeans, courtesy of Kate's wardrobe, and had a short women's leather jacket with me in case it would rain or get colder. (She had actually tried to make me wear a skirt, but I had refused and for once she had yielded.) Kate had supplied me with an old white purse of hers, which now contained my cell phone, my wallet and whatever else my sister thought I might need. I had leather shoes on, my hair was in a neat ponytail and my face was adorned by light makeup; in addition, Kate had seen it fit to spritz me with liberal amounts of one of her perfumes, and while the scent itself was pleasant, it was a little too strong for my taste. I knew this was basically matter of course for young women, but I was still less than comfortable going out like this. Then there was also the fact that my face currently looked uncannily like a celebrity's, which certainly did nothing to make me feel more secure in public. "Get in the car, Cindy!" she hollered from the driver's seat. I half ran, half walked to the driveway, opened the right front door of my own car and slid inside. Even though she was a competent driver, I didn't particularly enjoy lending the vehicle to my sister, but as I no longer had a valid driver's license to match my appearance, I had to let her take the wheel. "Is that officially my name now?" I asked after buckling up. Kate was occupied with steering the car out of our driveway and asked me back absentmindedly, "What? What did you say?" "My name," I repeated. "Am I going to be called Cindy from now on? Cindy, as in 'the youngest one in curls?'" "Why not?" "It's a kind of---" "Look, we can't call you Mike, and we can't really call you Buffy either, at least in public. So either you come up with a female name for yourself, or you'll play along and be Cindy. You will hate everything I suggest anyway." "Probably." I paused for a couple of seconds and then continued, "Actually, Buffy has always struck me as a particularly dumb name. I mean, I can understand it as a nickname for Elizabeth or something like that, but as a real, full name of an actual person, it's really stupid. I bet that Whedon guy chose it to make some sort of a smartass postmodernist statement with his show." "I think it's a nice name," Kate argued. "I wouldn't necessarily call my daughter that, but it does suit you." "Hmph." As this subject was obviously not going to spark off an interesting conversation and we still had some fifteen miles to go, I changed the topic and tried again. "So," I said casually after a minute of silence, "any word from Tina yet?" "No, actually," Kate replied. "Seems no one knows where she went. It's curious, I give you that. We don't even know if she took her costume off." Curious indeed, I thought to myself, perhaps even downright sinister. "Or maybe she was wearing a costume all along." This was a deliberate provocation on my part. I wanted to draw Kate into a conversation about an idea that was slowly taking shape in my mind, and I needed her input. Ever since I had first been transformed, I had tried to find out what exactly was going on and why, and now I thought I had at least some clues. It was possible that the short while yesterday when I had been myself again and lived a decade in the future had been nothing but a dream, but I was absolutely certain I had made a phone call to Tina's alleged high school in Nebraska at some point. The gist of the matter was that the local school administration had never even heard of her, a fact that had made me increasingly suspicious of her. At first, Kate remained quiet, but she couldn't resist my challenge for long. "What do you mean by that?" she inquired. "How well do you know Tina, anyway?" I prodded. "And just what are you saying now?" "Please, give me a straight answer. This'll hopefully make sense later." "If you say so," she sighed. "Oh, I think I know her pretty well. Ever since she moved here from Nebraska she's been one of my friends and also a member of our roleplaying club. I'm not that familiar with her mother, though." "I recall you saying that it was Tina's idea to have a crossdressing party." Her brow furrowed at my comment. "If you're looking to blame her for what happened to you," she said, "you'd better think again. It had nothing to do with her." "I'm not claiming it did," I said. "What about inviting us guys to play with you? Who was the first to suggest that?" This time, she hesitated for a moment. "I think it probably was Tina or Kathy. I'm not sure. We had been talking about expanding the group many times before." "And how did you run into Mandy and the skinsuits? Do you remember that?" "Well, Tina introduced us, of course. She's her niece, after all." "Do you see a pattern here?" I asked her flat out. "Whenever you guys planned putting us in these skins, Tina was heavily involved." "Naturally she was," Kate countered. "So was I, and Sammy, and Joanna, and Kathy too. It still doesn't mean somebody did this to you on purpose. I can see why you might hold Larry responsible, but that's it. Beyond that, it was all a mere accident. There is no conspiracy, period." Her comment was meant to mark the end of this conversation, and to emphasize her point, she visibly concentrated more on driving. A mile or so went by without either of us uttering a word, but I was not finished. I could tell she was getting slightly agitated by my reasoning, but I had to get my view and findings across, even at the risk of causing her to lose her temper. "Where did you say Tina was originally from?" I asked. "Warburton, Nebraska," Kate said very matter-of-factly. "Why?" "I took the liberty of doing a small background check," I went on, trying to sound casual. "The local high school has zero information on her." "What?" Kate exclaimed. "Oh dear Lord, have you been calling them about Tina?" "Yeah. I looked up their web pages, wrote down the number and called them. I said I was someone planning a class reunion and asked a few questions. The person I reached there was surprisingly forthcoming with the information--or lack thereof, to be more accurate." "When?" "Just yesterday." "But yesterday was Sunday! Was there somebody at work on a Sunday?" "Yesterday was a Friday, Kate." "No, it wasn't! Have you gone totally mad?" she almost screamed at me. "What next? Are you going to prove that Tina's an alien?" "Even that wouldn't surprise me anymore," I commented, pretending not to notice the barb. "Be that as it may, it seems that she's hiding something. At least she's lying about her hometown." "Oh sweet Jesus," Kate sighed. "Maybe she's changed her last name more than once. Maybe she was schooled at home while she lived over there. Maybe she doesn't like her memories from Nebraska and gave us the name of another town. Maybe I don't even remember the story right. Maybe the official didn't give you all the info. And even if she did lie about her past--so what? It's not a crime!" "No," I conceded, "it's not, but it brings up a few questions. Why would she lie, and what else has she lied about? By the way, Kate, have you ever seen her and her aunt in the same place at the same time?" "And there's more," she said. "You're starting to scare me, you honestly are! What are you saying? That Tina and Mandy are one and the same person?" "Well, have you?" "I suppose not, but I have never seen you and Chuck Norris in the same place at the same time either. Does that prove something?" "No, but we're not talking about me or Chuck here, and neither of us is in the skinsuit business as far as I know. Tina might be, and Mandy certainly is." "You are paranoid," she declared. "I thought I'd take you to see a gynecologist at some point, but I guess what you really need is a shrink! You make up these grand conspiracy theories based on some imaginary evidence. There's absolutely nothing reasonable about them. You--you are paranoid, you really are." "After what I've been through," I commented sharply, "I believe it's my right to be a little paranoid. Kate, look at me." She kept her eyes on the road and tried to ignore me the best she could. "Look at me!" I ordered her, and she finally turned her head. "A week ago I was your brother, unmistakably male," I continued after having regained at least some of her attention. "Now I'm a living, breathing Buffy Summers, a fictional character but also a fully functional woman. You tell me what reasonable is, Kate!" She didn't say anything to that, but the look on her face betrayed the emotional turmoil she was experiencing. I didn't know whether she was considering my theory or planning to have me shipped off to an institution with padded cells. All of a sudden, she hit the brakes and pulled up on the side of the road. As I turned to look at her, I saw little teardrops running down her cheeks. "Cindy," she said, fighting back her sobs, "I--I mean Mike, I know this... this is hard for you. And it's hard for me. I've watched you suffer silently, and it's killing me. I can't tell how sorry I am for all this. If you get stuck, it'll be my fault. And... and still you're not accusing me of anything." She sniffed and continued in a halting voice, "I destroyed your life, and you're not... angry at me. You have every right to be, Mike... But you're not even complaining much. You're so brave even though I know you must be in agony... I admire that, but-- it's eating me alive. My guilt is eating me alive." "It wasn't your fault," I comforted her, my own eyes watering up as well. "I'm not blaming you, Kate, because it wouldn't be fair. You didn't know this would happen." I opened my seatbelt and reached over to give her a sisterly hug. She returned it, and we held each other close for more than a minute. She was still sobbing quietly. "Now," I said, doing my best to look and sound cheery, "there's a mall waiting to be conquered! Let's go get us new wardrobes and boyfriends!" "Yeah," Kate seconded me, managing a smile. She wiped away a tiny tear. "Just wait a sec, I need to freshen up a little." As it turned out, the shopping part of our trip was actually uneventful. Basically Kate kept dragging me from store to store, rifling through rack after rack of clothes. We bought little, though, our budget being quite limited, but in the end Kate had picked up a number of blouses and shirts, a pair of jeans and a wraparound skirt plus some bras, panties and pantyhose. "Good thing we're almost the same size," she commented whenever I complained about the prices. "I can probably wear most of these, in case you end up not needing them." I had been apprehensive at first, afraid that I might be "recognized", but fortunately my fears proved groundless. All I got was a few curious glances and nothing more. Of course, I tried my best to be as inconspicuous and casual as possible, which was getting easier as I became more and more bored. A few hours later, we were sitting at the food court, having a sandwich and salad as well as a soda. I was already looking forward to going home, being in the mood to quit while we were ahead. It would make for a great dramatic effect to start this paragraph with "But then disaster struck!" or something similar, but that would be an exaggeration, especially considering that the disaster in question was far too much into computer programming, Japanese animation and obscure fantasy writers to be an actual menace to anyone. Still, things didn't go quite as planned. "Hey, look who's there," I heard Kate say. Following her eyes, I spotted a twenty-ish young man walking in the general direction of the food court. His slightly hunched posture, bowl haircut, faded jeans, signature red shirt and the absent look on his face left little doubt as to the identity of this person. It was none other than our friend Kenneth Taylor, again. "Damn," I muttered, "is he stalking me or something?" "Kenny! Hey, Kenny!" Kate yelled and waved at the guy. He stopped dead in his tracks upon noticing her, undoubtedly wondering whether or not he still had the chance to run away and avoid an encounter with no fewer than two actual flesh-and-blood human females, and then began to approach us hesitantly. To be honest, I would rather have had him getting cold feet and fleeing the scene as I was not all that anxious to meet him in my Buffy form. "Why did you have to do that, Kate?" I hissed. "He's coming over!" "Of course he is," she said nonchalantly. "What's wrong with saying hello to your friends?" Eventually, he stopped maybe three or four feet from our table and offered a meek "hi". The poor guy was so shy that he had trouble maintaining eye contact with Kate as she struck up the actual conversation. "So, you're out and about," she said to him. "How have you been, Kenny?" "Uh, I'm okay, I guess," he answered. "Same old, same old." "By the way, I almost forgot; you haven't met my cousin Cindy!" she continued, motioning towards me. "Cindy, this is Kenny Taylor. Kenny, Cindy Caldwell." I stood up and offered my hand for him to shake, but he seemed to freeze at the very instant he took a good, close look at my face. "You," he stuttered, "y-you are... Gosh, I had no idea... I mean, you are... Wow!" "Sorry to disappoint you," I said with a warm smile, "but I'm not her. I get that a lot, though." "Yeah, I c-can see why," he muttered. Then, his face brightened, as if he had just realized something. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but... um, were you in Greensville a few days ago?" "As a matter of fact I was," I replied. "I'm visiting Kate and her folks from Sunny California and I've been staying at her home for a couple of days now." "So then it really was you," he babbled. "You know, a funny thing happened to me the other day. I was driving my car when I saw you. For a moment, I thought I was seeing things that aren't really there. I mean, it's r-really uncanny." "Not to mention awkward at times," I added. Yes, this indeed was a little awkward, but if he had started asking questions about the person I had been with when he had spotted me in Greensville, then I would really have been in trouble. Luckily, that subject didn't come up. "Hey, have a seat, Kenny," Kate suggested, pointing to a vacant chair. "Um, I should---" "Stay and chat for a while with us," she said. "Will you?" "Oh, okay then," he mumbled, pulled the chair out and sat down obediently, with his cheeks flush. I sat down as well, taking the opportunity to have a quick sip of my soda. "Have you and Mike been in any contact recently?" Kate asked him. "No, we haven't," he responded. "How is Mike, by the way?" "Busy with his studies, I'd say. He's working on his Master's right now and spends most of his time in the city." "I see. I wish him all the best, but it's a shame I don't see him much anymore. He was interesting to talk with." I smiled inwardly upon hearing that. Coming from Kenny, it was an extraordinary compliment. "My folks will be visiting our relatives all day tomorrow, and I have the house for myself," he continued after a short pause. "I was thinking that if Mike was around, I could invite him to watch a movie or two." "I suppose he's busy this week," Kate said, "but I'm sure Cindy here would love to come! Wouldn't you, Cindy?" Alarmed, I shook my head and tried to mouth the word "NO" to her, but that had no effect on her. Unfortunately, the table was just large enough to prevent me from reaching her with my foot and being able to give her a well-deserved surreptitious kick. "Well... Um, you see, we usually talk about stuff girls are not really interested in," Kenny explained. He squirmed and his cheeks were turning fiery red again. "What makes you say that?" Kate asked. "It's not like only guys read fantasy or comics or watch Sci-Fi flicks." "Yeah, I guess, but---" Kate gave me a prodding look, and yielding to the inevitable, I said, "You know, I wouldn't mind coming over to your place, Kenny. Pick me up at six, tomorrow evening?" The poor boy became even more flustered, and he stammered, "W-well, yeah, I... I... W-where are you staying? Um, just so you, um, know, I... I really don't do... or, I mean, I'm no good at... um--dates." "She's staying at our house," Kate explained, "and who said anything about a date? She's just coming over to hang out, that's all. Totally unofficially." "Yes, totally unofficially," I echoed and winced a little. I was not exactly thrilled at the prospect of going out with him, but I still felt sort of guilty for not even giving him a call in years. He was a nice person, after all, and a visit from a girl--who looked like one of his celebrity crushes, no less--would brighten up his whole life for months. That was the least I could do for him, I thought. "Okay, I'll c-come then and get you," Kenny said after hesitating for another five seconds. He had obviously come to the conclusion that there was no way for him to escape this situation, so he might as well make the most of it. "What should I wear?" "Just casual clothes," I said. "We'll be at your house, so no need to dress up." "You could, though," Kate suggested with a smirk. "Sometimes it's fun to do that, even if you're not actually planning to go anywhere fancy." "Let's stick with the original plan and keep it simple, shall we?" I said to her through gritted teeth. "O-okay," Kenny voiced his approval. "I'll see you, then." With that, he stood up, gave us a quick smile and left in a hurry, no doubt trying to comprehend what had just happened to him. I returned to what was left of my salad, picking it with a fork and trying to collect my thoughts at the same time. Kate, on the other hand, was enjoying her lunch as if nothing had happened. She stopped to check her cell phone quickly, looked to her left and said to me, "Hotties, three o'clock!" "What?" I blurted out. "Hot guys on your right!" she said in a low voice, almost whispering. Just then, two tall young men, maybe in their late twenties, walked past our table. They were engaged in a conversation and so they appeared not to notice us, but Kate followed them for a while with her eyes, and what she saw brought a dreamy look to her face. "Me like!" she commented when they were safely out of earshot. "What did you think?" "About what?" "About those two guys! Was either of them your type?" "I'm still into girls," I reminded her. "That'll change. In a few days, you'll be drooling over them just like me. Besides, I believe the one on the right was checking you out when you weren't looking." "No, he wasn't. You're imagining things." "You know, B-- I mean Cindy," she said with a smile on her lips, "I'm just now beginning to realize we have been missing out on something beautiful. We make a perfect team, you and me; you know everything about how guys think and what they like. It's time to put that knowledge to use and hit the scene together. I need a boyfriend, and you do too. I haven't even kissed anyone in months." "Why did you have to set me up with Kenny?" I inquired. "Why not? It's all in harmless fun, and you're making him happy. What's wrong with that?" "I wasn't looking forward to a social occasion until I have my own form restored. Besides, the whole idea is crazy." "It will do you good," she commented simply. "If you sit in your room all day long, you'll go insane. Life goes on, and the sooner you get out and about, the better for you." My arguments seemed to bounce off of her, so I just contented myself with finishing my meal, and Kate did the same. This marked the end of our little shopping trip; as soon as we were done with the food, we left for the parking lot. My car was right where Kate had parked it, even though it took her some ten minutes to find it (when we had arrived, I had been too preoccupied and anxious to remember the spot), and as I sat in the right front seat and closed the door, I let out a sigh of relief. Nothing worse than the Kenny encounter had taken place at the mall, even though I had feared all kinds of unseemly incidents because of my new looks, and chances were we would probably get home safely after all. Kate started the engine and backed out of the parking space. As usual, she maneuvered the car a bit more briskly and confidently than I would have thought appropriate, especially considering her limited driving experience and the fact that I was the owner of the vehicle, but despite my little misgivings, she navigated out of the mall parking lot without incident, and in a few minutes, we were heading back to Greensville. After only a couple of stops at traffic lights, we had cleared the center of the smallish town, called Chesterton, and soon there were again only open fields and scattered houses on both sides of the main road. "Actually," Kate mused, breaking the silence that had lasted a couple of minutes as neither of us seemed to have anything important to say, "I was serious about you needing to see a gynecologist." "What the heck for?" I responded. "I'm not planning on staying this way." "Yeah, but you may not have a choice. Remember what Mandy told you." "Can't we at least postpone that until we know for certain what's going to happen to me?" "Sure we can, but you should still get used to the thought that it might be necessary. Getting your body checked every once in a while is definitely a good idea, and a doctor can help you decide what kind of birth control works best for you." "Birth control?" "Yep. Unless your mind is already set on bringing new life to the world, which I don't recommend just yet, by the way. If you go for pills or IUDs, they will inevitably mess with your hormones, and it sometimes takes a few tries to get things working right, as you know. I speak from personal experience here." "Hey, can we talk about something else for a change?" I pleaded. "Jeez, Cindy," she sighed, "you have to face this stuff sooner or later, no matter how uncomfortable you are discussing it. I'm here to help you, so you have nothing to worry or to be ashamed about, and I want you to be completely honest and open about everything with me." "Fine. I promise to ask you if something comes up." "And you can ask Mom, too. Whether you're my brother or my sister, we'll always be family. Right?" "Right." I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes for a moment. This trip had been better than expected, perhaps aside from me getting talked into going on a pseudo-date with Kenny, but I still felt anxious to get out of the skinsuit as soon as possible. I wanted life to be normal again, without having to endure a stranger looking back at me from every mirror. While Kate's attempts to make me feel better in my hopefully temporary body were doubtless nothing but well-meaning, I had already begun to wish that she would just let me be for a day or two and allow me to deal with the inner chaos I was going through. Maybe then, I thought, I could come to terms with this cataclysm that had turned my life into a surreal comedy and even--if need be--learn to accept my new shape and identity. Of course, I was fervently hoping that would not be necessary, but I had to be prepared for every eventuality. Kate kept chatting, mostly about the clothes we had bought, and I was paying less and less attention to her, only mumbling my approval every now and then. Again, I felt mentally tired, even if not outright sleepy, and it was nice to shut the world out for a minute or two. Now that we were traveling on an open road with little traffic, I could completely trust myself and my car to Kate's driving skills, and judging by the smooth ride, she was indeed doing a good job. What I had experienced until then could be, I suppose, explained away as an exceptionally detailed, weird lucid dream, or the result of some other unusual state of consciousness. It was a stretch, to be sure, but any staunch skeptic would have told me that I simply had allowed my unconventional rhythm of daily living, work pressures and excessive consumption of caffeine catch up with me, and after thinking about it for a while, I would probably have tended to agree. It certainly was no more far-fetched than assuming every UFO sighting to be swamp gas. However, the next occurrence made me very seriously doubt my sanity. I snapped back to the present with a start and realized to my horror that I was, in fact, now sitting behind the wheel. This was my car, and it was traveling on a road exactly like before, but Kate was not driving it anymore--I was! My first reaction was to slam the brakes down, and the car came to a halt rapidly, with the tires letting out a screech. I was in luck, for there had been no other traffic either immediately in front of me or behind me when I came to. The hands on the steering wheel were mine, with light body hair almost up to the knuckles, thick blue veins showing from underneath the skin and short fingernails. The face in the rear view mirror was mine, too, and so were the clothes I was wearing, not to mention the body inside of them. So far, so good. As there seemed to be no immediate danger, I looked slowly around, only to see that Kate had vanished somehow and I was all alone in the car. As if that were not enough, even the landscape looked strange. There were fields and some trees in the gently rolling hills in the distance, as well as a large white country house near the road maybe quarter of a mile ahead, but I could not place this spot anywhere on the route Kate and I had been traveling only a few seconds ago. I had no idea where I was, where I was going, or what time or day it was. The engine was still idling, so I drove a few more yards and parked the car neatly on the side, so as not to block the whole road, and stepped out. My whole body felt numb and stiff, same as the last time I had returned to the actual reality from my little trip. "What the hell is going on?" I said aloud. "What is this? Good God, what is this?" Aside from the light breeze and soft rustling of the weeds by the roadside, the world was eerily quiet. The sun, framed by heavy clouds, was fairly low on the horizon almost in front of me, so it had to be evening. Maybe there would be rain the next night, I thought looking at the spectacular blaze of every imaginable shade of red in the western sky. If I was experiencing a psychotic episode, at least it offered some beautiful scenery. I simply stood there for a minute or two, breathing in the fresh countryside air, until I began to feel a little chilly and slightly more clear-headed. Then, I opened the car door and got back in. I still had no idea what I was supposed to be doing here, but I was all but certain that I had returned to where I belonged. Everything I perceived and sensed seemed equally real as during the fantasy, from the colors of the sky to the feeling of the seatbelt pressing against my skin, but this had to be what I understood as the objective reality. There were no transforming skinsuits here, just the boring old life I had known before the whole mess began; however, I had decided I preferred that to the schizophrenic adventures I had been having, even though I was older and perhaps a little more bitter and cynical as a person here. Sitting well back in the driver's seat, I suddenly felt a hard object pressing against my left buttock, so I lifted my behind an inch or two off the seat and reached for whatever it was that had found its way there. My fingers picked it up immediately: it was a small rifle round, more precisely a .223 Remington with a fully jacketed bullet, as I could see upon closer examination. The rays of the setting sun made the brass of the round shine with a golden-red color when I held the round in my hand, and for a while, I struggled to comprehend what this piece of ammunition was doing here. It seemed as out of place as I was. Slowly, my mind begun to connect the dots. Jake had called me yesterday about going shooting with him, so that had to be where I was coming from. The round had most likely fallen out of the back pocket of my jeans, where I had put it as a souvenir (I personally owned no firearms and so could not make any other use of it). This realization also helped me locate myself: as Jake's uncle--a paternal uncle whom he often visited, not the maternal uncle with the psychological issues-- lived in Smithfield, I was on the Greensville--Smithfield road, heading home. With that, the surroundings started to look familiar as well, and in no time at all I was almost laughing at my silly little panic. I had passed through here hundreds of times before, and it was ridiculous that I had managed to imagine I was lost only a couple of miles from home. My confidence and spatial orientation thus restored, I slipped the rifle round back into my pocket, buckled up and started the car. I felt better with each passing minute, so I took my time and again chose the scenery route with the railroad crossing. If it hadn't been for the fact that I could remember absolutely nothing of the previous events of this day, I would have been in an almost cheerful mood by the time I reached the Greensville town center. The missing memories admittedly bothered me a great deal, as did the fact that in all likelihood, I had spaced out on the way back home from the Smithfield shooting range and gone on driving like an automaton while my conscious mind was living a hallucination. I had been incredibly lucky not to get into an accident. Right there and then, I made a promise to myself that I would lay off coffee and alcohol for a while and try to get lots of sleep in addition to putting my thesis and other professional work completely out of my thoughts for several days. With any luck, that would help my brain sort itself out. The houses and streets of the sleepy little town flashed by, every one of them right where it should be, and the reassuring sight made a little smile form on my lips. Perhaps the madness would end now, and I could go back to my own life. It was much better to be here than in the city, as far as recovering my mental balance was concerned. Just then, I again became aware that things were not quite right after all. There was Sorensen's hardware store, a couple of concrete grain silos on the opposite side of the road, the field, a bunch of trees, and... I slowed my car down and let it almost crawl forward as I scanned the landscape with my eyes. I couldn't place it, but something had changed, or had gone missing. A pick-up truck came up fast from behind me, sounded its horn and sped past. I had been so engrossed in my thoughts that my heart seemed to skip a beat as I was shaken back to the present. Taking another quick look around, it finally occurred to me: the railroad crossing and the rails were gone. The overgrown track bed was still visible, running through the field, but the signals and gates at the crossing had been removed completely, most likely several years ago. This observation made me sad, almost to an inexplicable extent, and my good mood went sour. Even Greensville changed as decades went by, and it also proved decisively that I had actually been living in the past (or at least in a past) during my hallucination. That could not be a good sign, I thought as I pulled up and parked my car next to our family house. I went in as soon as I had exited the car, took off my denim jacket in the foyer and walked into the kitchen, almost expecting to see the house occupied by multi-colored flying monkeys or some other similar grand spectacle attesting to my madness, but instead I just found the rest of my family preparing for a quiet night at home. Kate was fixing a salad for herself, as was my Mom, and Dad was finishing his obligatory evening cup of tea. The atmosphere was soothing and welcoming, exactly what I needed right then. "How'd it go at the range?" Dad asked me. "It was... fine, I think," I stammered. I had no recollection whatsoever of the last 24 hours in the real world and I definitely couldn't tell them that I had spent most of the day shopping with Kate in the shape of a female TV show character. "My lack of target practice was pretty apparent, but it could've been worse." "You could always buy a gun for yourself," he commented. "That would help you keep your skills sharp." "I guess," I said, "but I don't really have the extra money right now, nor do I really look forward to dealing with all the red tape." "I for one feel better knowing you don't have a gun," Kate quipped and smirked. "The way you talk about some of the people you meet at the University campus makes me a little uneasy as it is, but if you had a rifle stashed somewhere, I'd start to get worried." "You seriously think I'd climb up the campus bell tower and pull a Charles Whitman, do you?" "Nah, not really," she said, smiling, "but maybe it's best for everyone that you don't even have the hypothetical chance to do something like that, in case you get really pissed off one day." "Kids," Mom admonished us. "I remember seeing the news stories about Whitman on TV back in the day, and it wasn't particularly funny, just so you know." "Yeah, sorry about that," I said. "It's not funny. You're right." Dad left to read some newspapers in the living room, as was his habit, and Kate took a seat at the kitchen table to dig into her evening snack of tea, toast and a massive bowl of fresh salad and fruit. This was a good opportunity to do some more investigation, I thought and asked her in a seemingly off-handed manner, "So, do you know if any of your old friends are still around?" "You mean if they're alive?" she asked, chewing her toast. "No. I meant if they're visiting these parts for Halloween and Thanksgiving." "Truth be told," she said, "I haven't had that much contact with them for several years. Sammy Kosinski and I fell out, as you remember, Jennifer is probably working somewhere on the West Coast, Maryann seems to have dropped off the face of the planet, and Joanna is, I think, living in Canada with her husband. Why do you ask?" "Oh, no reason. It's just that when I saw Jake today, I wondered if you might also have plans to see some of your old buddies." "Can't say that I do. I'm still friends with a few of them on Facebook, but that's pretty much it. Sadly." "By the way, how about that one friend of yours... What was she called- -Tina Mills? How is she doing?" "Who?" Kate had stopped eating and was looking at me intently. "Who's Tina Mills?" "Didn't you have a friend by that name in high school? A large girl, feminist, sort of a goth, and a crypto-lesbian. Definitely didn't like men very much. Moved in from Nebraska during your sophomore or junior year, or thereabouts." "No," she answered, shaking her head slowly. "That name doesn't ring any bells for me. I knew a Tina Zuckerman in law school, but she was certainly not a man-hater, or a large girl, for that matter." "I don't mean her. This was during high school." "Then I've got to admit I'm at a loss. Where did you come across that name, anyway?" "I don't remember. Maybe I just heard it somewhere and then mixed it up with another person. But you did have a classmate who fits the basic description, didn't you?" "A big lesbian goth? There were a handful of really big girls, the token goth and the token lesbian couple in my class, but I don't think that describes any one girl, and no student that I recall moved in here from Nebraska back when I was in high school." "Okay then. It could be I dreamed the whole thing up," I said, trying not to let her on how confusing all this was to me. I could have sworn that Tina Mills, as a person, was absolutely real, even though I was more than happy to attribute the skinsuits, the costume party and its various consequences to my overactive subconscious. If my mind was inventing people out of whole cloth, perhaps I was in a worse condition than I had even feared. This was something I had to put to test immediately, and so I continued, "What about... Do you remember the name Larry Simmons?" "Nope," Kate replied. "Lawrence Simmons." "Still no. Who was that?" "He was..." "Was that one of your friends at the University?" Mom asked. "Well, I..." I began but stopped mid-sentence. Not only had they never heard of Tina Mills, but apparently also Larry Simmons was a complete stranger to them! All the memories of me playing with him as a child, our escapades at school, pedaling with Charlie or Jake on our bikes to borrow the newest Nintendo games from him, the falling out--all of this was a mere figment of my imagination! I only needed to close my eyes, and I could still hear his laughter in my ears, or feel in my nose the smell of freshly cut grass on the field where we used to throw the ball. What the hell was happening to me? Maybe my brain had created Tina, but Larry? That was too much for me to swallow. "Yes?" Kate prodded. "Um... I think he was. I suppose I knew him during my freshman year, or something," I lied. "He wasn't a close friend, though." "I see," she said and turned her attention back to her salad. As the women seemed to have lost interest in the topic, by and large, I took the opportunity to slip away. Not wasting a second, I went up the stairs two steps at a time and almost ran into my room. Stopping in front of the bookshelf, I scanned it for a moment for my high school yearbook and then grabbed it. The book had stood there collecting dust for at least a decade, and it was still in almost pristine condition--I had leafed through it only a couple of times after my graduation, when the occasional bout of nostalgia had hit me, and these days the time I had spent at Greensville High had become so distant to me that it nearly seemed to belong in someone else's life. However, I now had a very particular motivation to refer to the old yearbook. Sitting on my bed, I opened it near the middle and started turning the pages, with an uneasy feeling building in my mind. I was convinced that Larry's name and picture just had to be in there, but at the same time I instinctively knew I wouldn't find them. Finally, I arrived at the names beginning with S. Sure enough, there was Miranda Sanders, a geeky girl with a long red hair and round glasses, and then, right next to her, Jerry Simon, a boy who looked barely older than 14 with his thin neck, hollow cheeks and big chestnut brown eyes. No matter how hard I stared at the columns of text, there was no mention of a Lawrence Simmons there, or anywhere else in the book, as I discovered after going carefully through the whole thing page by page and then finally coming back to Miranda and Jerry. My picture was there, as was Jake's and Charlie's, right where we belonged, but Larry had apparently been wiped out of existence. I was tempted to search one more time, but I realized that would make no difference as there was no way I could have missed Larry's entry; after all, our graduating class had had fewer than sixty students. I closed the yearbook and set it aside on the bed. Unless the printers had accidentally omitted his information entirely, the evidence there was unequivocal--and yet, I distinctly remembered how Larry had walked up the aisle at the graduation ceremony, received his diploma and then stood behind me and to my left on the stage. I even recalled that he had given me a quick spiteful look as he had passed me, and I had felt a twinge of anger at his vindictiveness. I had offered him an olive branch, and he had rejected it, so what more did he expect from me? Even that exact same feeling of distaste I had felt towards him came back to me for a fleeting moment as I pondered the mystery. A sizable chuck of my memories from my boyhood and high school years were apparently nothing but fantasy, and I was completely at a loss to explain that. One thing had been cleared up, though. If Tina Mills didn't even exist, it was no wonder nobody at Warburton High had ever heard of her. Then there probably was no Amanda Elkins either, and I could safely scrap the alien skinsuit conspiracy hypothesis. Admittedly, all that was essentially a moot point now, but I still considered that I had made a tiny bit of progress towards getting to the bottom of this whole mess. I lay down on my back and fished the rifle round out of my pocket once more, holding it in my hand in front of my eyes and turning it idly around. At least it was a solid object that existed without any kind of doubt, I thought and admired its smooth brass surface. As impaired as my sense of reality might have otherwise been, here was absolute proof that I had been at the shooting range with Jake today. Or had I? For all I recalled, I had spent the day as a facsimile Buffy Summers, mostly shopping for women's clothing with Kate at the mall, so why did I have no memories of the target practice with Jake? Had someone else taken my place there while I was running around as a girl in the past? I had found myself sitting behind the wheel of my own car as I returned to this frame of reality, so at least physically I had to have been at the range, but it definitely seemed as though the whole experience had been meticulously erased and replaced with the skinsuit nonsense in my head. The better part of last Friday had probably been taken away from me in the same manner, even though the period of time had felt like several days to me, instead of just one. Aside from pointing out my slight general confusion, my parents and Kate had not said anything that suggested they had noticed something amiss with me, which also seemed to back up this theory. I had been living normally, doing completely normal things, and afterwards someone or something had tampered with my memory, with the result that the commonplace had been taken out and the surreal had been substituted for it. It was admittedly crazy, but I could not come up with anything more sensible. I also had to concede that trying to discover and understand the mechanics behind all this was almost certainly futile. Aside from the possibility that I was high on a psychedelic drug and possibly being tested in a laboratory after volunteering for some insane, most likely very unethical human experiment at the University, it was baffling to try to imagine what kind of technology would have been necessary to create the illusions in my mind and to mess with my memory. Maybe the relevant question, after all, was "why" and not "how". Leaving all really far-out scenarios aside and applying a liberal amount of the good old Occam's Razor to the rest, things seemed to boil down to two principal possibilities: either I was indeed being used as a lab rat, or I was developing an acute case of schizophrenia. However, my surroundings at the moment seemed completely real and tangible, so I was probably not in a padded cell in some institute. But, then again, the skinsuit party had seemed just as real to me; the only truly implausible detail in that time or place had been the skinsuits themselves. Even if Larry and Tina and Mandy didn't actually exist, there was basically no reason why they couldn't have; the Benton house was still standing there by the lake; and the girls could well have thrown together an offbeat Buffy-themed Halloween party when they were younger. On the other hand, I was hardly the kind of person to volunteer for medical experiments, and I had trouble imagining an actual secret government agency kidnapping random people in order to use them against their will in developing a mind control weapon. Of course, it wasn't absolutely impossible, only highly unlikely outside of conspiracy theories and fiction. The schizophrenia explanation had its own merits and drawbacks as well. It covered most of the facts nicely, and I supposed my more or less continuous worrying about the future of my career (and life in general) and the sense of alienation at the campus, together with my irregular daily rhythm and massive intake of caffeine, could have gone some way towards explaining why I was afflicted. Then again, these factors seemed too insignificant to have triggered a serious mental illness, particularly seeing as I had never had any kind of noteworthy psychological problems before. Besides, I doubted if my condition actually fit the symptoms of schizophrenia very well. I was not an expert on the matter, merely an educated layman, but what I remembered having read about the disease wasn't entirely in line with what I had experienced. Of course, my case could always have been somehow atypical and might have easily earned some doctor a place in the annals of psychiatry. As I was still mulling over these things and waiting for a Eureka moment to come, an idea did suddenly occur to me. I could always try to make an experiment or two of my own to test the reality of my surroundings. My clothes changed as I was transported to a different time, but what if I held something in my hand? Would that follow me to the other side? And, while there, could I do something to affect the future, that is, the present? I could, for instance, leave a note for myself inside the yearbook and then, after moving back here, see if it was still in place. If I could determine some of the rules and logic governing this strange phenomenon, that might also help me understand the reason why it was happening to me and maybe even how it operated. I sat up and squeezed the rifle round in my hand. I tried to clear my mind of all interfering thoughts and concentrated on the round as completely as I could. I would take it with me when the next shift came. If I still had it (or some other object very much like it) in my hand when I was back in the past, inside the body of a girl, that would hint at the whole thing being a combination of hallucination and illusion. If my mind was mistaking a rifle round for, say, a tube of lipstick, chances were it was also mistaking my male body for a female one. I closed my eyes, still trying to keep my mind in absolute focus. The round was getting warm inside my fist, and I felt the skin of my palms start to perspire. Sounds carried from downstairs, but I shut them out and squeezed the round until I was almost afraid it might explode in my hand. I forced myself to breathe slowly and regularly, bit my teeth together and waited. There was nothing else in the world except for me and the .223 Remington. Maybe half a minute later I noticed something odd. I no longer felt the metal of the cartridge against my palm. Slowly, I opened my eyes and then my fists. There was nothing in my right hand--or my left, for that matter. "What the fuck?" I whispered, wondering if I had managed to hypnotize myself into even greater perceptual disturbances than I had had before. Still in something of a daze, I looked around the room to see if I had dropped the round on the floor, but there was absolutely no sign of it. It had vanished into thin air as if it had never been there in the first place. "Cindy!" Kate's voice startled me, and the mental fog began to dissipate. I realized I was sitting on my bed, staring in front of myself--and back in the Buffy body. A fleeting bout of dull anger flashed over me before I remembered that this was to be expected; I was still stuck in the skinsuit in this world, be it pure fantasy or in some sense real. However, I now at least had the hope that whenever the next shift came, I'd be myself again and all would be back to normal. It was a comforting thought, even though I could no longer say for certain which of the two timeframes was the actual reality and which was fantasy. "Buffy!" Kate called. She had appeared as if from nowhere and was standing in front of me. I looked at her, and she treated me to a mischievous smile. "Thought that would get your attention," she said. "Daydreaming again?" "I suppose," I said in a resigned tone of voice. "Did you... Um, can you see a rifle round here anywhere?" "What?" she exclaimed. "A rifle bullet?" "No, a round. A complete, unfired round." "Why should there be a rifle round here?" she asked. "I don't know. I thought I had---" "Alright, enough with the crazy talk," she declared, probably in the mistaken belief that I was trying to play some kind of a game with her. "You've got a date to prepare for, and you haven't even chosen what you're going to wear yet. Get moving, sis!" She took me by the hand and pulled me to my feet. "What day is today?" I asked her. At this, Kate gave me a serious and genuinely concerned look. "You honestly don't know?" she said. "It's Tuesday; Tuesday evening, about four fifty." "Oh. Okay." "Look, Cindy, I'm getting worried about you. You forget what day it is and you keep spacing out like that. Do you feel sick?" "Not really. I just mean... It has been a pretty tough week for me." I let out a sigh. "This'll pass in a few moments." "Do you want to cancel the date?" Kate asked. "If you're not feeling up to it, I can call him and say you can't come." "No, I'm fine. I don't want to disappoint the poor guy." Kate's bed was littered with items of feminine clothing, some spread out, some in neat piles, and still more shirts and blouses were draped over the chairs. It was as though she had emptied her closet and dumped the contents all around her room while I was either daydreaming or visiting the future. "Time to pick an outfit for you," she announced. "I decided to help you and lay some of my clothes out for you, so this is basically what you have to choose from." "There's plenty," I commented. "Do you really think I need to go through all those options? Couldn't you just lend me a pair of jeans or something simple like that?" "Cindy, you're going out with a guy for the first time. I want you to feel special and wear something nice. Besides, you are my sister and therefore my responsibility now, and it means you have standards to live up to. It's best that you learn the basics of style and looking presentable so you'll be set on the right path. Rest assured, you'll thank me later for it." "I wouldn't call this 'going out with a guy,'" I argued. "At least not in the usual sense. I'm pretty certain there will be no romance between me and Kenny." "Well, you can always consider this a dress rehearsal for the real thing. I bet it won't be long before you'll get asked for a date by a man you're attracted to." I opened my mouth to insist I would never be attracted to men but thought the better of it and remained quiet. Kate was apparently positive that I was well on my way to becoming a heterosexual woman like herself, and I could hardly convince her otherwise. Besides, there was a fair chance she was right, even though I was definitely not thrilled by that prospect. "There's that long face again," she reproached me. "Come on, can't you show at least a little more enthusiasm for new experiences? Lots of people would just love to be in your shoes!" "Like you, for instance?" I asked. "What if it had been you who got stuck inside your skinsuit? Would you be all smiles, looking for fun and hitting on girls if you had to stay as Angel for life?" "Maybe not right away and all the time," she responded, "but I certainly wouldn't just stay in my room and mope either. I know you would be there for me and you'd be trying to make my life as comfortable as possible, which is what I'm doing for you, by the way. You'd teach me everything about being a guy, and we'd go out together and do guy things. And yeah--as soon as I felt attracted to girls, I'd start hitting on them. I wouldn't mind trying sex as a guy. Not that I have actually tried it, but it could be interesting to see how it compares." "I don't believe you," I said. "Nobody can adjust that well to such a drastic change, not even you." "Of course, it would be harder for me than being Buffy is for you," she mused. "Why? Pray tell." "Because let's face it--girls are better!" she sassed and stuck out her tongue at me. I couldn't help but burst into giggles, and she followed suit. I naturally had to shed my casual clothes before we could start the preparations for my night out. As soon as I had only my underwear on, namely a nondescript pair of white cotton panties and a matching bra, Kate asked me: "Would you like to take a shower before you get changed, Cindy?" "I think I'm good. I don't feel dirty or sweaty," I said. "Maybe I'll take one when I come back." "By the way, when did you last wash your hair?" "Yesterday evening, if I recall correctly." "Okay, I guess it's good to go then. Lift your arms." "What?" "Lift your arms. I want to check your armpits." I did as she requested, and she took the opportunity to examine the skin of my body closely. "Incredible!" she exclaimed. "It's been almost a week, and you still don't have to shave. Looks like you only have some very light fluff growing on you below your chin. You won't believe how jealous I am of you right now!" "To be frank," I commented, "I wouldn't mind getting my rough skin and chest hair back, along with the rest of my own form." "To be equally frank, I think you're crazy. I would never give up what you have. That body of yours is so perfect it's not even funny. The perfect boobs, the perfect legs, the perfect baby skin, the perfect teeth, the perfect everything." "But I want to be a man again, the real crown of Creation!" I argued playfully. "Not some puny female." "Watch it!" Kate admonished me and shook her finger in front of my nose. Even though she tried to look stern, she could not keep her lips from curving up a little. She wasted no time in sending me to wash those oh-so-wonderfully hairless armpits of mine, and while in the bathroom, I also rolled on some of her deodorant. With my basic hygiene thus taken care of, I returned to her room and the mountain of clothes that was waiting for me. It took us a good half an hour to decide what I should wear. As usual, Kate was pushing for a feminine, sensual style, while I wanted it comfortable and relaxed, partly because I didn't want to spend the whole evening being ogled and drooled on by Kenny. While I managed to avoid having to put on a dress, she made it clear that jeans and all the other types of pants were out of the question. In the end, I settled for and donned black tights, a dark gray skirt that ended well above my knees, an off-white soft sweater and a pair of strappy sandals. After this, she took me to the upstairs bathroom. I presumed she was going to do my makeup again, but instead she announced that it was time for me to do it myself. This of course ruled out anything elaborate, and after another short haggle we agreed that I only needed to do my eyes and lips as there were no plans to go anywhere more formal or public than Kenny's home and my facial skin was at its best in its natural state. However, I still had to struggle with primer, eyeshadow, pencil eyeliner (which gave me the most trouble) and finally mascara until she was pleased with the result. This was followed by a touch of lipstick and thorough brushing of my hair. Just when I thought I was ready, Kate realized my fingernails had been completely neglected, so she applied light pink polish to them quickly and expertly while I was still sitting in front of her vanity table. With the faint taste of lipstick in my mouth and a scent of Kate's favorite perfume (spritzed on my neck and wrists as the icing on the cake) floating all around me, I emerged from the bathroom a second time. Kate smiled happily; her dream of having a sister to play dress- up with had come true, and she was clearly enjoying every second. "One more thing," she said. "You'll be needing a purse. I have one you can use; it's a bit worn, but still in pretty good condition. The white one, remember? It'll go nicely with your sweater." "Girlier and girlier." "Those clothes have no pockets, Buffy. It's only practical to carry a purse, and besides, I already put your old wallet and cell phone in there." "Without telling me first?" "Don't get tangled up in details. Come on, let's go get it." She collected the purse from her desk and opened it. "Let's see if you have everything here," Kate said and rummaged through the contents of the bag. "Wallet and cell phone, check. Then there's a compact and a tube of lipstick in case you need to freshen up, some tissues, a box of breath mints... Right, I know what's missing." With that, she reached for her drawer, pulled it open and dug out a couple of condoms which she promptly dropped into the purse. "What's the deal with those?" I asked incredulously. "Guys never have these when they're needed," she told me. "No matter what they say, don't trust them. You need to make sure you've got protection." "Kate, I'm not going to have sex with Kenny!" "Maybe not, but you never know when the right man and the right moment comes along. It's best to be prepared, and there's no harm in carrying a couple of condoms in your purse, anyway. They weigh practically nothing and they don't take up much space." "Just... just leave them out, please. I won't be needing them, I promise." Kate looked at me and let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. "I don't understand, Buffy. How come you suddenly have this huge hangup about sex? You can't even talk about it!" "Let's just say I haven't felt comfortable with that subject lately." "So I see. You know, back when you were a guy, you had absolutely no problem with this stuff. Heck, I confided things to you that most girls wouldn't tell their brothers, no matter how close they are, and you were always completely cool with it. But now you turn into Miss Shrinking Violet whenever anything even remotely related to sex is brought up. You're being ridiculous." "I'm positively not going to have any as long as I'm a girl, so there's no need to talk about it." "But what if you can't change back? What then? Are you going to be celibate for the rest of your life?" "Probably." "What's the big issue, anyway?" she asked me directly. "Are you ashamed of your new body? Is that it? Or are you telling yourself you can't think about sex because that might make you like men?" "I suppose it could be a bit of both. I just can't get used to the idea of having female equipment between my legs--and all the rest too, of course." "Look, you really need to start dealing with this, and fast. I'm no psychologist, but I know full well that you'll be in big trouble if you don't. If you have to stay a woman, you can't be scared of your own vagina." "Maybe you're right." "Besides, you've got a killer body. It would be a real shame to let it go to waste. Don't let your kitty starve." "What do you mean, my kit---" I started before suddenly realizing what she had referred to. I turned beet red from the neck up, and Kate giggled heartily over my reaction. With our preparations complete, Kate led me in front of her large wall mirror. "Okay, come here and take a look," she told me. Once again, the proper clothing and a bit of cosmetics had turned my feminine form from simply a very pretty girl into a mesmerizing sight. I flashed a demure smile, but the mirror girl replied with a truly radiant one of her own that revealed her perfect pearly teeth. For the first time since my transformation, I looked at my reflection and felt something akin to pleasure and even pride, although it was still mixed with mild embarrassment. This time, it was not just my male mind instinctively lusting after a hot woman; I knew I was beautiful, and that knowledge filled me with a kind of happiness and self-confidence that would have been strange to the old masculine me, totally regardless of how unprepared I was for even the thought of sex as a girl. "Nice," I said. "I like it." "I thought you would," Kate injected with a wide smile. Then, without any preamble, she reached for me, and we shared a sisterly hug. "Go knock him out, sis!" she told me. I picked up my purse and we both went downstairs. As we were descending the stairs, Kate commented, "You know what, Buffy? This is almost like a scene from a movie. All that's missing is your dream date waiting for you at the foot of the stairs and some sappy song playing in the background. You should have asked Kenny to come here early so he could be there to meet you now." "Kenny is not exactly my idea of dream date," I chuckled. "Even if I have to stay like this, I don't think I'd necessarily start a relationship with him, of all people." "Well, I believe he's basically a nice person," Kate said. "Assuming he grows up a little, develops a taste in clothes and haircuts and goes out more, he just might be a catch in five years. Unless, of course, you'd rather go for bad boys." "Let's cross that bridge if and when we get to it." There was indeed no man to meet me, but I didn't have to do without an audience. Mom had apparently just finished vacuuming the living room and she watched us come down the stairs. She had a smile on her lips, but her expression still betrayed the fact that she had mixed emotions about the spectacle before her. "Wow, look at you!" she said appreciatively. "What's the occasion, if I may ask?" "She's going on her first date," Kate announced with pride in her voice. "With whom?" "Kenny Taylor. He should be here any minute to pick her up." "It's not a real date, mind you," I quickly pointed out for the umpteenth time. "I'm just paying him a visit, that's all." "Call it what you will, but you're going out anyway," Kate said. "Kids," Mom commented, "I don't mean to spoil your fun, but I'm kind of starting to miss my son. Don't you think your game has gone far enough?" "Ow, Mom!" my sister moaned, half jokingly. "Just when I got her to come out of her shell and loosen up a little bit! Could we rather have some support here, please?" "Like I said, I don't mind you guys playing dress-up as such, but you're burying Mike in his part, Kate. Besides, your dad might be in for a huge surprise when he comes home." I had all but forgotten that Dad was due to return from his business trip in a few days and that he, as of yet, had no idea what had happened here during his absence. The thought of having to face him in my current form and break the news that he had lost a son and gained a daughter filled me with anxiety. I was not afraid of him disowning me or getting violently angry at me, but I would gladly have spared him the shock, and myself the extreme awkwardness. How could I explain this to him when I could not explain it to myself? "Mandy's visiting us tomorrow," Kate pointed out. "She'll help him out of the suit, and then he'll be back to normal. I just want to enjoy this for as long as I can." "Yeah, I definitely must get out of this body before Dad comes home," I said quietly, with my eyes cast down. "I can't let him see me like this." "Oh jeez, now she's all self-conscious again," Kate groaned. "Forget about Dad and everything else for a few hours, okay? Just enjoy your beauty and have fun!" I heard a car engine outside, and the headlights briefly cast bright spots on the kitchen wall. "He's here," Kate announced. "Showtime, Cindy! Don't do anything I wouldn't!" "Have a good time, Mike," Mom added, making a point to use my real name. "Thanks," I said and braced myself quietly. "See you later." I grabbed the dark brown Buffy jacket from the coat rack and put it on before I stepped out of the front door. It was already completely dark outside (thanks in no small part to the Daylight Saving Time having ended yesterday), and the air felt chilly, so I pulled the jacket closed more tightly. The garment was perhaps not an ideal choice for this night out, not least because it had the unfortunate effect of underscoring my resemblance to a certain TV show character, but it did fit me well and was reasonably comfortable. There was a large car parked sideways at the end of our driveway, with its headlights shining brightly and its engine running. As I got closer, I saw it was a large, fairly new blue BMW--most likely Kenny's father's car. He had decided to go all out to impress his "date", I noted with some satisfaction before it occurred to me that it was probably his parents who had told him to take the best car and try to act as classy as possible. I made a beeline for the front passenger door and was only a couple of steps away when the driver's door suddenly opened and a figure sprang out of the car. It was none other than Kenny himself, dressed in a brown jacket and a white shirt with a tie. However sharp his clothing was, the person inside had not changed, as I discovered immediately. "Um... Sorry, let--let me," he stammered as he rushed to open the door for me. "I totally forgot. Sorry." "No problem," I replied with a reassuring smile and slid into the car. My cavalier then occupied the driver's seat again, and after we both had buckled up, he started trying to turn the car around. Either he was even more awkward handling a motor vehicle than he was talking to girls, or perhaps his nervousness was simply so overwhelming that it impaired his every single skill, but the result would have been good material for any B-rate comedy film all the same. He reversed about a foot, turned the wheels a little, then moved forward by the same amount, again turned the wheels and then repeated the jerky cycle over and over. A minute passed by, and the nose of the car still wasn't pointing in the right direction. "You know, Kenny," I advised him, "there's plenty of space behind us. You can just back up a car length or so and turn around at once here." "I-- Okay, I know," he said. "I just, uh..." My words ended up having no effect, and instead he went on abusing both the surface of our driveway and the gearbox of his dad's car until the coast was finally clear. As I have mentioned before, the Taylor house was located along the main road, which also led past the Benton villa and the lake, so we were retracing part of the route my Mom had driven when she took Kate and me to the party. This time, I was much more at ease than then, largely due to the fact that the man who was keeping me company was not actually my transformed sister, was not an athletic giant and in all likelihood was not struggling with an unrelenting erection all the time. Even in the relative dark of the car, I could see that Kenny's cheeks were shining red and that he had a half concentrated, half scared look on his face as he stared through the windshield. Aside from a traffic accident, I obviously had nothing to fear from him. "So, Kenny," I said, trying to open a discussion and get him to relax a little, "how are you doing?" "Fine," he said briefly and less than convincingly, with his voice full of tension and anxiety. "I'm fine." "Good. That's nice," I commented and nodded. "What about your parents? Are they...?" "Not at home," he blurted out, squeezing the wheel with his fingers. "They're... out." "Okay then. So we have the whole place for ourselves?" "Uh," he intoned and swallowed hard, drowning out the word he had tried to say. At this point, I thought it best not to continue conversing with him until we were safely at his home. He was incredibly tense, so much so that I was beginning to become genuinely afraid he might drive off the road if distracted at all. The slightest amount of innuendo would probably have sent us crashing into a tree or a lamppost. The journey to the Taylors' house took about twice the time my Mom had needed to transport Kate and me to the party, but we did make it there without incident. Kenny began to seem perhaps slightly less skittish as we approached his home, and when he turned onto their driveway, I deemed it reasonably risk-free to attempt to start the conversation again. "How was your Halloween, by the way?" I asked him as casually as I could. "My Halloween?" he repeated. "Um, it was... okay." "Did you go to a party or something?" "No, just hung out at home. I... do that a lot." "I see." "Some punks tore down part of our fence, though," he went on. "Dad's furious with them. The Sheriff came to check the scene on Sunday morning but it turned out nobody saw the person who did the damage." I secretly breathed a sigh of relief at hearing that. "Yeah, well, kids will be kids," I said. In general, Greensville was a nice neighborhood with more or less well- to-do people living in neat homes. The Taylors' abode managed to stand out in that crowd: the family of three had a big and tall, two-story concrete house with large windows and clean-white walls. It was clearly a modern building with modern architecture, yet it was a tasteful design that fit in its surroundings and did not show off some unhinged artistic vision that could only be comprehended and appreciated after years of study. After Kenny had parked the car in the front yard, we both got out, and then I followed him to the front door. He dug the key out of his trouser pocket and then fumbled it into the lock, letting us in. The inside of the house matched the outside. White was the most prominent color here, as well, contrasting with the brown tones of the parquet floor. Wherever I laid my eyes, I only saw cleanliness and good order together with signs of affluence. "Y-you can leave your jacket here, if you'd like," Kenny suggested when we had reached the brightly-lit foyer. With pleasure, I peeled the garment off and hung it on the coat rack, enjoying how warm the house was. While I was not a regular guest by any means, I had visited it a few times before and knew my way around; "Cindy", however, was supposed to be a complete stranger, so I made a mental note not to act too casually. "So, uh, Buffy," he said (and failed to notice me wince a little at the name), "my room's upstairs, so... if y-you'd like to go there, I'll be with you in a minute. I'll, um, get some r-refreshments for us. It's up the stairs and, uh, straight ahead." "Sure thing," I said. "I'll wait for you there." While Kenny went to the kitchen and started fussing about there, I ascended the stairs slowly and walked to my host's personal room. Fittingly for the large house, Kenny's den was almost the size of my room and Kate's put together; there was a comfortable bed, a couch, a number of bookcases, a large TV set and, naturally, a massive computer desk with the largest CRT monitor I had ever seen at anyone's home sitting on top. He owned a fairly sizable collection of proper books, but most of the shelf space was taken up by magazines and CD and DVD boxes, together with numerous action figures arranged neatly in rows and columns. As the icing on the cake, the walls were littered with posters, and the even bright light provided by the ornate, almost chandelier-like lamp hanging from the ceiling revealed dozens of colorful two-dimensional faces looking back at me, no matter where I turned my eyes. In the midst of this cavalcade of superheroes and Japanese cartoon girls hung Kenny's framed high school diploma--and right next to it, to my dismay, a nearly life-sized poster of Buffy Summers. It had to be based on the same (or a very similar) shot as the picture Kate had used for reference when doing my makeup for the party, and so the fictional girl was once more drilling holes into me with her eyes. I instantly felt uncomfortable. It was as if her empty yet intense gaze was accusing me of stealing her identity. "What are you looking at?" I hissed at the poster. I had to wonder how Kenny could sleep with the eyes of the printed heroine fixed on him endlessly. My staring contest with the picture was interrupted by sounds of slowly moving footsteps from the staircase. In a few moments Kenny rejoined me, carrying a large bowl of freshly made popcorn and a bottle of Dr Pepper slung awkwardly under each armpit. "Some snacks," he announced and lowered the bowl carefully on his desk. "I-I was thinking we could... you know, maybe watch a movie or something... if you like." "Sounds nice," I commented with a smile. "What have you got?" "Uh, plenty of stuff, actually," he said, pointing to one of the bookcases. "Did you have anything particular in mind for tonight?" I asked. "Well, I... I usually watch some anime when I'm by myself. I guess you could say I'm a bit of a fan," he added with a grin and a small, forced laugh. "How about you?" "What? What about me?" "I meant to ask if you... um, like anime." "Not really," I said quickly. "I've never... It's not my thing, so to speak." "Ah, alright. Maybe you haven't given it a real chance. I've got some titles here that we could watch, as a sort of introduction for you. There's Dragon Ball Z; that's really cool, I bet you'd like that. Then I've got some Cardcaptor Sakura, and---" "Sorry, Kenny, but could we just stick to the tried and true Western forms of entertainment tonight?" I suggested. I had never had any great interest in Japanese pop culture and had had more than my share of new experiences during the last couple of days; that alone was reason enough for me to give Kenny's anime collection a polite pass. "Of course," he said, slightly taken aback. "As you wish. Maybe a live action TV show then. What about... hmm, let me see... Buffy the Vampire Slayer?" "No!" I exclaimed instinctively at hearing the name. Kenny took on a puzzled and somewhat disappointed look, so I hurried to explain myself, "I meant that... I'm not really a big fan of that either." "Why?" he inquired and tilted his head a little. "It's got great writing and acting, fast action, hot chicks--I mean, uh, p-people, good-looking people, and---" "It's just... I don't have anything against it, per se, but after having ten random people on the street think you're the star of that show and come up to you to ask for an autograph all in one day, it gets a little wearisome." The lie rolled off my tongue easily; it didn't require any thinking at all, disconcertingly enough. "Oh. I didn't realize," Kenny mumbled. "I'm sorry." He had already started to come out of his shell, thanks to his excitement about watching his favorite anime with me, but now his hopes had been dashed, and all of a sudden, he was his usual shy self once more. "It's okay, Kenny," I said. "There must be something we both enjoy. So... Do you have any good war films, for instance?" "War films? Not really; I'm not all that into them." A thoughtful look appeared on his face, and he spent a couple of seconds in silence before continuing tentatively, "I guess we could sort of compromise, though. How about the first Star Wars movie?" "Sure," I agreed. "No problem. It's a classic, after all." "Um, I meant... the first episode, The Phantom Menace." "Oh, right," I said, barely managing to hide my disappointment. "That one." "I know people think it's a bad film," he explained apologetically, "and I admit it actually is kind of cheesy in places, to be honest, but--well, you know, it was the first film I ever saw in a real theater, back when I was a kid, so it holds tons of nostalgia value for me. If you don't---" "No, it's okay," I hurried to sound my approval. "I don't mind at all. We can watch that." "Are you sure?" "Absolutely. It might not measure up to the original trilogy, but it's still a reasonably good film." "Great! I'll put the disk in the player and we can start. The popcorn's right there, and the soda... Can you open the bottles for us, Buffy?" Although I could not help but clench my teeth when I heard myself being called that once again, I felt relieved and happy at the resolution of the movie question. For all its flaws, Episode One of the Star Wars saga was a safe pick, something that didn't require a cultivated taste in hideously drawn characters, plots too convoluted for a normal human being to grasp and esoteric cultural references--or, alternatively, re- watching my lookalike battle vampires and assorted demons and save the world over and over. Kenny popped the DVD in, turned on the TV and then joined me on the couch as the opening text, accompanied by the massive theme music, began to crawl across the screen. Even though I realized Kenny was extremely unlikely to attempt to cuddle with me against my wishes, I had been mildly concerned about it beforehand; after all, he now had one of his all-time fantasy girls (or at least a very good replica of her) right next to him. However, any anxiety I might have had with regard to this had evaporated by the time we were less than five minutes into the movie. The host of the evening sat almost two feet away from me, his eyes firmly on the screen and his cheeks aflame. There would be no yawn-and-reach maneuvers from him tonight. Strangely enough, I almost felt disappointed. Kenny putting his arm around me or holding my hand was not exactly a development I was looking forward to, but at the same time, I would have appreciated some polite attention from him. At any rate, I could reduce the distance between us, and so I moved a little nearer to him on the couch and settled comfortably. He reacted immediately. Trying to appear as casual as possible, he shifted quickly in the opposite direction while keeping his gaze on the TV. Out of curiosity, I waited for a little while and then again moved surreptitiously a few inches towards him, and, sure enough, he retreated some more as soon as he thought I wouldn't notice it. In no time, we found ourselves engaged in a silly game, where Kenny pulled farther away and I scooted closer, until he was bunched up in the corner of the couch, leaning uncomfortably on the armrest and almost falling over. All of a sudden, Kenny sprung on his feet. "Uh, oh, did you h-hear that?" he babbled, looking around like a frightened squirrel. "Hear what?" "That sound! Mom must've left the... um, yeah, the washing machine on! W-wait here, I'll go check on it..." Not wasting another second, he grabbed the remote, put the movie on pause and then almost ran out of the room. I had to hold back laughter at this sight, but it also drove home a point: I now had an immense power over men. Even though I was basically only keeping company to a geeky friend, without harboring any kind of romantic, let alone erotic feelings towards him, I could easily have made him do my bidding. All I had to do was smile or bat my eyelashes at him, and he would be putty in my hands. Here was another realization that struck me with force; it was something I had always known and on a few rare occasions been subjected to as a man, but to experience it first hand from the woman's point of view filled me with weird excitement, almost intoxication. Was this how they felt when they turned their wiles loose on unsuspecting men? My thoughts promptly drifted to Leslie. If she had been here instead of me, poor Kenny would have lost his virginity and innocence in a matter of minutes. If he was like a deer in headlights with me, our newly- minted nymphomaniac acquaintance would certainly have made short work of him. Even though I wished absolutely no ill towards Kenny, the mental image still made me crack a small sardonic smile. But then again, who was to say he had to be completely safe with me? I could seduce him just as well. I could turn up the heat by starting to talk in a more sensual way, I could drop a few overt hints (so as to make sure he understood what was going on) and move physically very close to him, no matter how much he tried to avoid me. Of course, he was far too timid and inexperienced to make the first move, or any move, with a girl, so I would have to take charge. I would back him against a wall, grab him by the crotch and simply say something like, "We're not leaving this room until I get what I want, and I want it now!" And then... Kenny had been so beside himself that he had taken the remote with him, and I was alone in his room, with nothing to watch but a TV screen showing a frozen picture of a desert landscape in a galaxy far, far away. I knew full well that the supposed trouble with the washing machine was merely an excuse to escape from me for a moment, and I only wondered how long he would take to compose himself and come back. As it turned out, the answer was about ten minutes; after that, he trudged upstairs again and into the room. I saw a couple of tiny droplets glistening in his eyebrows, which could only mean that he had splashed water on his face in an effort to calm down. "So," I asked him, "was the washing machine okay?" "Uh, yeah," he replied, faking nonchalance. "It was off. I guess I was mistaken after all." He sat down on the couch, as far as possible from me, and pressed a button on the remote. The movie resumed playing, but I had no great interest in it now. I had hit upon a devious little idea of how to arrange far better entertainment for myself, and I was irresponsible enough to put it into practice. "Kenny," I said, trying not to sound overly sly or seductive (but nevertheless letting my tone and body language hint at what was to come), "my back feels kind of stiff. Would you mind giving it a good rub?" This request came as an obvious shock to him. A flash of fear appeared in his eyes, and then, as he turned his head towards me, he had a look of helplessness on his face. "Uh, what?" he blurted out. "Massage my back, will you?" I pleaded and added, batting my eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion and with my lips in a cute little pout, "Pretty please?" "Um... okay," he agreed diffidently. "If you... want me to... Okay." I suppressed a smile that tried to come onto my lips and turned sideways so that he could stand in front of the couch and gain access to my back. For his part, Kenny stood up, put his hands on my shoulders and began, in theory, to knead my muscles with his fingertips. His touch was so light and weak I could barely feel it through the fabric of my clothes, and his efforts would of course have been absolutely useless as a real massage; but then, getting one wasn't my true intention anyway. "Yeah, that's the spot," I sighed and arched my back. "Oh yeah..." "Is this okay?" he asked. "Am I doing it right?" "Yep. It's... ohh... it's fantastic..." Kenny's nervous fingers continued their work, and I closed my eyes and let out a moan. "Mmm... You sure know your stuff, Kenny... Ohh!" "Did I h-hurt you?" he asked skittishly and stopped. "I-I don't..." "No, just keep going," I told him. "Please. You were doing great." "Okay," he mumbled and started again. His awkward anxiety due to the situation at hand was almost palpable, and I had to bite my lip to contain my laughter. It was time to up the ante. "Oh..." I moaned. "Oh yes... That's exactly what I need! Oh yes... Mmm..." With every syllable I uttered, his touch was getting lighter, and I could sense that he was struggling fiercely to keep his composure and not run away. This was deliciously evil, I thought and went on, rocking slowly back and forth, "Oh... yes... Oh Kenny... Harder, push harder... oh... oh... Oh yeah!" His hands were hardly making any physical contact with me anymore, but I pretended not to notice this. Instead, I put my meager acting skills to use, shook my body all over and capped the show off with a series of loud shrieks: "Do me harder, Kenny! Oh yes! Harder! Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh Kenny!" He suddenly recoiled from me, and as I again turned to face him, I saw him standing almost in the middle of the floor, at least five feet away from me. The man's face was glowing red and his hands were visibly trembling. Finding himself light years outside his small comfort zone, he looked so utterly devastated, so overcome by this experience, that he was incredibly pitiful and incredibly adorable to behold at the same time. At first, I almost burst out in laughter, and immediately afterwards I very nearly ran up to him to give him a hug. His reaction had been exactly as hilarious as I had predicted, but I already felt remorse for having all this fun at his expense. "Kenny," I said softly and with a gentle smile," I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." He only managed to grunt something unintelligible in reply. "Will you forgive me?" "Y-yeah, I guess," he stammered. "I just---" "Look, I'm fully aware that wasn't cool. You're clearly a bit uncomfortable around girls, and this didn't help." "Yeah." "I apologize. So--friends?" "Friends," he said and managed a shaky smile. "Now, come sit here," I prompted, patting the couch with my hand. "I promise I won't do anything like that again." He did as I had told him, placing his butt carefully and slowly down on the couch. I moved and settled close to him. This time he only leaned slightly in the opposite direction, instead of overtly trying to avoid me. "I hope you don't mind me saying this," I begun after a brief silence, "but you'd do well to loosen up a little. I understand you weren't trying to be impolite back there, but if a girl is hanging out with you in your room, you don't keep moving away from her as if she had some contagious disease. It can come across as pretty tactless." "Yeah," he said in a quiet voice, staring at his shoes. "I know." "Besides, I don't bite or have cooties. You can just relax with me." "Okay," he said. "I'll try my best." "And if things get too tense, you can always give me another back rub." For a second, he opened his mouth in shock, but then he suddenly realized that I was only joking. He let out a little laughter, and I laughed with him. With most of the unnecessary anxiety now gone, we went on to watch the rest of the movie together, eating popcorn and occasionally commenting on the story. My little practical joke had cleared the air considerably, and Kenny seemed much more at ease with me, even if some of his awkwardness definitely remained. I slowly closed the distance between us again and was eventually almost snuggling up with him, but he bravely stayed put throughout. I was relieved and even happy for him that he had conquered his nervousness, at least to an extent. Being together like this felt surprisingly nice to me, and as I stole a short glance at his face, I wondered what would happen if I planted a little kiss on his cheek. A small part of me actually wanted to do just that; Kenny needed it, I thought. No matter how clumsy he might be, he was an out-and-out good guy who deserved his share of happiness as much as anyone. In the end, I realized it would probably not be wise and kept my lips to myself so as not to cause any more undue excitement. I contented myself with watching the movie and simply enjoying his company, and from what I could tell, he was equally happy to share the evening with me. ***** The drive back was a fun affair compared to the trip in the other direction just hours earlier. Kenny drove in a more self-assured manner (albeit still slowly), and we chatted about how our respective parents felt about our borrowing their cars. To my lasting shame, I had to serve him a litany of lies and half-truths to cover up the fact that "Cindy Caldwell" did not actually exist, but it was nevertheless a pleasure to have a casual, relaxed conversation with him. "Um, to be honest with you," he said, "my Dad and my Mom told me to take the Beamer tonight." "To impress your date?" I asked. "Well... yeah. Dad always says that you should look your best when you take a girl out, and having a nice car is a big plus, so... yeah." "Can't argue with that," I said. "First impression counts for a lot when you're dealing with other people." "I guess it didn't go too well for me in that case." "What do you mean, Kenny?" "With you. You... you must think I'm a stuttering idiot." "Of course I don't! You're a really likable guy and you're very smart. All you have to do is lose some of that shyness and ease up a little around girls. Trust me, it'll be okay." "You really think so?" "Definitely." Just a few minutes later Kenny pulled up at the end of our driveway. I let him open the car door for me, and soon we were standing together in front of our porch. He stared at his shoes with his cheeks red, but a smile still lingered on his lips. I could tell he was only a hair's breadth away from bursting with happiness and would probably be euphoric for the rest of the week, if not the rest of the year. As for myself, I regretted the made-up stories I had had to tell him, but my guilty conscience was soothed by the fact that my words about his kindness and intelligence had been sincere, as well as my prediction that he might one day become an outgoing and self-assured young man. "So," I remarked, "this is it. Time to say goodnight." "Yeah," he said. "I had a great time, Kenny. Thank you." "No, thank you for coming." He flashed me one final shy smile and turned to walk away, but I interrupted him, "Hey! Aren't you forgetting something?" "What?" he asked with a genuinely puzzled look on his face. It was a pure spur-of-the-moment decision on my part. Without thinking of the possible consequences, or anything really, I went to him quickly--so as not to give him time to avoid me--and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Woah!" he exclaimed. "That was... fantastic!" "Good night, Kenny," I said and smiled. In a happy daze, Kenny got back in the car and started it. Again, he reversed very slowly and deliberately to turn it around, and while he seemed overall much more confident than when he had come to pick me up, he still needed almost a full minute of careful but clumsy maneuvering to have the nose of his vehicle pointing away from our house. When he had accomplished this, I gave him a wave and a smile, and he drove off, still at a creeping pace. I waited on the porch until his tail lights had disappeared behind the small bend in our driveway and then went inside, already feeling a little chilly. All in all, this had been a nice evening, I thought. I had had fun-- even though most of it had come at Kenny's expense--and finally managed to pay him the visit I had planned for so long. It was certainly better than sitting at home, immersed in depressing thoughts. I didn't know how exactly Kenny felt just then, but I could imagine he was happy for having successfully entertained a real girl for hours without any truly serious or embarrassing mistakes. Perhaps this would help him build some sorely needed confidence and eventually turn him into an approximation of a normal person who could socialize at least on some level. As soon as I had my jacket off, Mom was there to meet me. "How was it?" she asked. "Fine," I said simply. "Kenny's a gentleman. Or maybe I should say he's getting there, provided that he gets more exposure to other human beings." Just then, Kate ran down the stairs. "You're home!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. "Alright, let's hear it! I want to know everything!" "Well," I began, "we---" "On a second thought, why not take a shower first and get changed, then meet me in my room. It's girl talk time; just you and me, sis. I want all the details, and I mean all!" Kate got her wish. Less than an hour later I was sitting on her bed in my borrowed pajamas, with my makeup removed and my skin fresh from a good showering (I had worn a shower cap, though, so as not to have to deal with drying my hair afterwards). She was dressed likewise, and we were ready for a date debriefing and a sisterly heart-to-heart chat. "Right," she prompted me. "Spill!" She was all smiles and almost trembling with excitement. "It's was nice, I guess," I began in a leisurely tone. "We sat in his room, watched a movie, talked a little, I made him rub my back and I faked an orgasm---" "You did what!?" she almost screamed and burst into laughter at the same time. "Yeah, well, you see, he was really incredibly shy at first. He kept a ridiculous distance to me all the time and didn't even have the guts to make eye contact for more than half a second. So I made him rub my back, and while he was doing that, I started moaning and calling his name as if I was having... as if he was pleasuring me in a more intimate way." "No way!" she laughed. "Wow! That's just evil! What happened next?" "Nothing much. He basically recoiled in horror, and I confessed my little practical joke. He did loosen up a little after that, so the effort was not wasted." "Jeez! If you're like that around guys you only consider your friends, the really hot ones had better watch out for you!" "I'm turning into Larry. It's obvious," I commented jokingly. "Yeah, I'm starting to think I might have created a monster." "Seriously speaking, I felt kind of guilty about the whole thing. I shouldn't have played that sort of a trick on poor Kenny. He's legitimately scared of girls." "Other than that, what was he like?" Kate inquired. "I mean, did he trip over his own feet or something?" "Not really, if you overlook the detail that he called me Buffy at least three times, which was slightly annoying. He's a sweet person underneath all that awkwardness, and I honestly believe he only needs to go out and be with people more, especially women. Essentially just what you told me before I left." "But not boyfriend material for you?" "No, I wouldn't say he is a potential sweetheart for me." "By the way, what type of guy is?" "It's too soon for me to tell," I said with a chuckle. "I'm still into girls." "So, can you start liking guys already so we can gossip about them together?" "I don't think it happens just like that, Kate. Besides, wouldn't that be bad news for you? If I was into guys, you'd have one more girl to compete with." "We're sisters," she pointed out. "We'd work out a system and agree on who gets to date whom. Simple as that. But anyway, I asked you a question. What's your ideal man like?" "That's a difficult one," I said, realizing I probably had no choice but to humor her. "I... Let me see. I think I'd like someone who's reliable, kind and smart, masculine but maybe not overly macho. Kind of similar to the old me, if I'm allowed to flatter myself shamelessly." "What about the looks department?" "I don't know. Looks aren't everything. As long as he's not a circus freak, I'm good. And I guess a circus freak can have a heart of gold too." "So he doesn't have to be tall, dark and handsome?" "No, but being easy on the eyes would definitely be a bonus." "And at least a seven-inch dick, right?" she went on with a mischievous look on her face. "Come on!" "Okay, so you'd be fine with six?" I grabbed a small decorative pillow and hit her lightly on the head with it. She laughed at me, and even though I tried to keep a straight face, I failed and ended up following suit. "Did you notice something?" she asked me all of a sudden. "What?" "You've turned into a girl. I'm in my room talking with my sister about her date and her taste in men. It's official now." "No way. You're exaggerating." "I'm not exaggerating, Buffy. Or Cindy. Or whatever you prefer to be called. You're my sister." This gave me pause, despite the carefree and bubbly atmosphere of our conversation. The skin's personality was possibly taking a stronger hold of me, little by little, but I had more or less brushed the thought aside and simply enjoyed my evening. It was precisely what Kate and Mandy had recommended, but was that a smart thing to do? Maybe Kate's words would soon be literally true, and she would indeed have a sister, both in body and in mind--and maybe it was what she actually wanted. "Can I ask you something?" I said in a more serious tone. "Sure," she replied. "Anything." "I need you to give me an honest answer." "Of course." "Kate, would you prefer me staying this way for life, instead of getting turned back into a man?" "If the other option means mortal danger and bodily harm to you," she said, "then I definitely want you to stay that way. That's a no- brainer." "But let's assume, for the sake of argument, that there's no real danger and the restoration will certainly work. Would you still rather have me as your sister?" "Now that's a little more complicated," she admitted thoughtfully. "I don't, but then again, maybe I sort of do. As you should know, you're the most important person in the world for me, along with Mom and Dad. I want you to be happy, and if you're not happy as a woman, then I understand and fully support your decision to be transformed back." "However...?" I prompted. "We've always been close, and I have loved you and looked up to you ever since I was born. But the thing is, you were a guy---" "I am a guy." "Were. Anyway, now that we're both girls and even the age gap between us is more or less gone, I was hoping that we could be even closer than before. We might see eye to eye on many more issues, have the same interests, hang out together, share things and so on. I know I'm being selfish, but since you will still essentially be you, only in a different package, I thought I could get the best of both worlds. Or, to use another trite expression, have my cake and eat it too." A short silence followed. I was momentarily lost in my thoughts, and I suppose she was too. No one knew what the future held for me and for us, and even if she could see the silver lining in the cloud of my having to live in the Buffy body forever, I was not sure if I could. "Another 24 hours," I said with a slightly faltering smile, "and then we'll know." "What do you mean?" Kate asked. "Mandy's supposed to come here tomorrow, isn't she? In 24 hours I'm back in my own body, permanently stuck in this one or..." "Everything's going to be fine," she said in a soothing tone. "One way or another things will turn out right; trust me. You'll be fine." She pulled me into a warm, comforting hug, and as we sat there, holding each other, I believed her. ***** Whenever I lay in bed awake after turning all lights out, I was typically either about to fall asleep from exhaustion or worrying endlessly about something I had little power over, but that night was an exception. Tucked in between the sheets and dressed in the soft pajamas, I felt surprisingly calm and at ease. The sensations of my female body were no longer a major distraction to me; on the contrary, they were fast becoming a matter of course, and I briefly wondered how difficult it would be to inhabit my own physical form permanently again after this experience. Going by the assumption that those brief moments when I was transported into the other time were indeed real, the body that the rest of the world recognized as Michael Caldwell had impressed me as ungainly and very heavy compared to this one. I had to admit I would miss being light and agile and in great shape--and extremely attractive. There was of course always the possibility that Amanda would be unable to restore my old body. Then I would be forced to reestablish myself as an adult person and a citizen, and that naturally meant great and various difficulties, anything from dealing with the bureaucracy to probably getting a new job and cutting ties with most of my friends and acquaintances aside from the ones who had been present at the girls' Halloween party. However formidable those challenges appeared, I was suddenly confident that I could deal with them all and come out on top. Amanda had said that the world was now my playground, and thinking it over, I was tentatively willing to allow that she was perhaps correct. Maybe Cindy/Buffy was my future, and maybe it was just as well. Whether this newly-discovered self-assurance was the result of the skin finally gaining a decisive victory in the battle for my psyche or of some adjustment mechanism coming to my rescue was, at the end of the day, not particularly important. Male or female, I had to go on with my life. Furtively and gradually my thoughts turned again to my sexuality. So far I had pushed the whole topic out of my mind whenever it had come up, but since I had only a few more hours to go until the whole issue would either disappear or I would have to reckon with it anyway, it no longer struck me as a horrifying taboo. As an experiment, just to see how things stood, I closed my eyes and began to picture a handsome, muscular man with a light brown hair and a chiseled face smiling at me. I made him naked in my thoughts, and then myself as well. We drew closer to one another, and then he leaned in to kiss me. I imagined how he would feel, taste and smell, his warmth against my skin and his hands caressing my back. I was soft and cute, he was strong and manly. He would be tender to me and make me his own. The fantasy went a little further still, but I soon concluded it was not really doing all that much for me. While the idea of sex with a man was not as instantly repulsive as it had been before my transformation, I obviously had a long way to go if I was ever to become a heterosexual woman mentally. The physical side of things was different, though. A slowly rising tide of warmth and a peculiar tickling sensation had been gaining strength and spreading between my legs during the time I had devoted to fantasizing, and now I became aware that there existed somewhere within me an emptiness that longed to be filled. I had experienced something similar while showering or sleeping a couple of times before, only the sensations had not been as strong. I didn't quite classify this as full-on heat yet; nevertheless, my body had sent me a gentle reminder that it had needs which could not be neglected indefinitely. The arousal didn't subside immediately, and for the first time I was actually close to giving in to the temptation to pleasure myself as a woman. It would have been easy. All I had to do was slip my hand into my pajama pants and probe a little with my fingers. Naturally, this was completely uncharted territory to me, but with a bit of exploring, I would find the right spots and the right way to do it in no time. Female orgasms were always reputed to be something phenomenal, compared to their male counterparts, and I actually had the opportunity to find out for myself if this was true. But all my curiosity and excitement were balanced by another impulse that made me keep my desires in check. It had perhaps partially to do with shame, but there was also a logical side to it: I should at least wait until my future was clear. So I hesitated until the bodily reaction to my fantasies waned and eventually disappeared. In the end, sleep simply overcame me. I had already noticed that I tended to rest generally well in this form, but this time felt especially blissful. The world was shut out and my consciousness was treated to nice dreams. Even though I can't recall what they were about, they gave me a sense of eminent happiness and being safe--in particular compared to how I woke up. Even before I opened my eyes I had realized that something was very wrong. As I gradually became aware of my surroundings again, I could hear several voices talking in a subdued manner near or around me and a quiet but pervasive hum of machinery, perhaps an air conditioning system. There was also a moderately unpleasant odor, not unlike those that filled the air after a room had been cleaned with industrial detergents. Wherever I was, this was not my room and I was not lying in my own bed. Regardless, I still kept my eyes closed and tried to collect my wits before facing what awaited me. As the final remnants of sleep left my brain, it occurred to me that I had probably moved to the future reality again. However, for that to be true, I would have had to be back in my own body, and I could plainly feel that was not the case: Buffy's breasts still rested on my chest, her long hair still pulled on my scalp, my skin was still smooth and soft all over. To add to that, I suddenly realized I had a headache, not overly severe but still bad enough to make itself noticed. My fear began to mount. It was obvious that something totally unexpected had happened to me, unexpected even by the standards of a world where transforming skinsuits were a commonplace thing. Eventually I took the plunge and forced my eyes open. What I saw was by far the biggest shock I had experienced since the transformation itself. Even though my vision was somewhat blurry, the first glimpse of the outside world revealed that I was lying in a hospital room--and looking directly at Giles, Willow and Xander, who were gathered by my bedside. Their friendly faces showed a mix of relief, happiness and anxiety. I, for my part, felt only sheer terror. Whereas my initial metamorphosis had simply left me stunned, this scene made me want to scream until my lungs collapsed. I needed every last bit of my willpower to maintain some measure of control over my actions. Xander was the first to speak. "Morning, Buff," he greeted me with a wide smile in an obvious attempt to appear more confident than he actually was. "How's it going?" I searched frantically for something to say but found that I was at a complete loss of words and simply kept staring at the three fictitious people. "Yeah, we know you still don't really like hospitals," Willow added with a sympathetic look on her face, "but we were kind of worried about you after that fall and thought..." "And, I might add, we made a few checks beforehand, just in case," Xander continued. "No child-soul-eating or blood-sucking creepy folks around this time, as far as we can tell. Sunnydale General is safe now, thanks to you." "Uh, that's... that's good to know," I stammered. Craning my neck, I saw the nightstand next to my bed crowded with a box of chocolates, a small bag of fruit (perhaps oranges or apples) and a couple of flowers in a tiny vase--get-well-soon gifts from my considerate friends, my still numb brain managed to reason. "Buffy," Giles addressed me in a serious, no-nonsense tone as he came closer, "do you know where you are?" "At a hospital, I guess." "Do you know what day it is, or how you got here?" My helpless confusion must have been all too apparent by this point, and the man let out a quiet sigh. Willow and Xander looked crestfallen, clearly worried about and disappointed by my condition. "Perhaps it would be best," the Watcher said to them, "if I first talked to her alone so she can concentrate better. I'm afraid she is not recovering quite as well as we had hoped." "You're kicking us out?" Willow inquired. "No, but I kindly ask you two to wait outside and give us a minute. There are questions that we desperately need answers to. After that, we can keep her company together." "Whatever you say," Xander responded obligingly but could not resist firing off one more shot, "Just make sure you don't talk and bore her to death." "Your concern is appreciated, Xander." "Right, so--we'll be just outside," Willow said. "And totally not offended." "Yeah, totally not," Xander quipped as the pair left the room. Giles again turned to me. "I understand you're not feeling well, Buffy, but unfortunately I must insist. Do you have any recollection at all of the last three days?" "No," I replied quietly. The headache had gained in intensity and was throbbing inside my skull. "Not really." "I see. To recapitulate, we tracked the Angronok talisman here, and it's safe now. You intercepted the demon cultists at the industrial park yesterday and fought them, with a little help from your friends, as usual. We got the talisman, but you had a very hard fall after the last surviving demon attacked you, and because you seemed disoriented and dizzy immediately afterwards and even fainted two or three times, we thought it best to bring you here after administering some traditional treatment to you. There may have been more than simple physical force involved, but we're not sure." "Oh." "The doctor who examined you told us that there's nothing seriously wrong with you, apart from a mild concussion, so if all goes well, he might release you tomorrow." "Um... Giles, may I ask you something?" "Of course." "Can you please tell me what's going on?" I pleaded. I had a powerful urge to confide in someone so they could hopefully help me out of this nightmare, and the calm and composed Englishman seemed the best bet by far, notwithstanding the fact that he was, in actuality, just as imaginary as the rest of the people I would meet here. "I have no idea what's happening to me or what you're talking about. Why am I here?" Giles sat down on a chair next to the bed, took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his glasses. "I do feel somewhat disheartened to hear you say that," he said, "but I wouldn't worry too much if I were you. The effects of the concussion are, in all likelihood, only temporary and you will be back on your feet in a few days." "I meant this whole demon and talisman business. What's up with that?" "We are still looking into it," he replied, putting the glasses carefully back on. "Under the right conditions, the Angronok talisman can be used in a ritual that will open a multi-way portal between dimensions or different realities. The demons were probably going to attempt that until we foiled their preparations. I'm sure it goes without saying that the results, were the ritual to succeed, would be... disastrous." "I assumed as much." "However, that's not all, I'm afraid. This and a number of other recent unusual occurrences might be related. There's no way to be certain, as of yet, but a major reality-dimensional event could be in progress." He stopped and looked at me intently for a couple of seconds before his features suddenly softened. "You know, I was expecting you to demand I explain that in plain English," he commented with a polite, quiet laugh. "I probably wouldn't understand anyway," I said. "Please go on." "These strange things in the past two weeks or so could mean that someone, or something, is trying to disrupt our reality from the outside. If that's the case, the band of demon cultists you dispatched might be only a small piece of the puzzle. As soon as I have the time, I'll go back to poring over the books, and I will also ask Willow to--- " Just then, as I was hanging on his every word, the door opened again. "Buffy?" a female voice asked. Moments later, I saw a woman--who was perhaps in her early forties and had curly dark blond hair--approach me. "Buffy, sweetheart," she said and hurried closer. I thus had the privilege of adding Joyce Summers to my list of acquaintances. "Hi," I greeted her meekly. Giles rose to his feet and also offered a hello. "Thank heaven, you look much better," Joyce said to me with a warm smile and gently touched my arm. "How are you feeling?" "Not too bad, as far as my body goes," I explained, "but I'm sort of disoriented. I... It seems I can't remember much from the last couple of days." "I came to visit you this morning, but you were asleep," she told me. "The doctors said you needed the rest, so I didn't wake you up. Do you know if they're letting you come home today?" "No," I confessed. "I have no idea." "From what I've heard," Giles filled in, "they most likely want to keep her under observation for another day and night, but as far as I know, they expect her to make a full recovery in a few days." "Oh, that's good to hear," Joyce commented. "I can't tell you how grateful I am to you for looking out for her, once more." "I'm very fond of her, as you know," Giles said, "irrespective of my duties as her Watcher. We all are very fond of her." "I tell you what, honey," she continued, turning to speak directly to me again. "As soon as you come home, I'll make you some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and your favorite juice, just like last time. We'll invite your friends too. It's going to be the tradition from now on." "Alright," I said. "Buffy," she said after a short silence, "you're awfully quiet. Are you sure you're not in pain? Or is there maybe something bothering you? Something you'd like to talk about?" There indeed was a whole lot of things bothering me, among them the fact that this warm-hearted woman thought I was her dear daughter and I did not have the courage to tell her or anyone else the truth. "No, I'm... I'm okay," I lied. "Just need to get my bearings straight and rest a little, that's all." "Can I get you anything?" she volunteered. "No. All I really need is some rest. Honestly." "Very well," she said and smiled again, but her concern showed through. "If you say so. I have some errands I must run downtown, but I'll come back as soon as I can, before the visiting hours are over. You'll be alright now, sweetie?" "Yeah, I will. Don't worry, Mom." She squeezed my hand softly. Not missing his cue, Giles cleared his throat and said, "Um, I think I'll be taking my leave as well. We'll look into the matters I mentioned, and if there is any progress, I'll keep you posted." "Good. Thanks," I said. A portly, dark-skinned nurse came into the room just as Joyce and Giles were about to go out the door. I heard them exchange a few polite words, both parties apologizing to the other for the near-collision, and then the nurse headed straight for me. I was the only patient in the room, a fact that hadn't registered in my mind before. "And how are we doing here?" she asked with a sunny smile and in a happy voice. "Getting better all the time, I hope?" "I'm beginning to think I might survive," I said. "That's good! The doctor will make the rounds at five o'clock, and he'll decide then if you're well enough to go home today. Is there anything you'd like in the meantime?" "A truckload of Risperdal would be very, very nice." "I don't think you'll be needing that," she laughed. "I was thinking more along the lines of food and drink, or maybe painkillers." Before I could say anything, she took the empty glass that had stood on my nightstand and went to fill it with tap water, returning it in almost no time. For a moment, I was tempted to argue that I was being serious with my request for some kind of psychiatric treatment, or at the very least an evaluation of my mental condition, but a peculiar thought distracted me. If I was in a fantasy universe, could the antipsychotic drugs available there treat a real psychosis of a real person? For all I knew, they might actually make things worse for me. "Okay, if you're basically comfortable," the nurse said, "I won't bother you any longer. Try to rest and get some sleep if you can, and the doctor will come at five. If there's anything you need, the call button's right there. Don't hesitate to use it; that's what we're here for." With that, she gave me one last smile and exited the room to continue her rounds. As soon as she had closed the door behind her, I was completely alone. With no one to talk to me and keep my attention, I could feel my senses sharpen; my ears picked up faint echoes of footsteps from the corridor, and my idle eyes focused on the tiny details of the ceiling and walls. However much seeing the others had scared me initially, I suddenly realized I missed their company. It was agonizing to have to face the full gravity of the situation and my own thoughts in the ominous solitude of the hospital room. There was no shoulder to cry on, no one to tell me that everything would be alright. Naturally, I deduced, the only logical conclusion was that I had descended into total madness. This place and these people were not real--they only existed on a TV show, and a long since canceled one at that. If my mind was telling me that I was in their world, talking to them, then my mind had to be psychotic. Yet they seemed to me as substantial and true as anyone I had ever met, and to my horror, another alarming thought soon forced itself into my consciousness: what if they were real, after all, and my life as Michael Caldwell was the fantasy? I couldn't even begin to imagine what dreadful things I would have to go through as Buffy Summers if there was no escape from here. She had died twice on the show, been beaten up numerous times, gotten shot, had lost her mother and who knows what else. My humdrum daily routine at the University now seemed heavenly to me, and I wanted that back at any cost. "Why are you doing this to me?" I heard myself say in a hushed voice, almost a whisper. Whether my words were addressed to the power that was toying with me, my destiny, the whole Universe or perhaps God, I didn't know; all I did know was that intense bitterness and fear were about to boil over inside of me. I balled my right hand into a fist and went on, more loudly, "What do you want from me? What do you want, asshole? Leave me alone. What have I done to deserve this? Leave me alone!" There was no answer. The silent, indifferent walls of the room still surrounded me, and the hum of the air conditioning continued. I closed my eyes tightly and hoped someone would wake me from this nightmare. My body felt tired, and it was obviously in need of a good night's rest, but instead of proper sleep, I fell into some kind of stupor. The sounds from outside the room carried into my ears, and they formed into strange, chaotic images that began to play inside my mind. They were akin to the hectic and confusing dreams I sometimes had when I tried to sleep while having a high fever, only somehow more real and gripping. Even when I momentarily managed to pry my eyes open, I kept seeing non- existent people hovering in front of me and non-existent objects appearing and disappearing against the backdrop of the hospital room. "This is it," I whispered to myself. Cold sweat covered my entire skin. "I'm done for. This is fucking it..." Finally, the images started to fade, and then my brain went almost completely blank. Still, I dimly sensed someone's presence in the room, and I wondered briefly if Giles or Joyce had come back and was now by my bedside. Soon even that thought dissolved, and I just lay there, exhausted both mentally and physically. (To be continued...)