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The Leaf by Liz M. 1. The Package
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
The Leaf
by Liz M.
1. The Package
"A package came for you today, Mom," Charles said as his
mother hung up her jacket.
Karen Ford had just returned home from a day at the bank
where she worked as a manager. Charles, her twenty year-old son,
was a college student. It was June, and Charles had moved back
home for the summer. He'd hoped to find a job to keep him busy,
but nothing had turned up so far.
"A package?" Karen replied. "Oh, it's that stuff the lawyer
called about. My inheritance from Aunt Susan."
Karen had never met her great-aunt and had quite forgotten
about her when the attorney had called the week before. When
Susan passed away at age one hundred, she had no relatives left
except Karen and Charles.
The lawyer had worked for two months to locate Karen. Once
all the fees and taxes were paid, he'd said on the phone, Karen
would receive a check for more than $100,000. In the meantime,
he had sent the package containing "personal items and
miscellany."
"Open it, Charles," Karen said. Charles fetched a pair of
scissors and cut away the wrapping. There was a small cardboard
box, heavily taped. An envelope was attached to the top; Charles
handed this to his mother. Karen opened it while Charles started
cutting the tape.
"This is from the lawyer, confirming what he told me before
about the money. Well, Charles, you don't have to worry about
finding a job now. Aunt Susan's estate is going cover your
tuition."
"Great," said Charles, who had the box open now.
"What do you see in there?" Karen asked.
"Not much," Charles said. The contents were disappointing.
There was nothing particularly "personal," no photographs or
letters. There was a pair of large candle holders; some of the
brass coating had worn off, exposing grey metal underneath.
There was a short chain which looked like a necklace. There was
an old fountain pen which had seen lots of use. There was a
piece of metal, about three inches long, cast in the shape of a
leaf. It was heavily tarnished.
"It all looks like junk to me," Karen said.
Charles studied the leaf. "I wonder what this is made out
of," he said. "It's soft enough to be gold. I'd have to clean
it up to find out."
"I doubt that it's worth anything, Charles. The lawyers had
everything appraised, and the valuable stuff was all sold off at
an auction."
"Yeah, probably. Maybe I'll get the gunk off it anyway,
just to see," Charles said.
"You can do it after dinner. What did you make for us
tonight?"
2. The Leaf
When Charles had finished doing the dinner dishes, he placed
a glass bowl in the sink and poured in some liquid tarnish
remover. He dunked the leaf. Tarnish started to come away in
clumps. Since he didn't want to damage the thing, he resisted
the temptation to rub it. Instead, he just shook the bowl until
all the brown flecks had come off. He poured the liquid down the
sink and rinsed the leaf under running water. He dried it, then
went to see his mother in the den.
"Well, it's just pewter or something, not gold," he said.
"Boy, you did a good job cleaning it," Karen replied. "You
can even see the little veins on it."
"It was probably hand-made," Charles said. "There's a lot
of detail. Look, there's writing on the back." Charles pointed
to a thin line of tiny embossed lettering down the center.
"I can't make it out," said Karen.
"I can't either. I'll set up my old microscope. Maybe
we'll be able to read it then," Charles volunteered. He went up
to his room and rummaged through the closet. He found the wooden
case containing the microscope. He took it downstairs and set
things up on the kitchen table.
He switched on the microscope light and positioned the leaf
under the lens.
"Can you read it now?" Karen asked.
"Here, take a look," he answered. Karen moved to the
eyepiece. The writing, though nearly all worn, was clear. It
said, "Clasp me tight and make a wish."
"It must be a good-luck charm," said Karen.
"Go ahead, make a wish," Charles instructed.
"Okay." Charles handed Karen the leaf; she held it firmly
in her right hand.
"I wish I was vice-president of the bank where I work," she
intoned into the air.
"Gee, Mom, I though you were in line for that job anyway,"
Charles said.
"Not any more, dear. They gave it to Jack Bedford today."
"Not that jerk? Mom, you're a lot smarter than he is,"
Charles said.
"I know, dear. But they're not going to make anybody a
vice-president who has worked her way up from being a bank
teller," she replied.
"Are you still thinking about a lawsuit, Mom?" he asked.
"Oh, who has the time or money for that stuff? But I'll
tell you something. Five vice-presidents at the bank and still
not one woman among them. It's pure sex discrimination. Maybe
Julie or somebody else will get mad enough to take them to court.
I don't have a husband to support us, and that check from Aunt
Susan isn't going to last very long with your college bills. I
can't afford to risk my job, even though I'm right about this,
and they're wrong."
They had been through all this before, and Charles was sorry
that his mother had failed, again, to get promoted. She was just
thirty-eight years old, still very attractive. She'd raised her
son alone, without any contact with the husband who'd abandoned
them after Charles was born. She had a lot of her career ahead
of her; perhaps something good would happen in the future.
3. First Difference
The next day was Saturday. Charles was still on his college
schedule, so he didn't awake until almost ten o'clock. He threw
on a robe and trudged down to the kitchen. A man was sitting
there.
"Gee, I'm sorry, I didn't know Mom had company," Charles
said sheepishly. The man was good-looking, perhaps forty years
old, and was wearing a denim shirt and jeans. Charles wondered
whether his mother had a new boyfriend. It had been a long time,
he thought. This must be somebody from the bank; he seemed
vaguely familiar.
"Hi, Charles," the man said. "Why don't you sit down?"
Charles hitched up his robe a bit and sat down. The man
looked him square in the eye.
"Charles, it's me, Karen, your mother," the man said.
The words made no sense. Who was this guy? What was he
talking about?
"Remember the leaf, Charles, and the wish I made last night?
It came true. I'm a vice-president now, and I happen to be a man
now, too."
Charles was speechless. This wasn't funny. "Where's my
mother?" he demanded.
"I'm telling you, it's me! The leaf must be magic, because
my wish came true. Not the way I expected, obviously," the man
said.
"I don't believe you. This is a joke, right?" replied
Charles.
The man leaned back in his chair. "Go ahead, ask me
something. Ask me something that only your mother would know
about," the man said.
Charles bit his lip. "Okay, what's my full name?"
"Charles Anderson Ford," came the answer.
"When's my birthday?"
"September fifth."
"Who lived in apartment 4-E when we lived on Beckman
Street?"
"Nobody. It was vacant for the whole year."
Charles asked a dozen more questions; the man answered all
of them correctly. Nobody except his mother could know all those
things, could they? His mother couldn't have revealed every
possible detail about their lives, could she?
"Come with me," the man instructed. "I want to show you
something."
By now Charles was scared out of his wits. What if this guy
had done something to his mother? He followed the man upstairs
to his mother's room. Somehow the room had changed overnight.
Every vestige of a feminine existence was gone, replaced now by
male clothes, male accessories. Charles glanced at the closet.
There were no dresses, blouses, or high heels; there were men's
suits, men's pants, men's shoes.
Charles sat down on the bed. He was feeling weak in the
knees. "What is going on here?" he asked.
"I already told you," the man replied.
During the next hour, Charles heard the whole story. His
mother had awakened early. Something was very wrong. It took
her an hour to fully realize what had happened to her. She had
changed from "Karen Ford" to "Kenneth Ford." "She" was "he" now.
It took Ken only a few phone calls to confirm that he was indeed
the bank vice-president, having mysteriously usurped the very job
Bedford had received the day before. Nobody seemed to know Karen
Ford anymore, but everybody knew Ken.
All of Karen's belongings had been transformed, too:
clothes, bills, driver's license, legal documents, etc. The old
photo of her and Charles which had sat on the dresser was gone.
Nothing seemed to be left of Karen except in the memory of Ken
and Charles.
After Ken finished speaking, Charles sat in silence for
awhile.
"What do I call you now?" Charles asked.
"Well, you can't call me 'Mom' because I'm certainly not
your mother anymore. I'm not your father, either. Why don't you
just call me 'Ken,' okay?"
"All right, Ken," said Charles, with difficulty. "You're
going to wish yourself back to the way you were, right?" he
asked.
Ken stared out into space. "Sure, Charles," he said, "but
not just yet. This is a big opportunity for me, and I'm curious
about a lot of things. Besides, we don't even know if the leaf
will work again."
Charles was disturbed to hear this. His mother had been the
only person in the world he was close to. The thought of not
having her around, even for a little while, made him unhappy.
Was it going to be this way forever?
"Why do you think the leaf changed you into a man?" Charles
asked. "Couldn't you have been a female vice-president?"
"Well," said Ken, "I suppose that there simply couldn't be a
female vice-president at the bank, the way attitudes there are
now. If I was going to be a vice-president, then I'd have to be
a man."
"Are you really a man? I mean, in the biological sense?"
Charles asked.
"I seem to have everything in the right places, Charles,"
Ken responded, without a hint of embarrassment.
4. Adjustment
Charles spent the weekend trying to accept the new
situation. He didn't see Ken much; most of the time, Ken was
working at the computer in the den. Early Monday morning Charles
awoke and came downstairs just as Ken was preparing to leave for
the office.
"Okay, kid, I'm off," said Ken. "Wish me luck on my first
day."
"Good luck," Charles said.
"And Charles, would you mind doing some housework today?
There's a pile of laundry in the basement, and the kitchen floor
is pretty dirty."
"I'll take care of it," answered Charles.
"Thanks. I guess I don't have time for that stuff now. See
you tonight." Ken went out the door.
Charles ate breakfast and showered. There were a lot of
dirty clothes, so doing laundry took most of the morning. In the
afternoon he pulled out a bucket and detergent and began to scrub
the kitchen floor.
Charles was on his hands and knees for almost hour, and he
began to feel resentful towards his mother, or, rather, towards
Ken. Why should Ken be able to go off and enjoy his high-status
job while he, Charles, had to stay home and clean house? Maybe
Ken could afford a maid now. Charles tried to put these thoughts
out of his mind, hopeful that things would return to normal soon.
He had dinner ready, as usual, at five-thirty, but Ken did
not arrive home until nearly seven.
"Gee, I'm sorry I was late, Charles," Ken said. "There were
so many things to do today. Tomorrow I'll call you when I know
what time I'll be home. Can you just make me a sandwich or
something now?"
Charles made a chicken salad sandwich for Ken and took it to
him in the den, where Ken was once more in front of the computer
screen.
"Thanks," Ken said without looking up.
Charles stood there for a moment. "How was your first day,
Ken?" he asked.
"Fine," said Ken absently. Charles went back to the kitchen
and read a magazine.
An hour later, Ken emerged from the den. He sat down at the
kitchen table, across from Charles, and proceeded to fill him in
on the day's events.
"It's amazing, Charles," Ken said. "Whenever there's
something I need to know, I just seem to know it. It doesn't
matter whether it's some bit of factual data, or something about
Ken's history, or just something that Ken ought to know. I think
about it for a second, and it's there."
"Are you saying that Ken, I mean you, have a whole life
story?" Charles asked.
"Yes, I do, somehow. I still remember being Karen, but I
seem to remember being Ken always, too."
Charles heard all about Ken's position at the bank. It was
surprising how men were treated differently than women, Ken told
him. In the business world, men were really the upper-class
citizens. "The situation wasn't so nice when I was Karen, but
it's great for me now," Ken said.
Ken didn't want to talk about changing back, and he didn't
want to talk about the leaf. Charles had looked around the house
for it during the day but couldn't find it. Obviously, Ken was
holding on to it.
The next day, Tuesday, proceeded in much the same way. Ken
went to work early, and Charles did all the cooking and
housekeeping. He was tired already of the grind; that night, he
asked Ken about getting a maid. Ken, however, didn't want any
strangers in the house, given the unusual situation.
At the bank, Charles was known now as the nephew who lived
with Ken since Charles had no other relatives. Charles was not
happy about this story.
Wednesday was as boring as Tuesday. That night, Charles
decided to have it out with Ken.
"Ken, I want to go out and find a real job. I don't want to
stay home all day doing housework," Charles insisted.
"What's wrong with the way things are?" Ken asked. "You
have a good situation here. No meetings, no boss to worry about,
no pressure. All you have to do is take care of the house. In
the fall you go back to school."
"Ken, I don't want to be in the role of some damned
housewife," Charles shot back. "You can afford to hire somebody
to cook and clean for you. Why don't you just do it and let me
find something better to do?"
"You don't think that maintaining the house is important,
Charles?" Ken asked quietly.
"Well, I guess it is, but it's something for a woman to
handle," Charles retorted.
Ken took a long time to reply. "Okay, I'll see what I can
do."
Charles went to his room and didn't see Ken again that
evening.
5. Second Difference
Charles didn't sleep well Wednesday night. He had bad
dreams, and he awoke several times feeling hot. Finally, he'd
had enough. He looked at the clock; it was six-thirty. It was
still dark outside.
As Charles stood up he could tell that he wasn't wearing his
pajamas. He didn't remember taking them off during the night,
but he must have done so when he felt too warm. He fumbled
around the chair near his bed and picked up a robe. He put it on
and made his way groggily to the bathroom.
The light in the bathroom was blindingly bright. He
couldn't avoid a glance in the mirror. Something was wrong. He
looked different. His light brown hair came down to his
shoulders. His face was thinner, more like a girl's than a
boy's. He wasn't wearing his usual flannel robe; he wore a
white, satiny one instead.
Charles gasped. He undid his robe and looked down. There
was no hair on his chest or his legs. His waist was smaller, his
hips wider. He had what appeared to be a girl's body now, except
that he had no breasts and his penis was intact.
Charles looked more carefully at his face in the mirror. He
had always had his mother's fine bone structure, but now he was
genuinely pretty. He felt around his chin and his cheeks; the
skin was perfectly soft and smooth, without any trace of beard.
He noticed he had long, tapered fingernails now. There were
small holes in his earlobes.
Charles knew what had happened to him, but he didn't know
why. He went downstairs to face Ken.
Ken was reading the newspaper in the kitchen. "I've been
waiting for you," he said to Charles.
"My God, Ken, what's happening to me? Why did you do this?"
Charles demanded.
"Relax, and sit down," Ken answered. Charles sat,
reluctantly.
Ken smiled at him. "You haven't been happy with things this
week, right? I thought a little change was in order. I need
you, Charles, to take care of things around here. Since you
weren't willing to do that as a man, then perhaps you simply need
to be a housewife."
"A housewife! What do you mean?" Charles asked.
"Just that. A housewife. My housewife," Ken said.
"Ken, I can't..."
"Don't worry, you'll get used to it. I used the leaf last
night and made a careful, explicitly worded wish. I didn't want
to upset you too much with the change, so I instructed that it
would take three days. The physical changes will happen only
when you sleep, so you shouldn't feel anything uncomfortable.
Let's see. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday... when you wake up
Saturday you should be all ready."
Charles didn't know what to say. He was embarrassed and
angry, and he was scared, too. He was going to be Ken's wife.
He would be married to the man who'd used to be his own mother.
It was outrageous.
Ken stood up and put on his coat. "I'm leaving now. I
promise I'll be home at six-thirty sharp, so make something good
for dinner. And fix yourself up, okay? Pick out a nice dress or
something. By the way, you're 'Charlotte' now."
Ken charged out the door, leaving Charles sitting there in
shock. Charlotte, he thought. My name is Charlotte now.
6. Acclimation
Charles went up to his room. None of his things were there.
The closet was empty. This must be a guest room now, he thought.
He entered Ken's room, which had changed once again. In one
corner there was a dressing table covered with makeup items and
jewelry. One closet was filled with stylish women's clothing.
These must be my things, Charles thought. The bed had grown to a
king-sized model. "No way I'm sleeping here tonight!" Charles
said out loud. In the bathroom there were his-and-her sinks and
vanities. The "her" vanity was packed with feminine things.
Charles took off his robe explored his new body some more.
Right now I'm in between, he thought. He had all his old male
apparatus. He hadn't lost any height; he was still five
foot-ten. His voice hadn't changed, either. In body outline,
though, he looked female. His hair, his face, his nails were all
feminine. He was sure anyone would take him for a woman if he
did something about breasts.
He left the robe on the floor in the bathroom and returned
to the bedroom. He began going through woman's closet. A black
leather purse hung on the doorknob. It contained everything to
be expected in a purse: makeup, a wallet, a hairbrush, etc.
Charles opened the wallet. There was some cash and a stack of
credit cards. All the cards were made out to "Charlotte Ford."
Charles found a driver's license. "Charlotte" again. The
picture was very much like the way he looked now, except the
person in the picture was wearing makeup and her hair was nicely
done. He looked at the date of birth. He was losing eight
years; Charlotte was twenty-eight, not twenty.
Charles was surprised that he didn't feel more outraged than
he did. Was he was beginning to accept his fate already?
Perhaps he was simply too tired to stay angry. His stomach made
little noises; he realized he hadn't eaten breakfast yet. He
should get dressed now, he thought.
He went to the dresser. Ken's things were in the top two
drawers, and Charlotte's were in the bottom three.
Half-heartedly, he pulled out a pair of Ken's jockey shorts and
tried them on. There was no way they would stay up; his waist
was simply too small now. He found a pair of simple white
panties in the bottom drawer. He tried these on. They weren't
designed to accommodate a penis, but in all other respects they
fit perfectly. He pulled on a pair of knee-high stockings, and
almost caused a run with his long nails. He wondered about a
bra, but since there would be nothing for it to hold up he
decided against it. He browsed through the rest of the underwear
in Charlotte's drawer. There were some very provocative things
here.
Charles put on a plain white t-shirt and tugged his long
hair out from around the collar. He went to the closet for
jeans. Charlotte had several pairs. He selected the black ones
and pulled them on. They felt tight around his ass, but not in
the waist. It was tricky to snap them with his nails. Long
nails are a pain, he thought, but they do look good. He searched
for shoes to wear. There were thirty or more boxes in the
closet. The first box he opened contained simple black pumps
with three-inch heels. What the hell, he thought, and he slipped
them on his feet. Walking in heels was not as difficult as he'd
thought it would be.
He sat down at the dressing table and began to brush his
hair. He seemed to know exactly how to do it, and it didn't feel
strange at all. Perhaps he was acquiring some of Charlotte's
"memories" just as Karen had acquired Ken's. When he finished,
he took stock of himself in the full-length mirror.
"Is this really me?" he said to himself. He had no tits,
but he looked wonderful nonetheless. Charlotte's body was fit,
and it was beautifully proportioned. He was curious to see how
he'd look with breasts.
Charles slung the purse over his shoulder and went
downstairs. He made a light breakfast and put on a pot of
coffee, although he hadn't ever been a coffee drinker. As he
drank his coffee he smoked one cigarettes he'd found in the
purse, although he'd never smoked before, either. Afterwards, he
went into the den and turned on the television. He sat down in
the big leather chair, kicked off his high heels, and fell
asleep.
He didn't awaken until noon. Suddenly, the events of the
morning came back to him. He reached down and felt his crotch;
his male equipment seemed unchanged. He pulled his t-shirt up
and looked at his chest. No breasts yet, but his nipples looked
bigger and darker.
Charles wondered what he should do for the rest of the day.
Ken wouldn't be home until six-thirty, so dinner was a long way
off. He'd done so much housework the day before that there
wasn't anything that needed doing just now. The television was
still going; an exercise program was on. Three beautiful young
women were doing the most complicated movements. Charles
wondered if he could keep up with them. He pulled off his jeans
and his knee-highs and got down on the floor. He started to do
what the women on the show were doing. It was easy; Charlotte
seemed to be in great shape.
Charles stretched and hopped and pushed up until the program
was over. He was flexible enough to do a split now, which would
have been unthinkable a day earlier. He'd hated exercise before,
but not now. He enjoyed getting out of breath and perspiring all
over.
He was smelly, so picked up his clothes and went upstairs to
the his-her bathroom. He showered and washed his long hair with
the expensive shampoo-conditioner he found in the vanity. It
took him twenty minutes to blow-dry his hair and brush it out.
Time to get dressed; what to wear? This question occupied
Charles for the next three hours. He went carefully through the
closet, trying on nearly everything. It all fit him perfectly,
and it all looked great on him. Charles finally picked out his
outfit for the evening, but he decided to start dinner before
getting dressed.
He through on his white satin robe and went down to the
kitchen. He looked through the refrigerator and the cupboards,
trying to choose the perfect meal for Ken. He chose to serve
steaks and fresh vegetables. He cleaned the vegetables and set
the meat out on the counter to warm up.
By now it was nearly five o'clock, and Charles returned
upstairs to dress for dinner. He put on lacy black panties and a
black garter belt with six straps. He pulled on a pair of sheer
black stockings. The sensation of nylon against his soft legs
was wonderful, but it did not seem exactly new. He fastened the
garters without trouble; he was growing accustomed to having long
nails.
Charles found a matching black bra, fastened it on, and
filled it out with some pads he found in Charlotte's drawer. Now
he appeared to have small but reasonable breasts. He sat down at
the dressing table. There was no question about what makeup to
apply or how; it all seemed quite normal. Charles outlined his
blue eyes with liquid liner and highlighted them with a heavy
dose of grey shadow. He brushed several coats of mascara on his
lashes. He rouged his cheeks, then applied a long-wearing
lipstick in deep red.
Charles looked through the jewelry box. He affixed dangling
gold earrings to his pierced lobes. He slipped a solid gold
bracelet over his right wrist and fastened the black and gold
Movado watch to his left. There was a gold wedding band in the
jewelry box. Brazenly, suggestively, Charles put it on his left
ring finger. Another gold ring, this one with a ruby stone, went
on the other hand.
For the final step, Charles applied three coats of red
enamel on his lovely nails. He smoked a cigarette while they
dried. Satisfied with the results, Charles walked to the closet
and pulled out a long-sleeved red dress. It had a wide black
patent belt which drew attention to his slim waist. Charles
decided to forego a slip. He stepped into the dress, zipped it
up, and pulled the belt tight. He gazed in the mirror. No
surprises here. He looked good, exactly as he expected.
The dress fell to just below the knee. Charles had planned
to wear black patent sandals, but his legs felt chilly in
stockings. It was unseasonably cool outside, and some of the
cold air had begun to seep into the house. Charles decided to
wear black leather boots instead of sandals. They'd keep his
legs warm, and they wouldn't give Ken quite so much to look at.
The boots he selected came to his knees, and they had three-inch
pointed heels. Perhaps they weren't quite as sexy as sandals,
but they were sexy in their own way.
Charles went over his hair a final time and returned to the
kitchen to make dinner. He put on a white frilly apron to
protect his dress. Cooking went without a hitch, and Charles
found a bottle of cabernet to go with the meal.
Ken, as promised, arrived home right at six-thirty. When he
heard the car pull up in the driveway, Charles suddenly became
very nervous. Okay, he said to himself, don't panic. I'm
Charlotte tonight, he thought, and I'm going to try to keep Ken
happy.
7. Dinner and Afterwards
Ken walked into the kitchen.
"Charlotte, you look fantastic!" he exclaimed. He walked
over to her and took her hand. Charlotte thought he was going to
kiss her, but she did nothing to encourage him. Instead, she
gave him just a slight smile.
"Thank you," she said softly. "Would you please open the
wine, Ken?"
"Of course," he replied, releasing her hand.
Charlotte had made a superb dinner, and Ken was acted happy
and outgoing. He told her all about his day at the office. He
smiled a lot. Charlotte smiled, too. She was not nervous at all
now, and she enjoyed the attention she was receiving. They had
strawberries and whipped cream for dessert, and they finished the
bottle of wine.
Charlotte poured coffee and pulled out a cigarette; Ken lit
it for her.
"Thank you," she said.
"Your welcome," he replied. "Why don't we have our coffee
in the den? We can watch the news."
"All right," said Charlotte. They stood up. Ken walked
over to Charlotte and put his arm around her waist. Charlotte
didn't know what to do.
"Thank you for the wonderful dinner, Charlotte," Ken said as
he looked deep into her eyes. She started to answer, but he
kissed her on the lips. It was more of a peck than a kiss,
really, but it sent Charlotte's head spinning. This was not what
she had in mind, or was it? She could tell that her nipples were
erect. Her cock was erect, too; perhaps she should have clamped
the thing down somehow.
Ken released her. They picked up their coffee cups and went
into the den. Ken sat down on the sofa, and Charlotte sat down
next to him; where else would she sit? However, she made sure
there was plenty of room between them.
They drank their coffee and Charlotte smoked her cigarette.
Ken set his arm so it rested lightly on her shoulders. Charlotte
didn't object, but she was apprehensive. Her legs were crossed,
and the dim light of the television glistened off her leather
boots. They sat that way for awhile.
Ken moved a little closer to Charlotte and placed his hand
on her knee. He slid her dress up enough so that he could pat
her thigh without the dress getting in the way. If he pulls it
up any further, Charlotte thought, he'll see my garters. Ken
massaged her thigh softly, slowly. Charlotte's cock, firmly
ensconced between her legs, was rock-hard. She looked at Ken's
crotch. Obviously, he was hard, too. What, Charlotte wondered,
is going on here?
Ken leaned over and kissed her cheek.
"Do you mind?" he whispered.
"Ken, don't do this, I'm not a... I'm not a woman yet,"
Charlotte muttered.
"I know," he said. "I don't care. I just want to play, to
see what it feels like to be a man. You look so beautiful,
Charlotte."
Charlotte was surprised by this last comment. "Do I get you
excited, Ken?" she asked.
Ken took her hand and moved it to his crotch. She could
feel his hard cock easily, even through his pants.
"Does that answer your question?" he asked. He held her
hand firmly, sliding it rhythmically across his crotch.
"Why don't you unzip me?" he asked.
"Please, Ken..."
"Go ahead. You'll enjoy it," he said.
Charlotte didn't know what she wanted to do at that moment,
but she felt she had to do whatever Ken wanted. She reached over
with both hands and tried to unzip his pants. It was treacherous
with her nails, but she succeeded. Ken reached down and plopped
his cock out. God, he's big, thought Charlotte. Her own cock
was still on fire.
Ken wrapped her hand around his cock. The cock felt like
hers, she thought, only bigger. Since she didn't know what else
to do, Charlotte began to move her fingers, searching for the
same pleasure spots on Ken's cock that she liked to feel on hers.
She flicked her long nails about the tip; Ken seemed to enjoy
that.
Ken told her to lie down. She did, so that her feet were in
his lap. He positioned his cock between her boots. Charlotte
rubbed her legs together; Ken moaned softly. Obviously, he liked
the feel of leather on his cock.
Ken moved out from beneath Charlotte's feet, pulled down his
pants, and lay down on top of her. He kissed her passionately.
When she felt his tongue deep in her mouth, she began to kiss
back. All the while, Ken's cock was under him, grinding back and
forth along her thigh. She wondered how long it would take him
to come, because she wanted to come herself, and she wouldn't do
it in front of Ken.
Ken kept at it for a long time, but he couldn't reach an
orgasm while lying on Charlotte that way. Soon he stopped moving
around and just lay there. Charlotte didn't mind. She liked the
feel of his weight on her.
"I guess we'd better stop," Ken said in her ear.
"Why?" she asked.
"I'm not getting anywhere. I've never done this before," he
said. He moved off Charlotte and stood up. His thick cock
protruded straight out in front of him.
Charlotte swung her legs down off the sofa and knelt down in
front of Ken so that his cock was aimed directly at her face.
She held it with both her hands and started to move her slender
fingers about.
No matter how hard I work, Charlotte thought, he isn't going
to come this way. She could only think of one thing to do. Half
of her was revolted by the notion; the other half was desperate
to try it. She steeled her nerves.
"Okay, lover, see if you like this," she said in her
huskiest voice. She kissed Ken's cock and began to lick the tip.
She took Ken in her mouth, gingerly at first, then deeper and
deeper. She'd never looked at a cock from this angle; she could
see only Ken's pubic hair and her own red nails wrapped around
his shaft. I'm sucking a man's cock, Charlotte said to herself.
The idea was horrible, but the sensation was so thrilling that
she wouldn't have stopped for anything.
She didn't have to work very long; Ken came in less than a
minute. Charlotte felt the semen rush in her mouth. Not knowing
what else to do with it, she swallowed it. It felt thick and
salty on her tongue, but she liked it, in a strange way.
She kept her mouth on Ken's cock until he pulled her to her
feet. She grabbed him hard about his shoulders. They kissed a
while, then she darted into the bathroom. She pulled her dress
up and her panties down and watched her own semen sail into the
toilet.
Charlotte declined Ken's invitation to sleep with him that
night. He seemed to understand. She took her nightgown and robe
to the guest room, the room which had been her bedroom just a day
before.
The evening's activities were so remarkable that Charlotte
had difficulty accepting them. "Did I really do all those
things?" she asked herself. Dazed and fatigued, she fell asleep
quickly.
8. Second Day
Charlotte did not wake up until eight-thirty. By then, she
knew, Ken was long gone. She stayed in bed and relived in her
mind each detail of the previous night. She felt guilty and
humiliated by her behavior with Ken. She resolved not to let it
happen again, although she couldn't forget about the feel of
Ken's cock in her mouth.
Ken would change them back soon, she was sure. If he
didn't, she would somehow wrest the leaf from him and change them
back herself. For now, it seemed that going along was the only
course.
Charlotte got up and took stock of herself. Her penis
remained intact, but it looked positively meager now. She had
grown breasts now, real breasts, nice breasts. She was smaller,
shorter, perhaps five-eight instead of five-ten. She looked even
rounder in the hips. She said, "Hello!" into the air; her voice
sounded distinctly female now.
Charlotte loved the way her breasts bounced when she walked.
She even loved the way they felt when restricted by a bra. She
tried on clothes again, mainly to study the effect made by her
new breasts. At ten o'clock she put on a leotard; she was
pleased to see her nipples pointing firmly through the fabric.
She exercised for an hour then took a shower.
Charlotte need things for a Japanese dinner, so she decided
to go out. What to wear? Jeans? Possible, but not terribly
interesting today. A short skirt? Yes, perfect. She pulled a
black leather mini from the closet.
She got dressed. It remained cool outside, so she wore a
white cashmere sweater over her skirt. She put on the black
pumps with high heels. Daytime makeup, a big gold necklace, a
quick brush of the hair; she was ready. She wondered if she was
overdressed for the mall. No, she would shop only at the upscale
places today, places where everybody dressed up. Ken was a
vice-president, after all.
She grabbed her purse and her keys and walked out to the
garage. I didn't know I had a BMW, she said to herself. As she
pulled out of the driveway, her nerves acted up again. Would
anyone suspect she was not quite what she seemed? Could she look
and act her part convincingly? She drove to the new mall across
town; during the whole trip she was afraid to make even the
slightest eye contact with other drivers.
She pulled into the parking deck and turned off the engine.
This is it, she thought. She locked her car and walked towards
the elevator. The mall was busy, and there were lots of women
going to and from their cars. Some seemed to stare at her, but
nobody said anything, nobody seemed surprised. Charlotte told
herself that the other women were just checking her out.
Charlotte shopped without incident, and she began to relax.
Nobody will find me out, she thought. I look good, even if I'm
not quite right yet. After buying the spices and other things
for dinner, she decided to look around for herself. She was
drawn to the lingerie stores. In one of them she saw a racy
black bustier; she wanted it.
"In a 36C," she told the salesgirl.
"Do you want to try it on?" the salesgirl asked.
Charlotte paused. Better not. "No, I don't have the time,"
replied Charlotte. "It should be all right."
Charlotte was walking towards the parking deck when she
noticed a shoe store. In the window there was a pair of black
leather thigh boots with fabulous heels. She wanted those, too.
"Size nine," she told the salesman. He brought out the box.
"Try them on?" he asked. Why not? She slipped her pumps
off and started to pull up the boots. She allowed the salesman
to help her. He enjoyed it, she was sure. The boots were
perfect. She took them off, paid for them, and went to her car.
It was only one o'clock. Charlotte had no desire to go home
yet; there was too much to do outside. Since she'd skipped
breakfast, she was hungry. She pulled up to a fashionable little
restaurant, the kind of place where the drinks were more
important than the food.
She went inside and got a table for one. The place was
nearly filled, mostly with businessmen taking long lunch hours.
She finished her salad and had a cigarette with her second glass
of wine. A man walked over to her table.
"Hi. Don't you work at Smithers?" he asked her. Charlotte
didn't even know what 'Smithers' was.
"No, I don't. Sorry," she said, smiling.
"Oh, I thought you might be the new girl I heard about," he
said. Charlotte noticed she had left her wedding room home.
God, he thinks I'm single, she thought. He was no more than
twenty-five, probably less, and a bit shaky with his pick-up
lines. He just stood there, leaning on the back of a chair.
Her turn, she thought. "You can sit down," she said. They
talked, he paid her bill, and she accompanied him to his car. I
shouldn't be doing this, Charlotte told herself over and over.
The man, Jim, drove a big, new Oldsmobile with tinted windows.
"Company car," he told her.
"I only have a few minutes," she said.
"Okay," was all he would say. Charlotte climbed in the car
and sat close to Jim. He drove out to the warehouse area of town
and parked on a side street. Nobody was in sight.
"We're safe," he said. "No one can see in."
Charlotte didn't wait for him. She unzipped his pants and
went for his cock. He tried to kiss her, but she had her mouth
down on him too quickly. She gave him a slow, deliberate blow
job. He was so helpless that he couldn't do anything except
come. She sucked him dry and even licked the last few drops from
around the tip of his cock.
She looked up at him and smiled. "Like it, baby?" she
asked.
"You are fantastic," was Jim's clever response.
"Drive me back," she ordered. "I've got to get home." Jim
started the car, and Charlotte fixed her makeup. She looked
presentable by the time they reached the restaurant parking lot.
"Why don't you give me your phone number?" Jim asked as
Charlotte left the car.
"Why don't you give me yours?" she replied. He recited his
number. "I'll remember it," she said. Jim sped off, and
Charlotte got into her car.
As she drove, she felt ashamed on several counts. She had
done something only a woman should do, though she wasn't really a
woman. Moreover, she had done something that no married woman
should ever do. How guilty can a person feel? Ken will never
find out about this, she told herself.
When she arrived home, she tried on her new things. The
bustier pushed her tits up; they looked even bigger than 36C.
The thigh boots were incredible. She loved the way she looked in
them, so evil and dangerous. She loved the feel of the soft
black leather on her thighs.
She put her miniskirt back on and replaced the sweater with
a long-sleeved red blouse. This would be her attire for dinner.
9. Second Evening
Ken was home at six-thirty. Dinner was a smashing success
again, and once again they drank quite a bit of wine. Ken wanted
to go into the den.
"Why don't we go upstairs?" Charlotte asked.
"Okay," he replied.
"Give me fifteen minutes first. Amuse yourself in the
meantime," she said.
Charlotte went up to the bedroom to get ready. Her new
bustier, sheer stockings, and bikini panties were all in black.
She pulled her new boots up as high as they would go. Her hair,
which had been tied in a smart ponytail, she let fall loosely
about her shoulders. She went crazy with the eyeliner and
shadow, and she looked vaguely Oriental when she finished her
face.
She lay down on the bed to wait for Ken. The outline of her
little penis was just visible through her panties, but she didn't
care. She didn't think Ken would care, either.
Ken came in, looked at her, and stripped off his clothing
without a word. He was on top of her in a flash. He kissed the
tops of her tits as she rubbed her thigh boots against his cock.
"I wish I could come inside you," he whispered.
"I wish you could, too, but you can't," she said, trying
keep him away from the bulge in her panties.
"There's another way," he said, and he climbed off her. He
went to the dresser and pulled something from one of his drawers.
It was a vibrator, about ten inches long, with a gold metal tip.
"God, Ken, where did you get that?" Charlotte gasped.
"I bought it yesterday. I was wondering if we would need
it. Want to try?"
Charlotte felt that curious mix of revulsion and excitement
again. He's going to fuck me in the ass, she thought. Part of
her wanted to say no, but that part couldn't speak. The part
that could speak said "Yes, yes."
Ken found a tube of K-Y jelly. He opened it and covered the
tip of the vibrator with the clear goop. Charlotte got up on her
hands and knees. Ken pulled her panties down just far enough to
get to her asshole. He smeared jelly there, too.
"Just relax and enjoy it," he ordered. Charlotte waited as
the motor clicked on. She made no effort to see what Ken was
doing. She felt the cold tip of the vibrator against her bottom.
It was soothing, and it seemed to free up all the muscles through
her ass. Ken began to press harder into her asshole, and
Charlotte felt pain.
"You've got to loosen up in there, baby," Ken said, without
sympathy. Charlotte tried to relax even more. Suddenly, she
knew, the vibrator was inside her, and there was no pain any
more. Ken moved the vibrator in and out and slid it from side to
side, as if trying to enlarge her opening. As Charlotte became
accustomed to the new sensation of being invaded from the rear,
she became more and more aroused. Her whole body felt hot, and
her nipples were positively burning. Her tiny penis wanted to
burst.
Ken had lubricated his hard cock while he stimulated
Charlotte with the vibrator. As he pulled the vibrator away, he
tried to insert himself into her asshole. It took a while to
find the proper angle, and Charlotte had to relax herself again.
Finally, he was inside. Charlotte let out a long moan.
"Fuck me," she told him. He IS fucking me, she thought, and
I hope he doesn't stop. For Charlotte this was even better than
the vibrator, since she knew she was being fucked by a man, her
man.
Just like the night before, Ken could not last long. His
sperm began to pour into Charlotte; he pulled out and let the
last bit flow over her back. Charlotte reached around with her
hand, wiped the sperm off, and licked her fingers. Then she
flipped over onto her back. Ken lay down next to her. He
fondled her tits while she kept her hand wrapped firmly around
his cock.
Ken got up to use the bathroom. He closed the door behind
him. Then Charlotte got up, walked down the hall to the other
bathroom, and relieved her aching cock. She went back to bed and
lit a cigarette. Charlotte and Ken played with each other for an
hour after that, though neither one had another orgasm. Ken
slept naked; Charlotte just wore her bikini panties.
10. Third Day
Ken was still sleeping soundly when Charlotte awoke early
Saturday morning. Immediately she reached down and felt between
her legs; no penis there now, just a moist slit instead. In her
excitement, she started to grab Ken to wake him up, but she
caught herself. Quietly, she climbed from bed, threw on her
robe, and went down to the kitchen. She made an elaborate
breakfast. She when it was ready, she put everything on a tray
and carried it upstairs.
Ken was still asleep. Charlotte set the tray on the floor.
Carefully, she pulled the covers away from her husband. Ken was
on his back. She climbed in next to him and began to massage his
cock with her tongue. He started to grow hard even though he was
asleep. Amazing! She sucked, and he couldn't stay asleep any
longer. When he opened his eyes he tried to take hold of her.
She jumped away.
"Not now, honey," she said. She flipped on the light and
brought the breakfast tray into bed with them. They talked, they
ate. Charlotte was halfway through a doughnut when she realized
she couldn't wait any longer. She gave Ken the best blow job
he'd ever had; at least, she assumed it was the best one he'd
ever had. I wonder what he does on his lunch hour, Charlotte
thought.
As Ken started to come, she pulled her mouth away and let
his sperm dribble out onto her doughnut.
"Cream-filled," she said, and she ate it.
Ken fucked her four times that day. Charlotte was sorry he
didn't have more endurance.
11. Result
In the months that followed, Ken tried to use the magic leaf
many times. He found that it couldn't influence world events,
couldn't change the weather, couldn't heal the sick. In fact, it
didn't work on any persons except him and Charlotte. He had no
further professional aspirations, so he never again wished for
anything related to his job.
Mostly, Ken used the leaf to change Charlotte. One night
she might be a big, dominant redhead with huge tits. The next
night she would be a demure, bookish type with an eager mouth.
At Christmas they spent a week in the Bahamas; Charlotte went as
a gorgeous, willowy black woman.
Sometimes Ken thought about the first time he had
transformed Charlotte. His meticulous wish had changed her
psychologically as well as physically. Now she'd always be a
contented housewife and a willing sexual partner. Charlotte will
never know, Ken thought.
Charlotte showed no interest in the leaf anymore. Why
should she? During her initial transformation, she realized that
Ken had altered her mind as well as her body; how else could she
have accepted everything so easily? It didn't matter, for she
was happy. She was a housewife, yes, but she had hardly any work
to do since they'd hired a maid. Tall, blonde Lisa came in on
Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and Charlotte would fuck with her
every time.
Ken will never know, Charlotte thought.
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