Synopsis: As Anya takes over more duties at the Beach, she realizes that not all of the patrons are adapting well to the change. She decides that something needs to be done. This story is a rewrite of "Customer Service", which has been published on another website, bringing resolution to one character. Grandmother's lesson needed some adjustment. This story, and its conflict, set up Grandmother to be more like Ellie has written, and less like the vindictive female version of the SRU wizard that she may have appeared in early stories.

Note: In the chronology of Bikini Beach, this story takes place between ‘Anya and Me’ and ‘In the Beginning’. If you have read both 'Anya and Me' and 'In the Beginning', you'll understand why and how it fits. If you haven't read the two stories, I suggest that you read them in proper order - 'Anya and Me', this one, and then 'In the Beginning'.

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This story is copyright by the author. It is protected by licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

The red Porsche, its license plate reading 'BAD BABE', screeched to a halt, the tires making a loud squawk on the asphalt. Whether it was the bright red of the expensive sports car or the squealing of the tires, nearly every patron in the parking lot turned to see the car. For brief seconds, every person speculated about who might be driving such a car.

When the door opened, and a tall, lithe, well-endowed girl in a very skimpy leather miniskirt and low-cut white sleeveless blouse stepped out, the heads shook in disbelief, disapproval, and even, perhaps, disappointment. Her blouse seemed strained by the large round breasts bouncing on her chest which threatened to spill from the low neckline, displaying a vast crevasse of cleavage in the process. Together with her narrow waist, round ultra-feminine derriere, and long sleek curvy legs, her body was a walking advertisement for sex. Heavy deep red lipstick accentuated her pouty lips, eye shadow and mascara emphasized her eyes and lashes, and her blonde hair seemed done in a naughty schoolgirl 'do, innocent and yet playful at the same time.

Even as the girl strutted in a slutty, sexy walk toward the entrance, the other people in the parking lot, nearly all women, tracked her motion. All, that is, except the brunette working in the ticket booth at the entrance to the water park. She smiled to herself, without looking up, as the girl approached.

"Hi, Alison," Anya said from behind the glass. "Nice day, isn't it?"

The girl from the Porsche, Alison Jenkins, shook her head. "Depends," she answered uneasily, even warily. "Has she budged at all?" Her statements seemed carefully guarded.

Anya sighed heavily. "Nope." She watched Alison's expression fall. "You want to go talk?"

Alison glanced up at Anya's invitation. "I guess it wouldn't hurt," she answered cautiously. There was ... something ... in her expression that caught Anya's attention — a distress or anguish that was unspoken but hung about Alison like a cloud.

Within a minute, Anya had called another girl to take her place in the booth, and she and Alison strolled through the gate into the park. But rather than following the steady stream of patrons, the two ladies turned toward the office building. Alison hesitated when she saw the destination, but Anya read her nervousness. "Oh, don't worry. Grandmother is taking the day off."

Once inside, Anya offered a chair to her guest. "Can I get you something? Coke? Sprite?"

Alison eyed her carefully. "Coke," she said with a slight tremble in her voice. "Diet, please."

Anya laughed as she retrieved the sodas from a small refrigerator. "I know you're not used to being treated as a real person," Anya said as she handed the soda to Alison. She noticed that Alison's hand was shaking as she accepted the drink. Anya declined to occupy her grandmother's large chair behind the desk, choosing instead to sit next to Alison. She knew it would be less ... intimidating ... to her guest. She took a sip of her own soda. "So how are things?"

Alison started to answer, but then she started shaking. At first, it was merely her hands that trembled, but increasingly strong tremors rose up until her arms and shoulders were shaking uncontrollably. Soft whimpering through quivering lips gave way to an agonized sobbing as her emotional barriers broke down. If her soda hadn't been sitting on the desk, she'd have spilled it as her head collapsed into her hands. She shook visibly as her crying echoed through the office. After a few long minutes of crying, Alison finally looked up at Anya, trying to wipe her tears dry. "It's horrible!" she finally cried. "It's all horrible."

Anya set her hand on Alison's arm. "I know," she said soothingly. "I know."

Alison looked at Anya. "No, you don't know!" she wailed angrily. "It's like being trapped, like having no control and having to live a nightmare, over and over again!"

Anya let her rant, and patted Alison's hand again. She sensed that Alison was lashing out in frustration and anger, emotions that should have been directed at Grandmother. Only Grandmother wasn't here, and Anya was the substitute recipient of the outburst. "I know what you're forced to live with," she corrected. "I _don't_ pretend to know what it's like."

"Why?" Alison cried. "Why won't she let me go? Haven't I been punished enough?"

Anya sighed. Two years earlier, Alan Jenkins had been caught by Grandmother taking pictures of the patrons in Bikini Beach. As punishment, Grandmother had changed poor Alan into the sex-crazed girl he was now, Alison Jenkins. But for Alison, the body was the least of 'her' punishments. Alison's new occupation was as a porno movie star.

Alison fought her tears. "Every time I get near a man, I can't help myself. I talk like a bimbo. I act like a slut. I end up doing ... things ... that are ... terrible!" she sobbed. "I can't stop it!" She wiped her eyes again. "And the only time I can be in any kind of control is when I'm around other women. But because of ... things ... they shun me!" She dropped her head again, bawling aloud. "I can't take any more of this!" she wailed.

Anya sighed. "I know," she said soothingly. Even though she sensed the desperation in Alison's voice, Anya didn't know what else to do. "I wish I could help you. Really I do."

Alison looked up slowly into Anya's sympathetic eyes. She saw that Anya _really_ meant what she was saying. "But?"

Anya shook her head. "I can't. The magic that changed you into a girl is too powerful for me. It’s not my spell. I can't undo it." She felt Alison's hopes fall as fast as the expression on her face. Anya knew, from her words, that she _had_ to do something, and quickly, before the situation drove Alison to do something extreme. "I'll see what I can do, okay?" she said hopefully. "I'll see if there's some kind of counter-spell I can do to at least help, with the … sex drive." She studied Alison's expression closely. "Please, let me try!" Anya pleaded. "I know you asked Grandmother before, and I know she wouldn't help you, but I _promise_ I'll try. Okay?"

**********

Anya locked the booth behind her and strolled through the twilight toward the office. The day's receipts had been good, and after doing some paperwork, she had a date with Greg, her boyfriend.

"How'd we do?" Grandmother asked as Anya let the door close.

Anya smiled. "Maybe six percent ahead of our business plan," she said. Then her features grew more serious. "Of course, this is only one day, and we have to make up for last weekend's rain." Thunderstorms the preceding weekend had made a shambles of their attendance.

Grandmother nodded. Anya was learning, and quickly, about handling a business. "I'll take care of the paperwork tonight if you want to leave early."

Anya sighed as she plopped down at her desk, a much smaller and less elaborate piece of furniture than Grandmother's symbolic display of importance. "Nah," she said. "It's part of the job."

Grandmother smiled and turned her attention to her own paperwork; it was nearly the end of the quarter, and taxes were going to be due again. Then she suddenly lifted her head and stared at Anya, as if she sensed ... knew ... that Anya wanted to talk to her. "What did you want to talk about?" she asked bluntly.

Anya sighed. "I should have learned that there aren't any secrets from you," she said softly. "Alison Jenkins came by yesterday."

Grandmother's expression turned to ice. "Oh," she replied, trying to sound calm but failing. "What did _she_ want?"

Anya flinched at the steely resolve in Grandmother's voice. "Don't you think she's been punished enough?" she finally asked.

Grandmother clenched her jaw. "Guys like that are a menace!" she hissed, surprising Anya with the venom in her voice. "They're predators!" She sat back, her face a mask of icy resolve. "I'm trying to protect women everywhere from that type of slime and filth!"

Anya winced inwardly. "But it's been over two years!" she protested. "You don't sentence a child to life in prison for stealing an apple!"

Grandmother's glare focused on Anya, and the young lady felt small and powerless. And then, as if she'd realized what she was doing, Grandmother shut her eyes and leaned back, forcing herself to calm down. "I know you're young, child," she said, unaware of the slight her words carried, "but I know how guys like Alan are. I'm really doing a favor to women ... to society ... by changing them!"

"Yeah? What about those two boys who sneaked in? Did they deserve to permanently become bimbos in exchange for petty theft?" Anya practically screamed. "Is _that_ punishment that fits the crime?"

The old woman's lips were pursed tightly together, and her eyes were narrow slits. She took several slow deliberate breaths in a visible effort to remain calm. "They broke into _my_ park. That's what gave me the right."

"I'd like to find out just what the hell you have against men, anyway!" Anya snarled as she abruptly stood. "What gives you the right to judge them so harshly? The things you do ... sometimes it's just mean! It's _wrong!" For several tense seconds, she glared at her grandmother, feeling the anger surging through her veins. Then she turned and stormed out of the building, slamming the door in a last act of angry defiance.

Grandmother sank back into the chair, her eyes wide. They reflected her shock at the way her granddaughter had spoken to her. They also reflected something unexpected — fear that bordered on terror.

**********

Anya sat on her sofa, shaking almost uncontrollably. "Was I wrong?" she asked simply, her voice trembling. She had the lights down, deliberately so, to match her somber mood. It might have been romantic, but for the dark cloud over her.

Greg sat beside her, rubbing her shoulders. "I ... I don't know," he answered slowly.

Anya shook her head and sighed. "I've _never_ seen Grandmother so angry." She closed her eyes. "But she's wrong! I just _know_ it!"

Greg opened his mouth to say something, but he thought better of it. Instead, he just continued to rub Anya's shoulders.

She turned her head toward Greg. "Was I wrong?" She wasn't going to let Greg get away without an answer.

Greg sighed heavily at being drawn into the family dispute. But then again, he practically _was_ family. "Sometimes, she's a bit stubborn," he admitted.

Anya shook her head. "That's all you can say? That she's stubborn? We _all_ know that!" She turned back, signaling that Greg should continue his massage. "I asked if you thought she was wrong."

Greg sighed again. "Yeah," he finally admitted. "I think that sometimes she's pretty heavy-handed with the changes."

Anya closed her eyes. She fought against the tears that were trying to come. "I don't like fighting her," she said softly. "She's my _grandmother_. She's all I've got left." Her shoulders shook as she started to sob. "But she's _wrong_! She's treating men like they're a criminal class, guilty until proven innocent, and capital punishment for misdemeanor crimes. And it's wrong!"

"I know," Greg said. "I was terrified of what she'd do to me if she disapproved of us," he admitted. He narrowed his eyes, and his face screwed up in concentration. "There's something more, though," he said. "I _know_ there is. And it feels like I should know _what_ it is." He shook his head. "Only I don't." He let his hands try to erase some of Anya's tension. "Do you think I should talk to her friend? You know, that magic guy that sometimes shows up at the mall?"

Anya started. "Uh," she stammered, "I don't think that would be a good idea. He's got a really ... warped ... sense of humor. And if he's Grandmother's friend, he might do something to help her protect whatever secret she's got." She shook her head. "No, Greg, don't try to talk to him. If you see his shop, promise me you'll stay away."

**********

"Hi, Greggy dear," Alison cooed in a bimbo voice as she sidled up to Greg, her hands playfully grabbing his collar as she licked her lips seductively.

Greg swallowed hard and glanced at Anya. He looked back at Alison, and his gaze wandered down to her magnificent cleavage which she was jiggling mere inches from his chest. He forced himself to look back up, swallowing again. If Anya knew just how aroused Alison was making him .... He glanced at Anya again, and from the slightly bemused smile she wore, he realized that she _did_ know. Greg gulped yet again.

Anya shook her head with a soft laugh. The trio stood in the courtyard of Anya's condo building. "Alison, please control yourself." She knew it was a futile request; the spell was forcing Alison to act like a bimbo around Greg simply because he was a guy. She sighed, and then she raised her hands and began to incant.

It was as if a light switch had been snapped. One second, Alison was trying to rub her breasts against Greg; the next, she took a hesitant step back away from Greg. Her eyes seemed clear and focused, and the bimbo expression had been wiped from her face. "What...?" she asked hesitantly.

Greg and Anya both sighed with relief. "It works," she said through a faint smile. "The spell has cancelled the bimbo and sex-drive effects."

Alison glanced tentatively at Greg. "Nothing," she said, softly at first but gaining strength and sounding both relieved and triumphant. "Nothing!"

Greg's expression fell. One moment, a very sexy girl was coming on to him like he was the sexiest man she'd seen, and even though Anya was present, it _felt_ good to his ego. The next moment, when Anya's spell took hold, Alison was practically screaming with relief that she _wasn't_ attracted to Greg. He looked crestfallen.

Alison sighed, looking for a moment like she was about to collapse with relief. "Thank you!" she cried to Anya, her words full of heartfelt appreciation. "You don't know how much I've wanted to do this!" Then she glanced at Greg and blushed. "I'm so sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to, you know, get you so ... excited!"

Greg gulped yet again, trying to keep from staring down Alison's cleavage, even as he struggled to sort out the conflicting signals Alison had sent him. "Uh," he stammered, "that's alright. I know it was ... the spell." He followed Alison's gaze down, until he realized that she had noticed the obvious bulge in his pants. He felt his cheeks begin to burn.

Alison giggled. "I knew I had that effect on men," she laughed. She glanced at Anya. "Only before, I couldn't control it." Alison saw Greg still staring into her cleavage, and she gave her shoulders a little shake, teasing him with her jiggling boobs. "You know, when I was first changed, every time I was with a man I wanted to die! It was horrible!"

"But?" Anya asked the obvious question.

Alison flinched, embarrassed. "After a long time, once I knew I could never win, I quit trying to fight. And you know what?" She glanced at Greg and began to blush. "I found that I actually _like_ sex as a woman." She looked down at the ground. "I'm not sure, but I think that what I wanted — needed — most was to have control." She looked up at Anya, her features showing her confusion. "Does that make any sense? I mean, shouldn't I be dying to get back to my male body?"

"Yeah, I think it makes sense, in a way," Anya answered slowly.

Alison seemed to melt with relief. "I thought I might be weird, you know." She glanced at Anya, and gave her a mischievous wink. With an ultra-sexy sway to her hips, she sashayed to Greg, reaching out and grasping his shirt lapels. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled herself up to tiptoes, then she slid her hands up, around Greg's neck, and she pulled his head down, toward her cleavage. She felt his hot breath on her breasts, and she felt his entire body tremble with desire. With a triumphant grin, Alison let Greg lift his head, and then she gave him a quick peck on the cheek and backed away.

"You're in control? And you enjoy it?" Anya observed.

Alison grinned. "I think I can get men to do just about anything for me now, instead of the other way around. Because, at least, _I'm_ in control!" She grinned at Greg. "Right?" she asked.

Greg glanced at Anya. "Don't blame me!" he protested weakly. "I mean, she's a ... well ... a ...." his words broke off as he read Anya's expression.

Alison actually smiled demurely at Greg. "You mean that you think I'm a sexy, attractive girl?" she asked, taking a sexy step toward Greg and reaching for his lapels once more. Greg glanced nervously at Anya and took a step backwards, away from the oncoming sexy girl.

Anya frowned at Greg. "You were thinking about having sex with her, weren't you?" she accused.

"Well," Greg felt trapped, "I was ... that is, I ... "

Alison laughed at his discomfort. "Thanks. I think." She stopped, and eased herself away from Greg, visibly decreasing her teasing. "But for the first time in a very long time, I'm not in the mood." She spoke as if she were relishing every syllable of every word. Greg's ego, already having experienced a veritable roller-coaster of sexual excitement and emotion, felt like it had been body-slammed once again.

"Are you really sure you want to do this?" Anya asked slowly.

Alison noticed the tone of Anya's voice. She bit her lip. "Yeah," she said slowly. "I think so."

Anya looked worried. "You know, without the bimbo spell, your dancing isn't going to be as good. It's going to take a lot more mental concentration."

Alison digested Anya's words. "I kind of figured that," she answered nervously. "But I've got to try. I've got to know if I can go without feeling like a puppet."

Anya nodded. "Good luck."

Alison smiled and gave Anya a hug. "Thanks."

Anya shook her head. "We're not even sure if this is going to work." She looked down, then back up, fidgeting nervously. "I mean, Greg is only one guy. What's going to happen in the club?"

Alison took a deep breath. "I'm just going to have to find out, aren't I?"

"And if this does work," Anya added slowly, "a _lot_ of things you were _programmed_ to do, you're going to have to learn to do on your own."

Alison laughed. "Yeah, maybe," she answered. "But it'll be _my_ choice, not someone else's. And if I can't change back to Alan, then having my own choices seems like a reasonable consolation prize."

**********

"You WHAT?"

Anya flinched at the anger in the old woman's voice. "I cancelled the bimbo part of Alison Jenkin's spell," she repeated.

The old woman spun her chair away from Anya. Though she couldn’t see her grandmother's face, Anya could _feel_ the anger in her magical aura. It was a dark cloud that seemed to permeate the room.

"Grandmother," Anya intoned softly, "please listen to me."

Slowly, the old woman turned back around. Her lips were pursed tightly together, and her jaw clenched. In her eyes burned an anger that Anya had never seen before. Anya's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped in fear of the horrible spectacle.

The old woman read Anya's reaction. Her own eyes widened, and then they closed. "No! Not again," she whispered to herself insistently. "Go away! Leave me! I will _not_ be ruled by you!"

Anya listened to the whispered words in awe and fear, wondering _what_ had her grandmother so worked up. She had the strange sense that the old woman was fighting some kind of internal battle against some unspoken demons. After a brief moment, the old woman's eyes opened, albeit without the fire. It was as if a light switch had been turned off.

"Would you please listen to me?" Anya pleaded again. "You've always said I'm growing up, and that I have to start using my judgment with my magic."

The old woman blinked, and then she nodded sadly. "Yes, dear, I have said that, haven't I."

Anya bit her lip. "Grandmother, you know I love you and have the utmost respect for you. You took me in after ..." She bit her lip again, and wiped at the tear that would never quite go away. "You've taught me more about business than I'd have ever learned in college."

"But?" The old woman had a curious smile, as if she was expecting some kind of counterpoint.

Anya nodded, smiling. "I never could hide anything from you, could I?" She looked back up. "Remember when Dr. Chastity started working here? How she questioned your 'meddling', as she put it?"

"Women _need_ a safe haven ..."

Anya shook her head. "I _never_ ever doubted that," she said quickly. "You've told me often enough, and I've seen for myself what some men can be like." She looked down to where her hands were clasped in her lap. "Remember what she asked? Whether you were being responsible in using your magic?" The old woman opened her mouth, but Anya continued. "How about Mister Davis? You gave him a chance to see what it was like, and to decide for himself if a refuge was really needed."

"He was too stubborn to learn the lesson I offered him," the old woman said in a sad but wise voice.

Anya shook her head firmly. "So were you!" she scolded. "He had a point. Not _all_ men are slimy perverts. Not _all_ men are predators!"

"They can be," the old woman countered quickly. "Even the ones you trust will turn on you."

Anya's eyes narrowed. "Is _that_ why you keep Greg working for you? So you can watch him? Because you don't trust him? Or me?"

"I never ..."

"You implied it!" Anya retorted quickly and angrily.

"Anya, dear," the old woman pleaded quickly. The look of fear was back in her eyes.

Anya saw her grandmother's expression, and that unsettled her. No, it thoroughly rattled her. And there was something else she sensed - something that felt ... wrong. It sent a chill down her spine. She trembled as the anger dissipated, and she forced herself to take a deep breath.

"Anya," the old woman continued, "I trust Greg with my life. I've seen into his soul. He's a good young man. I trust him with you."

Anya felt torn. "So why don't you trust any other men? Why can't you give _them_ a chance?"

The old woman lowered her eyelids and took a few breaths. "You're going to try the support group idea anyway," she finally said, abruptly changing the subject, "because you think you're right. So it won't do me any good to try to stop you."

Anya stared at her grandmother's face for a long time. "Are you angry at me?" Anya finally asked nervously.

The old woman seemed startled by the question. A thin sad smile crept over her features. "No, dear. I'm not angry at you."

**********

Greg, changed into his Gwen alter-ego, glanced around nervously. She recognized only a couple of the dozen or so people gathered. They were in the tropical pavilion that had only recently been added to the park; Gwen smiled to herself at the setting. She'd personally convinced Grandmother that if she had a pavilion, the park would be better able to host large gatherings. The sun was setting, but it was a warm summer evening. Since the park was closed except for this gathering, it seemed strangely silent of the splashing and playful sounds to which Gwen was accustomed. Despite knowing the secret of Bikini Beach, and indeed being quite comfortable with the change, she was uneasy. Even with their relationship, Anya had given her no clues about the purpose of the gathering. From the snippets of conversations around her, Gwen slowly realized that no one else knew, either.

Gwen instantly recognized Alison Jenkins, who smiled and blew her a kiss, making her blush. It has been a couple of months since she'd seen Alison — and that was the day Anya had cancelled Alison's bimbo spell. Gwen glanced around a bit more. She spied Vicky, of course, from Bikini Beach, along with Jenny.

Anya walked in front of the group of chairs, eschewing the pavilion's raised stage. Had she used the stage, it would have seemed far too formal, and that was _not_ what Anya wanted for this evening. "Hi, everyone. Thanks for coming." She, too, seemed a bit nervous. "Like I promised, we'll have refreshments in a little while. But first, I think I need to explain, in a little more detail, why I asked you to come here this evening. I know I asked you here under ... false pretenses, shall we say." She bit her lip nervously. "Everyone here knows of the magic of Bikini Beach. Each and every one of you has been changed by that power." She watched as people looked around. There were a few surprised gasps as people realized that some of the women hadn't _always_ been women. Anya smiled. "That's right. Every one of you used to be a man."

Gwen glanced at the very pregnant woman, then at the beautiful black girl who was contentedly nursing her baby daughter. She was amazed that, according to Anya, every single person here used to be male. That was unusual for a Bikini Beach crowd; normally, Gwen knew, only ten to twelve in a hundred were men changed into women.

Anya let the murmuring die down. "When Grandmother started this park, it was supposed to be a refuge, a place where young women could gather and not fear being ogled, or being treated as sex objects." More knowing glances among the crowd. "But..." Anya paused. In mere moments, all eyes abruptly turned toward her, wondering what she had to add.

Anya lowered her head, staring at the floor. She wasn't exactly comfortable speaking in public, Gwen observed. No, Gwen thought again. She was _very_ comfortable publicly speaking to most groups. This group made her nervous, though. The group ... or her topic.

Anya looked back at her audience. "But sometimes ..." She didn't know how to continue.

The black girl looked up, then she stood. "What you're trying to say," she said boldly, "is that sometimes your grand-mama uses the magic to punish boys who aren't good."

Anya knew, from the murmurs of agreement that coursed through the crowd, that Tomika had spoken a truth that many of the girls knew well. She nodded slowly. "That's right, Tomika," she acknowledged. "Sometimes, Grandmother has used the magic to punish wayward boys." She heard the murmurs swell. "And I have to admit, so have I."

"So what are you going to do about it?" Tomika demanded. "Change us back?"

Anya smiled sadly, and then looked at the baby girl nursing from Tomika's full breast. "Is that what you want? Do you really _want_ me to change you back? Because if I did, it would mean losing that precious baby of yours."

Tomika paled as she glanced down at the baby she was so gently holding. She looked back up, her eyes tearing. "No," she said softly. "Not that." She clutched her baby more tightly, as if she were afraid that Anya was _going_ to take her away.

Anya nodded sadly as her words sank into her crowd. "Even if you wanted me to, I can't undo the magic," she added, shaking her head. "It's not _my_ spell, and I'm not powerful enough. Even Grandmother can't undo the magic."

Her last revelation caused a loud stir in the group. "So why are we here?" Mi-ling asked. She'd been a friend of Tomika's when the two had been rowdy skinheads. Unlike Tomika, who'd been stuck through pregnancy, Mi-ling had chosen to stay female of her own volition.

"Not all of you that were changed against your will would _want_ to go back to being men," Anya said with certainty, glancing at Tomika for confirmation. "And some of you even chose to permanently become women."

"You didn't answer why we're here," Mi-ling said again.

Anya smiled. "Because each and every one of you is having - or has had - some problems being a woman. Being female." She laughed. "It's not as easy as guys think. And once you got stuck, you found out how tough it really is. So even though you want to stay, or are stuck, as women, you're having problems adjusting. That's why you're here."

"Is this like ... a support group?" the very pregnant lady asked softly.

Anya laughed and nodded. "Yes, this is an experiment. To see if you can help each other adjust, to help each other cope, with your changes."

"Babes Anonymous?" a girl in the crowd asked jokingly. The group laughed nervously at her dry humor.

Anya permitted herself to chuckle. "Yeah, something like that."

A lithe young lady of about twenty-one in the back stood up. Taller than average, and with a very wavy long mane of bright red hair, she stood out in the crowd. "I've got a couple of concerns," she said. Her voice sounded uncertain, and she was glancing around nervously.

"Okay," Anya said. "Shoot."

The girl glanced around again before nodding slowly. "First of all, what about our privacy?" A couple of the girls picked up her line of thought and nodded in agreement. "I mean, now we all know about each other. How do we protect our privacy?"

Another girl stood. "Yeah," she agreed loudly. "Do you know what it would do to me if anyone found out I used to be a guy?"

Anya held up her hands to calm the sudden uproar. "It's a fair question," she acknowledged. "But I don't think you need to worry, and here's why." She bit her lip, but then continued. "You're a very special group. Without exception, for each of you, the magic rewrote the very fabric of reality. That doesn't always happen with a change, but for all of you," she gave Gwen a quick glance, "it did. Until tonight, you were each the only one who knew that you'd once been male."

The murmuring grew as some of the girls began to mull over this new thought. "If any one of you," Anya continued loudly, interrupting the murmurs, "if any one of you tries to tell someone that you used to be a guy, they would not believe you. No one remembers you as male. That guy never existed to the world." She let the girls ponder her words for a moment. "It's the same for all of you. Let's take you as an example," she continued as she pointed to the tall redhead. "What do you think would happen if I went out and told your boss or friends that you used to be a guy?"

The redhead thought for a moment. "They'd probably think you were nuts," she admitted.

Anya smiled. "Exactly. That's how it is for _all_ of you. There isn't _any_ potential for embarrassment or blackmail or anything, because there is no evidence that any of you ever _were_ male." She took a quick breath. "I wanted all of you because it would be easier if we could get past _that_ worry right away. For guys who were temporarily girls, or who still had an alternate reality, the potential for blackmail _could_ exist."

The girls thought for a moment before they began to nod in understanding. Because of the way the magic had worked, they were safe from being 'exposed'.

"And the second point," the redhead continued, "is this going to be a bunch of 'spill our guts' sessions with some psychologist?"

Anya smiled again. "Not unless you want it to be," she said easily. "This is about _you_. It's about what _you_ need and want, not what _I_ think is right."

The mumbling died down, until a voice in the back piped up, "So now what do we do?"

For a brief second, Anya's face froze in uncertainty, and then, as the group began to giggle, she joined in. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I've never done this before."

Tomika laughed. "That's no excuse," she said aloud. "Look what it got me!"

The joke hung for a moment of stunned silence, and then titters of laughter circled the group as the mood lightened perceptibly. Gwen watched as Anya relaxed a bit. It looked like this was going to turn out all right.

**********

"But ... doesn't it seem ...," the questioner cringed, "weird?"

Alison, sitting in the center of a circle of chairs with Anya and Tomika, recrossed her legs. She grinned. "Honey," she said warmly, "at first I couldn't stand it. I _hated_ it."

"But?" Anya asked quickly, beating the other girls to the question. Every eye was on Alison, and there were no side discussions.

Alison licked her lips. "Let's put it this way. When I was a boy, I was a virgin." She shrugged. "Okay, I was a geek." She watched the group's reaction. "But I _did_ whack off a lot," she quickly added, to titters and giggles. "Then I got changed."

"Into a porn star?"

Alison shrugged. "Yeah," she answered easily. "Well, at first, I wanted to scream, even to kill myself. I thought it was terrible." She stole a quick glance at Anya. "But I'm back in control. And you know what? I've found that I really _like_ getting laid — when it's _my_ choice."

Some of the group cringed. A few "Yuck!" and "Eeeww!' sounds echoed through the pavilion. But a lot of other girls were watching, silent and attentive.

Tomika leaned forward. "There's nothing quite as good, as a good man loving you," she said enthusiastically.

Alison nodded eagerly. "Even before Anya gave me back control, I realized that female orgasms were a _hell_ of a lot better than a guy's orgasm!" She laughed. "As a guy, it's one shot, bang, and you're done!" Some of the 'girls' chuckled knowingly.

Tomika nodded. "But with a girl, it's like the Energizer Bunny, with his batteries backwards. You just keep cummin', and cummin', and..." A bit of embarrassed tittering sounded among the gathered girls.

"But how ... I mean, it's a _guy_! It's a dick!"

Alison looked puzzled. "So?"

Tomika seemed to sense the girl's concern. "Girlfriend," she said warmly, "one of friends was changed with me. He's never done it with a guy. But he wouldn't go back if he hand the chance, either."

"You mean ...?"

Tomika nodded. "_She_ thinks girls are just fine."

Alison sighed and shifted in her chair. "All this talk of guys is getting me hot." A few nervous chuckles raced through the group.

"What about you? You've done some films with girls, haven't you?" The question was directed at Alison.

Alison nodded. "Yeah. And at first, I _wanted_ to do girls. At least to have another girl in the scenes with me."

"But now?" The question was obvious.

Alison held up her hand. "I may be the expert on the subject," she said, to titters of laugher, "because this body isn't really good for much besides porn movies and dancing." She stuck up a finger. "First, a co-star means I don't get paid as much." That drew another nervous laugh. Her second finger rose. "Second, with a co-star, I don't get as much time with the guy." She held up the third finger. "And last," she stood, making a display of her curvy body, "this body has _needs_, baby!" she said in a sexy, sex-starved tone. "Girls are good, but having a guy pin you on a satin sheet is _sooo_ much better!" She sat back down, smoothing her skirt as she did so. "For me, at least," she added quickly.

Tomika grinned in acknowledgement. She made a show of glancing at her still-nursing baby. "And no man anywhere is ever going to know how good it is to nurse a baby."

**********

Alison gulped down the last of her soda. "I think that went well," she said after swallowing.

Anya seemed unconvinced. "It wasn't quite what I expected," she admitted.

Alison grinned. "Exactly what _did_ you expect? Jerry Springer?"

Anya laughed and shook her head. "Nah. But I ..."

Greg, still changed as Gwen, butted in. "You didn't expect to hear a bunch of girls talking about sex, did you?" she asked knowingly.

Anya frowned. "No," she admitted sheepishly. "I really didn't. I thought everyone would be talking about ... well, I don't know!" She wrinkled her nose in confusion. "But I didn't think _sex_ would be the main topic!"

Alison laughed. "But it's the number one issue for most of the girls. I'd say most of the girls haven't gotten used to having sex with a man! Or even thinking about it!"

Anya smiled as well. "I think you really got some of the girls thinking when you said you actually _liked_ sex with guys."

Alison smiled again. "Yeah, I really do, now that it's _my_ choice. Before, when I wasn't in control, I didn't have anything to say. Suck, fuck, whatever any horny guy wanted, I'd do. And if he weren't horny, I was doing anything and everything to _make_ him horny."

Gwen blushed at the blunt words Alison was using. Just as she'd blushed, along with most of the crowd, earlier that evening. "But ..." she started to protest.

Alison laughed at her. "Did you think girls were any less crude and lewd as guys?" She shook her head. "I'd say that most of the girls here _didn't_ think so. I'd say most of them were trying _too_ hard to be prim proper little girls."

Anya frowned. "You sound like you know a lot about this."

Alison chuckled. "I was working on a degree in psych, before ..." She didn't have to continue; Anya knew that 'before' to all the girls meant 'before the change'. She took Anya's hand. "I really think this is going to help. A lot." She smiled. "Just being rid of the bimbo has helped me. And seeing how many others there are ... like me. It helps to know that I'm not alone, and that some of the girls have had to do things I haven't. Like Tomika and her baby!" She winced as she pondered the actual process of delivering a baby. Then her face practically lit up. "Thanks," she finally said.

Anya seemed worried. "Are you going to be here next week?"

Alison grinned. "Wouldn't miss it for the world!" she said eagerly. "Oh, I might have to miss one or two. You know, when I get a gig out of town, or if I'm doing a shoot somewhere else. But if I'm in town, I'll be here."

Gwen frowned. "But ... you're still going to make movies and dance? Even after Anya helped with the spell?"

Alison sensed his confusion, and she laughed. "Believe it or not," she said with a sly grin, "I've come to realize that I _like_ being a woman, now that I've got control, I can get guys to do damn near anything for me! I just wish ... I had a more normal life." She shook her head. "I miss feeling normal."

********

As she pulled her car into the parking lot, Alison felt like she was out of control again. Her eyes were wide with terror; she wondered if the old woman had found out what Anya had done for her, and had decided upon more revenge.

Like an automaton, she climbed from the car and walked toward the office building. Even as she reached for the doorbell, the door opened, seemingly of its own accord. She gulped and stepped into the office, hearing the door slam shut behind her.

The woman was seated at her desk, its back toward her. Terrified, Alison sat down in a chair opposite the desk, not knowing what to expect.

The chair turned slowly. Alison was prepared, mentally, to see the old woman, in her wrath, as she meted out her own warped justice once more.

The old woman didn’t look angry. Instead, she looked … sad?

“I’m glad you could drop by so we could talk,” Grandmother said.

Alison wasn’t sure what to say. “I didn’t think I had a choice in the matter.”

The old woman smiled for the first time that Alison had seen. “Touché. Can I get you something to drink? I believe you prefer diet Coke?”

“Uh, no thank you,” Alison replied cautiously. This felt wrong — like she was being lured into a trap. She wondered exactly when the trap would be sprung.

The old woman shook her head. “This isn’t a trap, Alison,” she said. Again, her eyes and voice were tinged with sadness.

“Then … why?”

The old woman closed her eyes for a moment. “Anya told me what she’d done for you,” she explained.

“And, I take it you don’t exactly approve?” Alison ventured tentatively. “Even after I’ve been…?”

Grandmother shook her head to cut off Alison’s question. “At first, I didn’t. But Anya … she has a way of getting through this thick skull of mine, of getting past my stubbornness.” She rose from her chair and came around the desk, sitting in a chair beside Alison. Gently, she put took one of Alison’s hands in hers. “I know this is probably too much for you, but I need to tell you that I’m …” Her voice choked, and she wiped at a tear. “I’m sorry. I … was cruel and mean and nasty. I used my magic in anger, and I was wrong.”

“Uh,” Alison stammered, “I guess I could understand. I _was_ being a pervert, and I was going to violate your customers’ privacy.”

“No,” the old woman said sadly. “That’s no excuse. I didn’t give you a chance to learn a lesson. I just sentenced you permanently. As Anya once told me, you don’t sentence a child to life in prison for stealing an apple.” She looked down. “I need … you to understand how wrong I was, and how sorry I am.” She wiped her eyes again. “I know it’s too much to ask for you to forgive me.”

Alison suddenly felt sorry for the old woman, despite what she’d done to her. “I … I’m not sure I _can_ forgive you,” she said softly. “But I do know that you’re sorry.”

“Thank you for not being angry,” the old woman said. “You’ve shown that you’re a better person than I am.”

“Does this mean that you’re going to change me back?” Alison asked hesitantly.

The old woman looked up. Again, her eyes carried sadness. “Is that what you want? To be Alan - a geeky, nerdish, friendless young man?”

Alison started at her question. “I … I don’t know,” she said softly. “I don’t know how much of Alan is left in me. I’m not sure. I _do_ know that I wish I wasn’t like … this.” She looked down at her abundant assets for emphasis.

Grandmother sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, the magic that changed you to being a woman is too strong, even for me to undo.” She saw Alison’s shocked expression. “That surprises you? You thought I was all-powerful? And you’re shocked that I’m not, that I have limitations?”

Alison nodded slowly. “So I’ll never be anything but a walking advertisement for sex? A stripper?”

“What do you want, if you had a choice? Knowing that neither Anya nor I can never make you a man again, what would you want?”

Alison dropped her gaze as she thought. Eventually, she lifted her eyes to meet the stare of the old woman. “I don’t think I could ever go back to being Alan. Not after the lesson I learned. But I don’t want to live the rest of my life as a porn star.”

At that moment, the door opened, and Anya burst in. She saw Alison sitting next to Grandmother, and she rushed to Alison’s side. “Grandmother,” she said insistently, “please, don’t take your anger at me out on Alison! She’s suffered enough!” Anya knew that she was risking Grandmother’s anger again.

Grandmother laughed. “We were just talking,” she explained, “about how wrong and harsh I was.”

Anya was puzzled. “Then, why did I get the sense that you wanted to see me?”

“Because I need your help.”

Anya looked at Grandmother’s expression, then at Alison, and then back to Grandmother. “You _know_ that I can’t undo the magic.”

Grandmother nodded. “I know. But you _can_ modify it. You’ve already proven that.”

“Modify it — how?” Anya was confused.

“What do you want, Alison?” Grandmother asked simply. “Knowing that you'll always be a woman, what _can_ we do for you?”

Alison thought for a few seconds. “I don’t know,” she mused. “Maybe if I could be a normal, average girl, maybe in college? If I could have a normal, everyday life, so I could get a normal job? I think that would be all I could want.” She laughed, a hollow sound. "Being a star isn't as glamorous as some people think. Being an exotic dancer is ... unrewarding."

Anya looked worried. “I don’t know, Grandmother,” she said. “Undoing the libido and bimbo parts were pretty straight-forward. What you’re asking, though … it’s pretty complicated. I don’t know if I can do it.”

Grandmother smiled. “I know you can.”

Anya looked at Alison. “This might be risky. Are you sure you want me to try?”

Alison nodded. “Yes. I want to be normal.”

Anya stood, and began a series of incantations and complicated hand motions. For several seconds, she worked her magic.

And then, Alison began to change. Her blonde hair slowly turned darker, settling in a brunette color, while the sassy, naughty-girl hairstyle reshaped itself into a modest ponytail with bangs. Her chest deflated, shrinking slowly and considerably, as her G-cup chest became a normal size, somewhere between a B and C-cup.

The effects continued. Alison’s pouty lips became less full, more normal, while her makeup faded from ‘slut’ to ‘average girl’.

Alison watched and felt the transformations. “This is …” Her mouth hung open at the sound of her voice — a normal alto as opposed to the breathy, higher-pitched sound of a sex kitten. “I’m … normal?”

Anya sat down, wearied from the complicated spell.

Grandmother, on the other hand, stood, and extending her hand to Alison, guided her to a mirror.

Alison was cute in a girl-next-door sort of way. Her stripper look was gone. She was average. “I’m … I don’t look like a porn star!” she exclaimed with delight.

“What do you do?” Grandmother asked.

Without thinking, Alison answered, “I’m a junior at the university, studying psychology, like I was before.” Her eyes widened. “Wow! You mean, I’ve got a normal past? And normal memories?”

Grandmother nodded. “Eventually, the memories of the past two years will fade, until they’re faint shadows.”

Alison got a concerned expression. “I hope that I’ll at least remember how degrading it is when women are treated as sex objects,” she said. “That’s too important a lesson to forget.”

“And you’ll probably find that you have a normal car, instead of that flashy red thing,” Anya added. “Nice college girls don’t have daring red sports cars with custom plates that say ‘BAD BABE’.”

Alison smiled. “I can deal with that.” She gave the old woman a quick hug. “Thank you. For understanding, and for helping me be normal again.” She gave Anya a hug, too, and then she strode out the door, smiling for the first time in a long time.

Anya watched her go, and then turned to her grandmother. “I thought you were very angry with me about what I did to help her.”

"At first," the old woman said to Anya as she sat beside her grand-daughter, "I didn't approve of what you did to her. Taking off the bimbo spell, I mean."

"Why not?"

Grandmother drew a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak, but then her eyes widened. She sat for an awkward moment, speechless by Anya's simple yet complex question. Finally, her mouth shut and she lowered her eyes.

Anya sat silently, contemplating. She'd just put her grandmother in an awkward spot, and she'd won the debate, but it felt like a very hollow victory. She opened her mouth to try to say something, but the old woman held up her hand to signify that she had something to say. "You were pretty angry at me, weren't you?"

Anya dropped her gaze. "Yes, ma'am," she answered softly. Then she looked up. "Just like you seemed angry with me."

The old woman slowly nodded her head. "Yes, dear. I'm afraid I did almost let my temper go." She closed her eyes, and a tear tried to slip from one eye. "I've given you a lot of responsibility over the years as you've learned the business. And I guess I've always known that you and I won't _always_ see eye to eye on things." She wiped away the tear. "What I'm trying to say is, I should have trusted your judgment. I'm sorry."

Anya moved to her grandmother and wrapped her arms around the old woman. "I'm sorry I got angry with you, too, Grandmother."

When Anya backed away from the embrace, she half-smiled. "Does this mean you'll let me keep the support group going?" she asked hesitantly.

Grandmother smiled. "Of course, dear," she answered quickly. "If you think it'll be good for our business, I'm willing to let you try."

Anya smiled. "Thank you," She glanced at the clock. "I've got to run. Greg and I are going out for ice cream. Would you want to come along?"

The old woman sat back down. "No thank you, dear. I've got to finish up these books. Taxes, you know."

Anya smiled. "I'll help you get them finished tomorrow, okay?"

The old woman smiled. "Deal. Now run along."

Anya turned to leave, but at the door, she paused and glanced back. "Grandmother?"

The old woman looked back up. "Yes, dear?"

"When you were getting angry at me, you looked frightened. And when I got angry, you seemed almost terrified. Why?"

The old woman looked surprised at the question. She paused, and it was clear she was pondering how to answer. Finally, she looked into Anya's eyes. "Magic and anger don’t mix," she said evenly, fighting to hide the quiver in her voice. "You must never, ever, use your magic out of anger or spite."

"Isn't that what you've done? Sometimes?" Anya asked softly.

Grandmother opened her mouth to answer, but the rebuttal wouldn't come out. For several seconds, she was visibly trying to deny the truth of Anya's words, but she couldn't. Finally, she dropped her face into her hands, and her shoulders shook as she sobbed. Anya stood helpless, not knowing what to say or do, feeling like her statement had wounded her grandmother deeply. Grandmother looked up, her eyes puffy and her cheeks tear-stained. "I'm sorry, dear," she whispered. "I'm afraid you're right. I _have_ been angry and vindictive with my magic. You and Alison showed me that."

Anya trembled. Suddenly, her grandmother, who'd seemed so strong and confident, looked and sounded weak and helpless. She _felt_ that Grandmother was being overwhelmed by her painful admission. "But you've done so much _good_, too!" Anya said soothingly. She rushed around the desk, stooping beside Grandmother's chair and resting her hand on grandmother's shoulder. "Look at the good! Jenny! Liz! The Harwins, Jeffrey Hanson and his family! How many more are there, that you’ve helped?" Anya felt tears of sympathy welling up in her eyes. "You've done a world of good!"

Grandmother glanced at Anya and wiped her eyes. "But you don't understand!" she complained softly. "I used my magic out of _anger_!"

"But you could turn it to good," Anya soothed. "If you undid the all the changes that you think you did out of anger … "

Grandmother shook her head, and her tears flowed anew. "I'm afraid ... I can't," she said softly.

Anya frowned, puzzled. "Why not?"

The old woman looked away. A tremor coursed up her spine, visible to Anya. "Because ... I ... I ... don't remember how," the old woman said in a barely audible voice.

"But..."

The old woman shook her head. "You've seen the spell. You've tried to read it." She shook her head again. "It's a very old spell, one of the first I ever learned, and it has its origin in antiquity." She bit her lip. "I don't remember how it works, only that it does."

"But that means ..."

Grandmother nodded slowly. "I can cast the spell easily enough." She turned away again, and her voice faded until it Anya could barely hear. "I ... I just don't ... remember ... how it works, or how to undo it." She let her head drop, ashamed that she'd been forced to admit the limitations of her magic to Anya. For a long time, the old woman sat silently, afraid that her granddaughter would never respect her again. But then she felt Anya's hand on her shoulder again, firm and supportive and ... loving. She turned slowly, looking hopefully at Anya. The look in Anya's eyes showed none of the disdain she'd feared. It was only ... love. The old woman started crying again, and she let Anya hug her and hold her tightly.

"Anya, will you promise me never to use your magic in anger? And to help me?"

"To help you? How?" Anya asked, curious at the new revelation and the insistence in the old woman's voice.

“To not use my magic in anger, or recklessly.” The old woman looked down and shook her head. "I should have taught you long ago. I made the same mistake when..." She bit her trembling lip. "Before. Once before." She wiped her eyes suddenly and quickly, as if Anya wouldn't notice her tears if she dabbed them away quickly enough. "Our type of magic has a good side and an evil side. The evil side ... serves anger and hatred."

Anya laughed lightly, or rather, she tried. The attempt failed. "You make it sound like the Force. A good side and a dark side."

The old woman looked up, and Anya saw in her eyes that she'd guessed the truth. "The analogy is more accurate than you know, dear," she said.

"Have you ever ... encountered dark magic?" Anya asked after a long pause.

The old woman started, and then she abruptly turned back to the computer. "I've got to finish up these books, and you mustn't keep Greg waiting," she said quickly.

As Anya turned to leave, she saw her grandmother's hands, extended to the keyboard as if to work. Her hands were trembling like Anya had never seen. A sudden chill gripped Anya as she walked through the warm night air, sending shivers racing up and down her spine. She _knew_, at that moment, that her grandmother had seen something that, years or even decades later, still frightened her - and that she didn't want to tell Anya. Anya wondered, as she felt goose-bumps rise on her arm, if her grandmother would ever tell her ... and whether she really wanted to know.

FIN