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“Do you have any fucking idea where we are?”

“Can it, Steve,” I said calmly as I watched mile after mile of gently sloping farmland cruise by at eighty miles an hour. “Randy knows where he’s going.”

‘I hope Randy knows where he’s going,’ I thought. For the last ten miles, I hadn’t seen a road sign of any kind. I didn’t know if we were in Missouri, Arkansas, Oklahoma, or the dark side of the moon.

We had left South Bend on Wednesday, blowing off nearly a week of classes. Some of our fraternity brothers were taking notes for us, so we wouldn’t be totally lost when we got back. It would mean we’d miss a lot of classes, though, but what the hell? How often does Texas play Notre Dame? Besides, South Bend was getting cold and gray as October slipped away, and the forecast for the weekend in Austin was lots of sunshine and temperatures in the seventies. In fact, as we had travelled south from Kansas City, the temperatures had risen into the mid seventies, causing me to wish I had worn shorts instead of jeans.

The trip had been my idea; I’ll admit that. I had a cousin in Austin who’d agreed to put us up, and he had even promised to find some girls for us. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. This was a one game only series, and who knew how long it would be again before Notre Dame and Texas played against each other? Both had national title aspirations, so it should be a great game, I reasoned. I approached Randy with the idea. Randy had always been my best friend in the fraternity. He and I had pledged as freshmen and had roomed together ever since. Also, Randy had a car–a fiery red Trans-Am that looked like it was going ninety even when it was standing still. His folks had given it to him for getting a 4.0 his junior year.

Steve and Carl were two more guys who had been in our pledge class three years before. Unlike Randy and I, who both took school pretty seriously, Steve and Carl floated by with 2.5 averages. They were smart enough, but to them, every day was party day. When they heard we were headed for Austin, they tagged along somewhat uninvited. At least, I thought, they would share expenses with us. Unlike Randy and I, they hadn’t worried about picking up class assignments. They figured they could catch up when we got back–if they felt like it.

We got as far as Kansas City by Wednesday night. It was late, but we took a little time to party before holing up in a Motel 6 for the night. Kansas City isn’t a great college town, but the bars and clubs in the Plaza district proved to be a great source of action. Nobody managed to get laid, but a lot of heavy petting went on in one of the clubs. By Thursday morning, we were all a little under the weather. Randy was driving. He wouldn’t trust anyone else but me to drive his car, and I had begged off with a dull headache. Steve and Carl had gotten pretty well wasted, so they slept in the back seat while Randy drove and I navigated.

“Head straight south out of Kansas City on US 69,” I told Randy.

“Hey, sixty-nine, mighty fine,” Carl managed weakly from the back seat.

“Don’t we want to head out I-70 to catch I-35?” Randy asked.

“We could,” I agreed, “but this way, we avoid the turnpike. It will be cheaper, and we can cut across on two-lane roads and hook back onto I-35 in Oklahoma. Less cops, too, I would imagine, so we can cruise.”

It had been good advice at first. We didn’t see a cop all morning and were able to cruise along at eighty. We stopped off for lunch in some little no-name town and hit the road again, after Steve and Carl had dived into a liquor store next to the cafe and picked up a fifth of bourbon. “A little hair of the dog that bit us,” Steve explained, twisting off the top in the back seat. I don’t know how those two managed to drink again. It would be Friday before I could face the thought of another drink.

Steve and Carl nipped at the bourbon while Randy and I tried to figure out where to go next. “You should be coming to the road we need in about ten miles,” I told him.

It was at that moment that a battered red farm truck chose to pull out from an unmarked side road, directly in our path.

“Jesus! Look out!” I screamed, but my voice was drowned out by the squeal of the Z-rated tires on the Trans-Am as we skidded sideways directly into...

“God, that was close!” Randy breathed.

Close? I couldn’t think of any way we could have missed the truck. We had been headed directly toward it. The last thing I had seen before closing my eyes and bracing for impact was one of the big external gas tanks slung under the frame of the truck. We were going to hit it with no chance of escape.

But we had escaped. I looked around to see what had happened to the truck, but to my surprise, there was nothing on the road. He must have gone directly across the highway, I reasoned. Perhaps there was another little unmarked farm road on the other side.

“Where did he go?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Randy admitted, screwing with the rear-view mirror to try to see the truck. “Wherever he went, I’m glad it wasn’t into this car.”

“This calls for another drink!” Steve shouted with bravado from the back seat. It was met by Carl’s childish giggling.

“I think that’s it up ahead, Matt,” Randy told me, changing the subject.

I looked ahead about a quarter of a mile at a green highway sign which said ‘Ovid 20 Miles.’

“There’s no Ovid on my map,” I said. “And besides, this road can’t be the right one. It’s too soon. The road you want has to be at least three miles further.”

“Well, it looks like it’s going the right way,” Randy argued. Without further discussion, Randy turned onto the road to Ovid.

I looked carefully at my map. It was a good one, although not highly detailed, but I was sure that a road as good as this one should have been on it. And there was no sign of a town called Ovid. I mentioned this to Randy, only to be interrupted by Steve with a childish drunken “Are we there yet?” Carl gave out a sound halfway between a snort and a giggle. He was equally drunk.

“Quiet, guys,” I scolded.

“Who are you?” Steve asked sarcastically. “Our mother?”

Carl chortled again.

“Maybe it’s a new road,” Randy suggested. “It might not be on the map yet. And as for the town, maybe it’s too small to be on a map like that.”

He had a point. The map was a couple of years old, and the road was smooth, seamless blacktop stretching to the horizon. Also, if Ovid was very small, it might not qualify to appear on the map. At least we were travelling in the right direction, and I knew that eventually, we would run into I-35, so no damage was done. Still, I would have felt more comfortable if we had taken the road we had originally decided upon. But I was too relieved having narrowly avoided death to argue.

Randy was a safe driver, but a fast one. Eighty was nothing in a Trans-Am, and the newly harvested fields and groves of trees shot by with alarming speed. Randy’s confidence and speed increased as we encountered no traffic in either direction on the road. The speedometer had begun to hover around ninety.

It was then that we heard the siren.

“Shit!” Randy cursed. I looked around away from the afternoon sun to see the familiar flashing blue and red lights of a police cruiser.

“Where did he come from?” I asked. I had been watching the road for speed traps but had seen nothing since we had turned off onto the road to Ovid. But then again, I hadn’t spotted the farm truck either.

“I don’t know,” Randy replied. “I’ve been watching, too, and I never saw him. Hell, there hasn’t even been a turnoff on this road, so I don’t know where he was hiding.”

“Outrun him, man!” Carl called out. “You got a Trans-Am.”

“Right, Carl, and the cop’s got a radio,” I said with disgust. It was hard to believe Carl was my age since he usually acted like a kid and Steve wasn’t much better. Some people never seemed to grow up.

Randy brought the Trans-Am to a smooth stop on the gravel shoulder, and the police cruiser pulled up behind him, lights on but siren off. Turning around, I could see that there appeared to be only one officer in the cruiser. He looked to be a pro, tall in gray-blue uniform shirts. He was wearing the mirrored sunglasses which always seemed popular in law enforcement.

The officer got out of the car. He was hatless and about six foot three. Unlike the stereotype of local law enforcement officers, he appeared to not have an ounce of fat on him. His movements were almost graceful, and there was a purposeful quickness to his movements which made me think he could probably outrun a jackrabbit. He looked big and intimidating as he strode toward our car.

“Is he state or county?” Randy asked, watching him approach in the mirror.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I haven’t seen any state highway markers, so he’s probably county.”

The officer stopped a few feet away from and slightly behind Randy’s door. “Could you step out of the car, sir?”

Randy slowly opened his door while I watched. Carl and Steve giggled in the back seat.

“Hide that bottle, you idiots,” I whispered to them, hoping the cop couldn’t hear.

“I need your license and registration,” the officer told Randy, almost as if it were a mantra. I pulled the registration slip off the visor and put it on the driver’s seat while Randy fished out his license. The officer studied it carefully for a minute through his mirrored glasses, then handed them back to Randy. “Do you have any idea how fast you were going?”

“Um, sixty-five?” Randy guessed, knowing full well that he had topped eighty.

“You were going eighty-nine miles an hour,” the officer said precisely. “I’m going to have to take you in to see the Judge.”

“Take me in?” Randy protested. “But can’t you just write me a ticket? I mean, we’re on our way to Austin for the game Saturday and...”

“I have to take you in,” the officer insisted. “The speed limit through here is still only fifty-five. You were more than twenty miles an hour over that, so I’m required to take you in to see the Judge. Wait right here and Officer Mercer will ride over with you.”

“But there’s no room,” Randy argued. Besides, I wondered, who was Officer Mercer? I could swear there had been only one cop in that patrol car.

“Your two backseat passengers can ride with me. They appear to be drinking, so I’ll need some ID on them, too.”

Carl and Steve sullenly piled themselves out of the backseat, fishing into their pockets for wallets. Fortunately, I thought, all of us were twenty-one, so they couldn’t get us on any underage drinking or contributing to the delinquency of a minor charges. The officer checked their IDs, grunted, and returned them.

“I’m Officer Mercer,” a voice said next to my window. “Please get out of the car and I’ll climb in back.”

“Would you like to...?” My voice trailed off. Officer Mercer looked identical to the officer who had come up to the car first. I don’t just mean the uniform. I mean they were as identical as twins.

“Would I like to what?”

“Uh... would you like to ride up front?”

“I’ll ride in back,” he said. Of course, I thought. If I were in back, I could get the drop on him. He wanted to be behind both Randy and me.

“OK.” I climbed out of the car. “Are you and the other officer related?”

“Not exactly,” was all he replied as I got out of his way to allow him to crawl into the back seat.

I wanted to press him on his relation to the other cop. I know the uniform and the sunglasses helped to make them look alike, but they appeared absolutely identical to me. There was something odd about this, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“This is illegal in the state of Oklahoma,” the officer said behind me.

“What?” I asked, turning around to see the officer holding the bourbon bottle Steve and Carl had been nipping from.

“This bottle,” he said. “It’s against state law to have an open bottle in your vehicle.”

“I’m sorry,” I managed. “We didn’t know.”

“Has the driver been drinking?”

“No, sir,” I replied. “Neither Randy, nor I were drinking.”

The officer just grunted and put the bottle next to him.

Shortly, our two cars were caravanning into town, the cruiser in front. I noticed as it passed us that the logo on the side read ‘Ovid Municipal Police.’ I had an idea. It was a long shot, but I decided to try it.

“Officer,” I began, “you and your partner are town cop...er...police?”

“That’s right, son.”

Aha! “Well then, aren’t you a little out of your jurisdiction out here in the country?”

I couldn’t turn around, but I swear I could feel him smile. “You crossed into Ovid the minute you turned off the main highway.”

“Oh.” I had heard of small towns that had done that sort of thing. They would annex land several miles from the actual town for any number of reasons, but I had never heard of a town annexing twenty miles of open farmland. I thought about mentioning this, but something in my gut said it wouldn’t do any of us any good. I didn’t want to piss these guys off.

Randy was a model driver, following the lead officer at a respectful distance. Soon, we crested a tree-lined hill and I could look down into a pleasant little valley where a town had grown. From the top of the hill, I could see that Ovid was larger than I had expected. It appeared to be about the size of my hometown, which was about fifteen thousand people. I could see the well-kept tree-lined residential streets, broken occasionally by wider business streets which converged on a downtown business district with a collection of office buildings and retail stores, none of which were taller than three stories.

We entered town on what appeared to be the widest of the business streets. Its curbsides were populated with gas stations, fast food restaurants, and a small strip shopping center. The only business which I was surprised to see was a place called Randy Andy’s, which appeared to be a small strip club. Although it was only mid-afternoon, there were half a dozen cars and pickup trucks parked in front of the place. I hadn’t expected to see a strip club in a small town in the middle of the Bible Belt.

We proceeded on down the main drag. Ovid was a typical small town with diagonal parking in front of the stores and a few of the local residents strolling casually in front of the shops. At first glance, it appeared to be the main street of a small farming community, populated by the usual casual folks you would expect to see in any small town from coast-to-coast. But it was here on the main street (which I later learned was actually called ‘Main Street’) that I first noticed something odd about Ovid.

The first odd thing I noticed–the first of many odd things about Ovid I was to notice as time passed–was the people. They seemed normal enough, but it was as if they were extras in a movie. They seemed somehow to be acting their parts rather than being real small-town folks. They went through all the motions, but they did so in a somewhat stilted manner. And they seemed somehow... transparent. I couldn’t exactly see through them, but it was as if they weren’t really there. I passed it off as travel fatigue.

We turned off the main street about halfway through the business district. A block west of Main Street, we came upon a gray granite building with Doric columns in front. The words ‘City Hall’ were carved into the granite above the columns. As small town city halls went, it was reasonably impressive, but except for the Oklahoma flag flying next to the US flag in the grassy area in front of the building, it could have been the city hall of almost any small town in America.

“Pull in that driveway,” Officer Mercer told Randy. Randy followed the police cruiser into the driveway which bore a sign which said ‘Police Business Only.’ We parked next to the police car and got out of the Trans-Am.

The other officer was opening the back door of the cruiser, motioning for Steve and Carl to get out. I was relieved to see they were behaving themselves. With those two, you just never knew. They were, however, a little unsteady on their feet. The effects of the alcohol were still apparent, and I was certain that the other officer had smelled the liquor on their breath.

“I got a bad feeling about this,” Randy muttered to me.

“Me too,” I muttered back. “Let’s just hope they agree to a fine and let us go.”

“You don’t think they’ll put us in jail?” Randy asked, suddenly becoming even more worried.

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. Then, I asked Randy, “Do you notice how much these two cops look alike?”

Randy scowled the little ‘what are you talking about?’ scowl I had seen from him ever since our freshman year. “Matt, have you been hitting the bottle with Steve and Carl?”

I looked at him seriously. “Of course not. Are you saying you don’t think they look alike?”

“Well of course they don’t look alike.”

I didn’t get a chance to continue the conversation, because Officer Mercer was suddenly at my side.

“Okay, boys,” Officer Mercer said. “It’s time to go see the Judge.”

Although our discussion had been interrupted, I continued to think about what Randy had said as we were led down a short corridor to a room with a brass nameplate declaring it to be ‘Court Room A.’ How could Randy have missed the similarity between the two officers? He was usually much more observant than I was. Yet he saw nothing unusual about the two officers. I shuddered suddenly. I had a bad feeling about Ovid, Oklahoma. I only hoped we would be fined and quickly sent on our way. I didn’t want to be in Ovid after the sun went down. I had seen too many horror movies.

I had also seen The Dukes of Hazard, and I will admit that I expected something out of that for a courtroom (and Judge). I was wrong, though. The courtroom was well appointed, with fairly new walnut wainscoting and matching furniture. The Judge’s bench had a crest in gold in the center. I couldn’t quite make out the picture on it, but it appeared to be a bird of some sort. Whatever the bird was, it did not look familiar.

“All rise,” Officer Mercer intoned needlessly, as we were all standing at the defendant’s table already. The door to the Judge’s chambers opened and the Judge appeared.

The Judge was also different from what I had imagined. Instead of the tobacco-chewing good ol’ boy I had expected, he was middle aged–perhaps mid-fifties–with dark hair that was fading to give promise of future graying. He had a neatly trimmed beard which was still dark but flecked with gray giving him a distinguished look. He wore gold-rimmed glasses which somehow made him look more scholarly. His black robe was impeccably neat and pressed to the point that it looked as if you could cut yourself on one of the pleats.

My only surprise was that we were the only people in the courtroom. Granted, I only wanted to be a lawyer at this point, so I really didn’t know much about actual court procedure. Still, I thought it was customary to have a court stenographer there to transcribe the proceedings of the court. But, I thought, this was a small town, and they might be lax about such things. Then another thought crossed my mind. If there was no one in the courtroom to transcribe the proceedings, what was to stop Officer Mercer, who appeared to be acting as bailiff, and the Judge from fining Randy and pocketing the take? I knew there were such ‘speed traps’ scattered across the country.

“Is something wrong, son?” the Judge asked, and I suddenly realized he was asking the question of me.

“Huh?” I replied, embarrassed. “Oh, I was just wondering...”

“Where the court reporter was,” he finished for me.

“Well, yes,” I admitted. How had he known? It was if... as if he had read my mind.

Now, I grew up on old Twilight Zone reruns, and I could almost imagine Rod Serling standing in the corner of the courtroom (“Imagine, if you will, four college boys, on their way to the big game...”). It was one thing for a town to have two cops who looked enough alike to be twins, but add that to a town full of residents who appeared to be semi-transparent zombies and a Judge who finished sentences for you, I was ready to leave. I looked at Randy, Steve and Carl. They were all tense at the idea of being in court, but I could tell they had noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

“Well,” the Judge began with a hint of a Southern drawl which I was later to realize was an Oklahoma twang, “we like to keep things informal down here. But I am planning to get a new court reporter in here real soon. In the meantime, we’ve just got to make do with what we’ve got. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” I said respectfully. I supposed if things went badly, Randy could always get a lawyer and appeal any decision the Judge would make.

“Well, now,” the Judge said, looking down though gold rimmed glasses at the paperwork Officer Mercer had put in front of him, “it says here that you boys were speeding. Eighty-nine miles an hour in a fifty-five mile per hour zone. That sounds pretty fast to me.”

“Yes, sir,” Randy said respectfully.

“Lots of folks get killed doing that kind of speed around here,” the Judge said, his eyes burning into Randy. “You’re just lucky our police officers caught you before you got hurt. Or hurt somebody else.”

He stopped for a moment, looking at Steve and Carl. “You boys been drinking?”

Steve and Carl both turned pale and said nothing.

“You might as well admit it,” the Judge said at last. “I can smell it up here. Now how much have you boys had to drink?”

“Just a few,” Steve managed to say nervously.

“Yeah, just a few,” Carl echoed unconvincingly.

“Well,” the Judge said, casting a harsh gaze at both of them, “it smells like you’ve had more than a few. You boys are too old for that sort of behavior. How about you other two? Have you been drinking?”

“Not today, no sir,” I managed to say and saw Randy nod his head in agreement.

“Well, then you’re the smart ones,” he said. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, though, it’s time for your sentence.”

Sentence? What was he talking about? There hadn’t even been a trial. I looked at my friends to gauge their reaction, but to my shock, they were calmly staring at the Judge as if nothing was wrong.

“Excuse me,” I ventured. “Your Honor, may I approach the bench?”

The Judge squinted at me. “You’re a little young to be a lawyer, son.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied in agreement. “But I plan to be one someday.”

“Well,” the Judge drawled thoughtfully, “given that you have an interest in the law, and given that we like to keep things informal here as I’ve mentioned, go ahead and approach the bench.”

I looked at my friends. Their calm stares continued. I was on my own here. Slowly, I walked forward to face the Judge. “Your Honor,” I began, “I don’t know that much about the law, but shouldn’t you ask how we plead and then hear evidence?”

The Judge stared at me as if sizing me up. “So you don’t think this is proper courtroom procedure?”

“Uh, no, sir. I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

To my great surprise, he smiled. “It sounds as if I need someone like you around here to help me out. I wouldn’t want to be guilty of improper courtroom procedure.”

The irony was lost on me. “I just thought, Your Honor, that...”

His gavel came down suddenly causing me to jump. “That’s enough, son. You were speeding and that’s all there is to it. Now step back so I can pronounce sentence.”

I obeyed at once. There was nothing further to be gained by arguing with him.

Suddenly, the Judge stood up. He raised his hands over his head like a television evangelist and closed his eyes. I was so surprised, I didn’t know what to do. This didn’t seem to be standard court procedure. I looked over at Officer Mercer. He was watching the proceedings as if nothing were wrong. Then I looked at Randy, Steve, and Carl. Each of them stood rigidly, their eyes staring blindly forward as if they were in a trance. What was going on here?

The Judge began speaking in a language I had never heard before. Then the courtroom actually darkened slightly, and I felt a soft breeze flow through the room. My body gave an involuntary shiver, as if I had experienced something frightening. I thought I could hear voices whispering to me on the breeze. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the breeze stopped and the lights returned to normal. There was a sudden crack of wood striking wood, and I realized at once that the Judge had resumed his seat and rapped his gavel. “Court is adjourned!” I heard him say.

“What?” I asked as the Judge rose and left the courtroom. As I looked around, everything seemed to have returned to normal.

Randy was all smiles. “Hey, man, do you believe it?”

“Believe what?” I asked.

“Matt, weren’t you paying any attention?” Randy asked. “He let us go with a warning.”

I looked in Randy’s innocent eyes with astonishment. He wasn’t pulling my leg. He really didn’t remember a thing that had happened in the courtroom. “Explain that to me,” I said, attempting to clarify what he believed.

“Bullshit!” Steve interjected suddenly, his old exuberance returning. “We can talk about it later. I’m hungry.”

“Yeah,” Carl chimed in. “Let’s get outta this place. It gives me the creeps.”

It gave me the creeps, too, but I suspected for a different reason. Carl was creeped out by the fact that our little weekend party was almost ruined by a small town cop and Judge. I was creeped out because there was something weird going on and I seemed to be the only one to notice.

“The guys are right,” Randy told me. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll find someplace on the edge of town to grab a burger and then drive late tonight. We can be in Austin by afternoon if we get going now.”

I was outvoted, I realized. But maybe they were right, I thought. I had just watched a Judge do his Druid act, but no one else seemed to notice. Why not just ignore it and head out of town as quickly as possible. I certainly didn’t want to spend one more minute in Ovid.

Officer Mercer even seemed to agree. “Come on, boys,” he said to us. “I’ll walk you back to your car. You can be on the road in no time.”

We walked back to the parking lot as I silently tried to convince myself that nothing was really out of sorts. Just when I was starting to think that I was just imagining things, I got my next shock. Randy’s car was missing! I turned to enlist Officer Mercer’s help when Randy called, “Are you coming or not, Matt?”

I looked around at Randy and the other guys. They were piling into a car, but it wasn’t Randy’s red Trans-Am. Instead, it was a fairly new dark green Taurus station wagon. Now, I had known Randy for a long time, and I knew he would never have a Taurus wagon. He’d die first.

“Are you okay?” Randy called.

“Not really,” I muttered, but only Officer Mercer could hear me.

“Don’t worry,” he told me. “It’s not as bad as you think.”

“What?” I asked, as puzzled as ever.

Ignoring my question, he opened the front passenger door of the wagon for me and gently herded me in. “You drive carefully now. I’ll see you later.”

Later? I didn’t plan to see him ever again, but once more, I was the only one to notice. I decided it wasn’t worth discussing.

“You kids buckle up now, okay?” This was from Randy. What was he talking about? But I heard the distinct click of seat belts in the back seat. It wasn’t like Carl and Steve to take the admonition without comment. But rather than their usual crude comments, all I heard from the back seat was soft, childish giggling.

“Randy, what the hell is going on?” I asked as he started the engine and pulled out of the municipal parking lot.

“What do you mean... Matt?” he said, almost as if he was having trouble remembering my name. There was a distant look on his face.

“I mean where is your Trans-Am? And do you mean to tell me you didn’t see the Judge’s little high priest imitation?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Randy said, shaking his head. As his head turned slightly toward me, I saw his upper lip had the beginnings of a mustache. Randy had never had a mustache before. In fact, he had never liked them, even convincing me to shave off the one I had grown during our junior year.

“I’m hungry!” Steve yelled again, but there was something not quite right about the way he said it. He sounded almost petulant.

“Me, too!” Carl yelled, equally petulant.

“Okay now,” Randy said in a soothing voice. “Don’t worry. Rusty’s Burger Barn is just up the road. We all like Rusty’s, don’t we?”

“You bet!” came two voices from the back seat.

I started to ask Randy how he knew there was a place called Rusty’s Burger Barn and how he knew its location, but I was sure I wouldn’t get a meaningful response. I was starting to think I was the only person in the car who hadn’t lost his wits. It was as if they had all been in a trance since we left the courtroom.

Suddenly, I hear more giggling in the back seat. There was something wrong back there. I turned around sharply and got yet another shock. Carl and Steve were both smaller, younger looking. They each appeared to be about fifteen or so, and their jeans had been replaced by blue shorts. In addition, Carl’s face actually looked somehow softer than it had before. Both of them had childish grins on their faces, and neither of them acted as if there was anything even remotely wrong. What the hell was happening to them?

Then, with a sudden chill, I realized if something was happening to them, it was probably happening to me as well. With trepidation, I pulled down the visor. The vanity mirror was lighted, so I could see myself clearly. Whereas Steve and Carl looked younger, I looked somehow more mature, and my brown hair was now a dark blonde and growing longer as I watched it.

“Jerry, stop the car!” I exclaimed. Jerry? Who the hell was Jerry? But Randy did stop the car.

“What’s wrong, hon?” he asked.

Oh my God, I thought. Somehow, I knew what was happening to us. Not the specifics, but I knew we were changing, and if I had to guess, we were changing from four college students into the stereotypical American family. That meant Randy was dad, Steve and Carl were the kids, and I was...

“We’ve got to go back to the city hall. I have to see the Judge,” I told him in a voice that suddenly didn’t seem quite right. It was as if my voice had been shifted half an octave higher.

“What did you forget?” Randy asked with irritation in his voice.

“Just turn around!” I pleaded. Yes, my voice definitely didn’t sound right. It was pitching itself higher and higher. It was a full octave higher now and there was a soft Oklahoma twang in it. I could feel an odd tingling sensation spreading throughout my body.

“Okay,” Randy said, “but I don’t know why you can’t wait ’til tomorrow.” There was a soft twang in his voice, too.

As we drove back to the municipal complex, I began to fear that we wouldn’t be in time. I watched in silent horror as my body seemed to ripple under my clothes. I fought back with all my conscious will, but I knew instinctively that I wouldn’t be able to hold off the changes forever.

It took only a few minutes to return to the municipal complex, but I saw with concern that there were no lights in the area that housed the courtrooms. The only lights were from the police offices in another wing. I thought about demanding to see the police, but something told me that wouldn’t do any good. Only the Judge had the power to stop what I feared was happening, and he was nowhere to be seen. Still, in desperation, I sprinted from the car and rattled to door to the court wing, but to no avail.

Randy joined me on the steps, and to my horror, put an arm around me. “Don’t worry, sugar,” he said. “Whatever you forgot, you can get when you go to work tomorrow.”

I actually jumped a little when Randy put his arm around me. I knew what was happening to me. My hair was longer, touching my shoulders now, and my voice was higher, and I noticed I was perhaps four inches shorter than Randy. He and I had been the same height before the changes started. And other things about my body would be changing shortly, I knew. I don’t know what bothered me more, the fact that my best friend had put an arm around me as if I were a girl who needed to be comforted, or the fact that it actually felt pretty good. I was becoming very confused.

I actually began to cry softly to myself. I don’t even think Randy noticed. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have understood what I was crying about. Everything seemed normal to him. Steve and Carl didn’t see anything unusual either. They sat quietly in the back seat of the Taurus wagon like the good little children I knew they were becoming. Each looked to be about eleven or twelve now, and Carl was starting to look quite feminine with a softer face and dark blonde hair perhaps five inches long. Their clothing had changed almost completely to reflect their new status as children. In addition to their blue shorts, each wore brown sandals and matching Six Flags Over Texas T-shirts.

I had let Randy lead me back to the car, knowing that in his mind, he was leading his wife back to her seat at his side. That’s what I was becoming, I realized. I could already feel indications of what was about to happen. I could feel my hair getting longer. I had never liked long hair, so its feel was unusual to me. Also, I was starting to feel my skin moving around, particularly around my nipples and my groin. There was nothing definite happening yet, but I was bracing myself for the changes I knew were about to occur.

As I stepped back into the car, I unconsciously slid in as demurely as any girl I had ever seen. It seemed even I was to be affected somewhat mentally by the spell as well. But it wasn’t just mental, I knew. I had worn jeans that day, in spite of the surprising heat of the day. But now, I was wearing denim shorts that were much shorter than any I would have normally worn. Also, I was wearing sandals, I could see, with a small heel on them unlike anything a man would wear.

As we drove away from the municipal building, I heard soft giggling in the back seat, rising in octave each block we travelled. I looked at Randy. He had changed the least of any of us, I knew. He was a little taller and a little broader through the shoulders, as if he had once played football. He was handsome (where had that thought come from?) and appeared to be about twenty-five. The mustache he had suddenly grown had filled out, and I couldn’t help but think it looked a little... sexy? No! Yes. No.

I looked down at myself. My bare legs were now hairless, and my feet had been reduced in size. To add to my humiliation, I could see through the straps of the sandals that my toenails were now a frosted pink. I looked in fear at my fingernails, suspecting what I would find. And yes, they were the same frosted pink color now, and filed to a feminine point nearly half an inch beyond the tips of my now-slender fingers.

These changes were nothing, though, compared to the changes which were occurring over the rest of my body. I felt an odd twitching in my crotch and abdomen. It was as if my internal organs were being rearranged. I had little doubt that ovaries and a womb would be there in no time. As if to confirm that thought, I felt my testicles shrink and retract into my body. I gave a small gasp as I felt a sudden void between my legs as my penis shrank to nearly nothing. . I knew I now had a feminine slit between my legs. The slit actually moistened slightly at the thought.

On my chest, breasts were beginning to develop and began poking up into the soft white cotton top which clung to me like a second skin. My hair was continuing to get longer, and I could feel its weight on my head. There was a sudden pinprick at the lobe of each ear, and then I felt the small weight of earrings. I reached up to touch one, realizing as I touched it with my long frosted pink fingernail that it was a loop about an inch in diameter.

“Cindy, you got any money in your purse?”

So that was to be my name. It wasn’t a bad name, I supposed. I looked down near my feet and saw a purse. There was nothing I could do but play the role, at least until I saw the Judge again. If I suddenly started claiming I was a guy, I would find myself on a one-way trip to Ovid’s version of the funny farm. I looked in the purse and pulled out a wallet. There were two twenties in it. “It looks like forty dollars,” I said in a voice that was now firmly alto.

“That should be enough,” Randy said. “I don’t want to put it on a credit card.”

I felt something trying to get into my mind. It was as if there were a thousand voices whispering at me. Instinctively (woman’s intuition?), I knew the voices were trying to change my mind as they had changed my body. They would make me believe that I was Cindy, just as they had made Randy, Steve, and Carl believe they were not themselves. I tried to shut the voices out, and for the most part, I knew I had succeeded. I was still Matt O’Hara, regardless of what my body looked like.

I finally dared to look in the back seat, feeling the sweep of long hair as I turned. There, where Carl and Steve had been minutes before, were two young children, each about six years old. They appeared to be twins with dark blonde hair similar to my own, each dressed in white T-shirts, dark blue shorts, and sandals. But I knew they were fraternal twins, not identical, since Steve was now a young boy and Carl was obviously a young girl.

“Are we almost there, Mommy?” the girl Carl now was asked in a sweet, innocent voice.

What could I do but answer... her? “Almost, sweetheart.”

I don’t know where the ‘sweetheart’ came from. Apparently, I wasn’t completely successful in keeping out the information the small voices had tried to whisper to me. I felt an odd link to the children, which I recognized as what is commonly called ‘maternal instinct.’ I didn’t even know their names, but I knew they were mine.

“Mike, are you gonna get a Rusty Burger?” Randy asked, settling into his new role as the children’s father. Randy, now Jerry, I realized, was dressed like us, in shorts, T-shirt, and sandals. He was a good-looking guy, I realized, unable to shut the thought out of my mind. I felt as if I were suddenly gay even though I realized that the new plumbing between my legs made my thought about Jerry’s looks completely heterosexual.

“You bet, Dad,” Steve, now Mike, replied.

“Me, too,” the little girl said.

“I don’t know, Michelle,” Randy said slowly. “You don’t seem to be able to eat as much as Mike. That’s how your mom and I will be able to tell you apart when you’re older. Mike will be the fat one and you’ll be the skinny one.”

Carl, now Michelle, giggled so girlishly that I nearly shuddered.

I almost envied the three of them. They thought they had always been the people they were now. Only I seemed to remember who I really was. But I knew that wouldn’t do me any good. Until I could find the Judge, I would have to be Cindy Whoever, wife and mother, or I would probably find myself on the receiving end of whatever passed for psychiatric care in Ovid, Oklahoma.

We pulled up at a brightly-lit building with a large smiling neon bull under which in neon was written ‘Rusty’s Best Burgers.’ I got out of the car, trying to play my role, but feeling like a man in unwilling drag. As I shut the door, Randy called, “Honey, you forgot your purse.”

Well, that was my first mistake. I wasn’t used to carrying a purse. I wondered for a few seconds why women didn’t carry wallets like men, but the feeling of denim tight against my now-prominent ass told me why. I grabbed the purse and slung the strap over one of my newly-narrowed shoulders, embarrassed at the feminine look it must have given me.

The children Steve and Carl had become piled out of the back seat as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. “Mom?” the girl who had been Carl asked, sending a weird chill up my spine with the realization that in this warped reality, I was her mother. “Can I have a sundae?”

“We’ll see,” I said in the best motherly tone I could muster. I have to play the role, I told myself.

As we walked into the restaurant, I felt for the first time the sway of large breasts and ample hips. It was the strangest, most alien feeling I had ever experienced. I could feel Randy, or rather the man he had become, taking my body in with his eyes. I imagined I was quite a sexy sight, with my long bare legs and short denim shorts. I halfway expected him to ravish me in the parking lot, but he stopped short by slipping his arm around my newly narrow waist while the children skipped ahead of us, oblivious to both what had happened to them and the attentions their ‘father’ was giving their ‘mother.’

Once inside the restaurant, I felt a new surge of embarrassment as every male eye in the place turned to look at me. Again, I felt as if I were in drag. But I knew there was nothing unfeminine about me. I hadn’t seen my face yet, but I could taste the lipstick which had suddenly appeared there, and I was sure my face matched the rest of my body. Every man in the place saw an attractive young woman.

I quickly rushed the kids to a booth, taking Michelle on my side while Mike and Jerry sat across from us. I nearly shuddered upon realizing how glibly their new names had come to me.

“Hi, Jerry, Cindy,” a perky young waitress greeted us. She was perhaps eighteen, brunette, and quite attractive. Again, I realized I could almost see through her.

“Hi, Maxine,” Randy, or rather, Jerry said nonchalantly. I just smiled and hoped it looked friendly. “I think it’s gonna be Rusty Burgers all around, except Michelle will have a Rusty Junior.”

“Aw, dad!” My new daughter whined.

“Don’t worry,” I said in my best soothing mother’s voice, “you can have some of mine if you’re still hungry.” God knew I wasn’t going to be very hungry. The thought of what I had become was enough to ruin my appetite.

“Cheese?”

“Sure. On all of them,” Jerry said without asking. I was a little incensed. I was used to ordering my own food.

“How about drinks?”

“Choc malt,” both kids said at once.

“I’ll take a vanilla malt,” Jerry said. Then, to me. “Your usual, hon?”

“Sure,” I said noncommittally. Whatever my usual was, I supposed this body would like it.

“A Diet Coke for Cindy,” he said.

Diet Coke?

If I was going to drink Coke, I never drank Diet Coke. Still, I reasoned, this female body had borne two children. It wouldn’t be a good idea to let it get fat. If, perish the thought, I was stuck in it for the rest of my life, I certainly didn’t want to be a fat chick. While I could see that my body was well proportioned, I wasn’t exactly model slim even at that.

“I’ve got to go to the restroom,” I announced at once. I didn’t really need to, but I wanted to get a better view of what I had become. Also, I didn’t want to have to keep up my end of the conversation with my ‘family.’ They seemed to be comfortable with their new situation, but I was not.

“Me, too, mom!” my ‘daughter’ declared. It seemed as if going to the restroom in packs was normal, even for girls as young as–what–six?

“Okay,” I sighed, resigned to having to play the new role even in the restroom. Together, we marched off to the restroom.

“Where are you going, mom?”

Thank god she had gone with me. I nearly blundered into the men’s room. “Sorry, honey. I just made a wrong turn.”

“Are you okay, mom?”

Was I okay? I couldn’t say for sure. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied.

My first impression of the women’s restroom was how much cleaner it was than the typical men’s room. Well, I didn’t object. If I had to use one, I wanted everything to be clean since I could no longer stand to do my business. As long as I remained a woman, I wanted to be able to sit down on a clean toilet seat. I realized with a pang of sadness that I was going to miss the ability to piss standing up. You never realize how much the little things mean until something comes along to take them away.

Michelle marched nonchalantly into one of the stalls, and I could see her shorts fall around her ankles as she sat down, her short legs causing her feet to rise up off the floor. I was beginning to think of her as being Michelle now. It was not part of the spell, I realized. It was simply too difficult to think of that darling little girl having ever been a male twenty-one year old.

Darling? I thought. I had never used that word in that context in my entire life. I supposed I would now start saying things like “Isn’t that precious?” and “He’s so sweet.” How could I survive this experience without dying of embarrassment?

While Michelle was in the stall, I used the time to quickly examine myself in the mirror. I was, I guessed, about five-four or five-five. My hair was a fairly dark blonde, slightly curled, falling naturally over my narrowed shoulders. My face was cute, for lack of a better world. I wouldn’t win the Miss America Pageant with it, but it was certainly attractive. It looked a little like Meg Ryan’s face, I thought, but perhaps I was just being generous with myself.

My new breasts seemed enormous to me. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I guessed them to be about a 36C. Later, when I confirmed this size by examining the label in the bra, I took no joy in being right. My hips were wide, about a 38, I thought (again, I later was proven correct). My waist was a little disappointing. It wasn’t as narrow as I thought it should be. While it wasn’t bad, it had probably spread a little with the birth of twins. Don’t get me wrong–I was an attractive woman, but I was the type of woman who would have to watch her weight if she was going to stay attractive. I resolved next time to order a salad instead of a Rusty Burger.

All in all, I was attractive. I wasn’t model or TV star attractive, but I would probably turn a few male heads in a shopping center parking lot, particularly if I were wearing the tight T-shirt and shorts combination I now had on. If I were still my male self, I would be interested in this woman.

Damn it, I suddenly thought. I should have brought the purse into the women’s room. Then I could have found out who I was besides just Cindy. If I stayed in this body long, I would have to develop the habit of carrying it with me. Men had it easier. All I had to do as a man was stuff a wallet in my rear pocket. But I realized sadly once more that my new ass was far too large to allow me to stick a wallet in the tiny pocket which rested there.

“Ready, mom?” Michelle asked. I hadn’t noticed she had finished.

“I guess so,” I sighed. I was as ready as I could be.

The meal was relatively uneventful. It reminded me of many a meal I had enjoyed with my family when I was younger. Mike and Michelle were fairly well behaved and offered up only an occasional barbed comment to his or her sibling. Ironically, as Mike and Michelle, they seemed better behaved than they had as Steve and Carl. At least some good had come from the transformation.

Jerry, as Randy had now become, was not too unlike Randy. He was a little on the quiet side but polite and calm. I found myself comfortable around his new persona, at least as long as he didn’t call me ‘honey’ or ‘sweetheart.’

The Rusty Burger was actually pretty good, but I found I wasn’t able to eat the entire thing. Part of the reason for my lack of appetite was, I was my newly diminished size, but a larger part, I realized, was my desire to not become Cindy the Human Blimp. I left nearly half of my sandwich and all of my fries.

After we had finished, the kids and Jerry ordered ice cream cones, but I demurred. As much as I liked ice cream, I knew I couldn’t afford the calories. I began to suspect that my shorts were a little tight not just to be sexy but because I needed to lose a pound or two as well.

Everyone seemed to be having a good time except me. I thought I saw an occasional look of panic on Mike’s face a time or two, but it quickly faded away into the face of the happy six year old boy he had become. Michelle daintily licked at her cone as if she had been a girl all her life. As Carl, I had seen him–her–eat like a pig, stuffing half an ice cream cone down at one gulp. Now, as a young girl, she was as careful about how she ate as a devotee of Emily Post. Jerry, my new ‘husband’ ate in manly silence, watching his little family enjoy their treats much as a proud wolf watching his pack.

I tried to look happy as well. It would have served no purpose for me to act out of character. If I were suddenly to yell, “What is wrong with all of you? Can’t you see we’re not ourselves? I’m supposed to be a man!” I would be locked up within the hour. I had to play my role as best I could until I could see the Judge in the morning.

When my ‘family’ had finished eating the ice cream cones, we went back to the car. The other three were laughing and talking. For them, it was a perfect ending to another day. I smiled and played my part as best I could, but I felt as if I were miscast in some bizarre play as I walked back to the car. At least it was a relief not to be in public anymore. Every male over the age of puberty who walked into Rusty’s as we ate took a moment to look at my breasts. I felt as if I had been put on display.

The ride ‘home’ was uneventful. We had turned away from the brightly-lit business streets of the town and down a quiet residential street, flanked by large oak trees and stately houses. Soon, though, we were past the big houses to an area where the trees were smaller and the houses were newer but more modest. We seemed to be in Ovid’s smaller version of a subdivision, the happy home for middle class Americans everywhere.

We pulled into the driveway of an attractive two-story house with a well-manicured lawn. The garage door rose automatically and we pulled into a two-stall garage. A dark blue Ford Ranger truck was parked on the other side of the garage. Great, I thought. My choices for driving would be a soccer-mom station wagon or a redneck pickup. How small town could we be?

The kids bolted for what looked like the den, and it wasn’t long before I heard the sounds of a television spewing the cheap music and bad acting of some cartoon show. It was probably the Cartoon Network, I thought. Well, at least we had cable. Great, I could watch Lifetime, the women’s channel.

“Hey, kids,” Jerry (for I was now thinking of him as ‘Jerry’) called, “you guys get ready for bed. Tomorrow’s a school day.”

“Aw!” two voices chorused.

“Now!” he said sternly.

“Okay,” came the chorused reply.

He turned to me. “What’s wrong, hon?”

I suddenly realized I was just standing there by the entrance to the garage. This was supposed to be my house. I was Cindy Whatever and this was my home and this was my family. My problem was that none of it was real, or at least none of it felt real. I just didn’t know what to do.

“Cindy?”

“I’m okay, Jerry,” I managed to say.

“You don’t look okay. Your parents are fine. That was the reason we went out to their farm today, wasn’t it?”

Was it? That explained why the family was on an outing on a school/work day. In this reality, my parents apparently lived on a farm and I must have been worried about them, so we had taken the day to go see them. Or at least, we had taken the afternoon. I tried to visualize my parents, but all I could see were the parents Matt O’Hara had left behind in Pennsylvania at the beginning of the school term.

“Yes,” I said mechanically. “They’re fine.”

Jerry looked a little uncertain, but he let it drop.

Fortunately, the ‘kids’ knew the routine for getting ready for bed and did so with a minimum of fuss. I was duly thankful of this, for I had no idea what I would need to do to get them ready. By eight thirty, they were in their pajamas and off to bed in their separate rooms. It was with a sigh of relief that I turned off the lights in their rooms.

Jerry was waiting for me in the den. We hadn’t spoken since I had gotten the kids ready for bed. I saw with trepidation that his look of concern was back.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“I feel fine,” I lied. I just wanted to get off to bed and forget this whole experience. With any luck at all, I would wake up in the morning to find this had all been a long nightmare, the result of a hard night of drinking in Kansas City. It would be Thursday morning again, and I would navigate Randy around the entire state of Oklahoma. I wanted to be as far away from Ovid as possible.

Jerry rose from his chair and, to my alarm, slipped his arms around my waist, pressing me to his chest. I felt the not exactly unpleasant sensation of having my new boobs pressed against his chest. Then I felt with alarm something growing in his groin, pressing against my abdomen. Good god, he was getting a hard-on over me!

“You need to relax,” he said, his voice soothing.

Oh, I did need to relax, I thought, but not the way he had in mind. I had been on the other side of this scene enough times to know where this was leading. No amount of soothing talk was going to get me on my back with my legs spread wide.

But my new body had other ideas. Those nipples flattened against his chest were trying to get hard, and there was a feeling of pain mixed with pleasure coursing through them. Down south, I could feel my new vagina starting to moisten, and there was a tingling sensation in about the spot I suspected my clitoris lay.

“Jerry,” I began, surprised at how throaty my voice had suddenly become, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It isn’t,” he agreed, bending to kiss me on the neck. “It’s a great idea.”

I could feel my heart beating faster. In my mind, I was a normal, heterosexual male with all the normal drives. I still found women attractive, at least on an intellectual level. The last thing in the world my male mind wanted was to have a man kissing my body. But my male mind was now attached to a very female body, and as repugnant as the thought of making love was to Matt, Cindy was beginning to respond.

Involuntarily, my own hands came up to grip Jerry’s ass. It was rock hard, unlike the soft female asses I was used to holding. And instead of my large male hands, I was gripping Jerry’s ass with small, delicate hands crowned with long, feminine nails. As if to contrast the feeling I was experiencing, I felt Jerry’s large, strong hands grip my own fleshy ass, and I felt a little shudder of pleasure.

There was still time for my male mind to assert itself, I realized. All I had to do was say ‘no.’ Just say no, I thought. Just say it...

But before I could say it, my lips were covered by his. I felt his tongue pressing past my lips and into my own mouth. The time to say no had passed. I had begun to feel dizzy as my breathing became more rapid. No matter what my mind wanted, my body wanted something different.

With almost no effort, I was able to shift my mind into neutral. I felt everything normally, and even reacted as a normal woman would react, but I no longer reasoned in the usual sense of the word. Cindy was now in full control, only I was Cindy.

Still holding on to each other, we strolled into our darkened bedroom. Then, with a hunger too intense to describe, we pulled at each other’s clothing until we were sprawled out nude across the bed.

My body was on fire, anxious for the touch of my man. Our hands moved over each other’s body’s in a random frenzy. Then, suddenly, Jerry’s hand rested between my legs, and for the first time in my life, I learned what it really meant to have a clitoris. I returned the favor, grasping his penis without thinking.

In moments, he was inside me, sending tiny surges of pleasure through my entire groin. My male mind tried to resurface and stop the action, but my female body held any rational thoughts back. Then, without warning, there was a surge of intense pleasure which seemed to wash through my entire body. This was followed by a sudden moan from Jerry, and I felt something warm and wet coursing into my body...

I awakened about half an hour later, disoriented and shocked to find my body both naked and female, held in place by a large, hairy arm. Then, it all flooded back into my mind. I was someone named Cindy, mother of two, wife of Jerry and... And that was about all I knew. Wasn’t I something? I didn’t even know who I was, and yet I had just slept with a man. Slept? We did a lot more than sleep, I realized.

I carefully moved Jerry’s arm away without waking him, got up, and went to the bathroom. Turning on the light, I saw I was no worse for the wear of the evening. My hair was a mess and my crotch looked a little sticky, but other than that, I was about normal, if being a woman after twenty-one years of being male could be considered normal.

I washed myself off, paying special attention to the sticky substance. My god, I realized, I had just had sex with a man. I could get pregnant. Apparently this Cindy had done so twice before. What could I do?

Then, I spied a little silver container, circular in shape. I had seen this type of container before. Sure enough, I thought as I opened the case. It contained birth control pills in little slots labelled with the days of the week. It was Thursday, so I looked at the slot for that day. There was no pill in the slot, I realized with relief.

When I got back into the bedroom, I saw Jerry had gotten up, put on some pajamas and gone back to bed without cleaning up. Just like a man, I found myself thinking. What an odd thought, I mused. After all, I was a man, or at least I had been. Yet I knew what to do as a woman after sex, almost as if everything I needed to know was buried somewhere in my mind. As if to prove this point, I realized I had absently gone over to ‘my’ dresser, pulled out a short nightie, and slipped it over my head without giving it a second thought. It was like an autonomic response, like breathing in and out.

I slipped gracefully into bed. Thank god it was a king size. The way Jerry was sprawled out, my small body wouldn’t have had a chance in a standard bed.

I lay there thinking about what had happened the last few hours. The day had started normally enough, but from the moment we had approached Ovid, my life had changed radically. Ovid. Where had I heard that name before? He was an ancient poet, I realized, either Greek or Roman, I couldn’t recall which. I remembered a history teacher way back in high school talking about him. Yes, he was Roman, and he had written... the Odyssey? No, that was Homer. Let me see... right, love poems and something else. What was it?

Then I remembered. It was called Metamorphosis, or something like that, and it dealt with stories of transformation from Greek and Roman myths. Had there been a sex change in it? I didn’t really know. My reading tastes revolved around the techno-thrillers such as Tom Clancy. I resolved to read it sometime since I now could be an entire chapter in the book. Apparently someone in this little spot of Oklahoma (or was it the Twilight Zone?) had a sense of humor.

Okay, so what was to be done? I thought before sleep claimed me. I needed to get back first thing Friday and see the Judge. He was obviously the key to all of this. I would try to get him to change me back into my normal male self and my friends back as well. At least, the rest of my ‘family’ thought everything was normal. They weren’t going through what I was experiencing. But I began to realize the longer I was Cindy, the more I would begin to think like and become her. Already I had given in to the sexual needs of this female body, something that I would have never imagined only a few hours before. As sick as that made me feel in retrospect, it had seemed normal at the time. It was as if I were an airplane on autopilot. If I just let myself go, I could act like a normal woman. How long would it be before being female and a wife and mother felt absolutely normal even off autopilot? I had to act quickly, I thought, as I drifted off to sleep.

I awakened the next morning to the sound of water running in the shower. For a moment, I forgot what had happened to me and thought I was back at Notre Dame, getting ready for another day of classes. Then I realized not only did I not have my frequent morning hard-on, but that there was nothing between my legs, and the weight on my chest and hips reminded me that I wasn’t my usual self. I absently brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes and sat up, feeling the weight of my breasts shift. I bit my lip softly, tasting the lipstick which was there. It seemed as if every sensation was designed to remind me of my new identity.

I got up, feeling the odd sensation of my nightie on my thighs and headed for the toilet to relieve a most insistent urge to void. Sitting on the stool, I once again regretted the loss of being able to pee standing up. This was most inconvenient. On autopilot once more, I wiped myself and flushed.

I padded back into the bedroom where Jerry had just finished his shower. He was standing in front of me in the buff, and I was embarrassed to realize that I was admiring his body. He smiled and grabbed me by the waist, planting a big kiss on my lips.

“Too bad we’ve both got to go to work,” he said.

Work? I worked? Where? Thank god we both worked though, I thought. Otherwise, it would be back to bed for more bang bang.

“I got the kids up already,” he told me. “I’ll get them fed while you shower. Then I’ll take them to school but you’ll have to pick them up from day care.”

“Sure,” I muttered, not having the foggiest idea where Jerry or I worked or where the kids went to school or day care. How was I going to fake my way through an entire day? I still hadn’t looked in my wallet to see what my last name was.

He gave me another kiss. “You’d better get your shower or you’ll be late,” he admonished me.

“Okay,” I agreed.

Where to start? I had no idea what to wear, or for that matter, even where my clothes were. The only women I ever lived around were my mother and younger sister, but I never paid a lot of attention to what they did since I was a kid and that was ‘girl stuff.’ Perhaps if I had been married I might have a clue, but I was at a total loss.

I knew enough to recognize which dresser was mine from the array of cosmetics arranged on its top. Then I remembered that I had managed to find a nightie there the night before without knowing where to look. That had been in the dark, too. I tried to reach the same mental state I had been in then (minus the sex, of course). On autopilot again to my relief, I went directly to the right drawer and pulled out a tan bra and matching panties. Okay, I was on a roll...

Jerry was downstairs fixing cereal for the kids, so I didn’t have to worry about stripping in front of him for my shower. I imagined that seeing me in the nude might lead to complications.

I had been tired and confused the previous night, and we had made love in the dark, so this was my first time to really examine my new body closely. It was certainly an attractive body with large but firm breasts with alert pink nipples and areolae. My hips were, I thought, a little wider than I would have liked, and my waist was showing signs of being not as narrow as I would have hoped. Probably the result of birthing twins, I thought. My legs were terrific, though, long and well shaped with well-defined ankles. I would look great in heels, I realized with some discomfort.

Before stepping into the shower, I took a moment to examine my face again since I hadn’t had much time to look at it at Rusty’s. It was a pretty face, but again, not beautiful. I could have been a cheerleader in school, but I would have fallen way short of being a movie star. Or maybe I could be in movies, I thought mischievously. I could dye my hair light blonde, wear a push up bra, and be lounging by the pool in some insipid B-movie. The thought was enough to almost make me laugh or cry, but I wasn’t sure which.

My shower was sensuous without being provocative. I resisted with ease the temptation to rub myself all over like they do in the late night movies on cable. Maybe later, I thought. I had too many other things to worry about this morning. Finding the Judge was the most important order of the day.

But what was I going to say to him, I thought as I absently soaped my new body. Anyone who had the power of transformation was not someone to cross. What could I say? Change me back or I’ll... Or I’ll what? Stomp my foot? Cry? No, I would have to appeal to his better nature, assuming he had one.

Perhaps the first question I should ask was why? Oh, sure, I had seen movies where the hero’s sex was changed, but that was usually as a punishment for mistreating women. Had I done that? Not that I could remember. I was just your normal every day college guy, looking for your normal every day college co-ed. I had managed to get laid once in a while, but I never forced myself on anyone. So why me? If I had to be changed, why was I the mommy instead of the daddy?

Deep in thought, my autopilot had taken over again, and I found myself standing outside the shower, dry, with my bra and panties on while I rolled on deodorant. Well, at least the autopilot seemed to work well enough for me that I would look normal. I shuddered at the thought of putting on makeup all by myself.

Next, I had to decide on an outfit to wear. Where did I work and what sort of job did I do? Did I work someplace where casual attire was the order of the day, or did I have to get dressed in a skirt and heels? I decided on the latter since it would be more explainable to be overdressed than underdressed. Besides, a little voice inside me told me it was the natural thing to do. Between the autopilot and the little voice, I might just make it through this yet, I thought.

I selected a conservative white blouse, silky but not overtly frilly and feminine and a navy skirt and matching jacket. I needed heels, so I selected a pair of black ones with about an inch heel. No sense in getting on three-inch heels and falling over. Given the weight on my chest, that was a real possibility. Pantyhose proved no problem, as Cindy had a drawer full of them, mostly the same neutral taupe color.

I didn’t even need any help to finish getting dressed. I had seen enough women put on pantyhose to know how to do it properly. Still, I began to realize why women shave their legs. Other than the obvious reason of appearance, even the slightest stubble would probably be enough to run the hose. Now I understood why you see so many pantyhose ads on TV. These wouldn’t last more than a few wearings. I had to admit, though, that they looked good on me. They were a perfect fit.

The blouse was a little difficult, since it buttoned up the back. Still, my arms proved to be quite limber, so I was able to get it buttoned without too much trouble. The skirt was even easier than pants. All you had to do was step into it. It seemed terribly short, but at three inches above the knee, it was stylish. Still, I felt terribly overexposed. However when in Rome (or Ovid as the case might be)... The jacket was tailored differently than a man’s jacket, but it served the same function, so it proved no trouble at all.

Next came the makeup. I sighed in resignation and let the autopilot engage again. There was no sense in attempting this exercise without help, unless I wanted to try out for the circus. I watched with amazement as my hands deftly applied eye shadow, eye liner and mascara. I was astounded at the change it gave my eyes. They seemed bigger and deeper. They made me look more sophisticated.

Less time was spent applying a little blush and lipstick, but the finished product was a work of art. I looked good enough to eat. But I began to notice there was something missing... In a few moments, I realized I wasn’t wearing any jewelry. No woman was fully dressed without the right accessories. I expertly picked out a conservative gold necklace, a gold bracelet, and two small gold hoops for my ears. Attaching them, I took another look at myself and decided I was ready to face the day.

“Bye, Mommy!” two young voices chorused, and my reverie was interrupted by two small children attached to my hips.

“Bye, kids,” I managed to say, playing my role well, I thought.

“Later, hon,” Jerry said, his arm around me as he planted a small kiss on my cheek. I guess he knew better than to screw up my makeup. “I’ll see you at five.”

Suddenly, I was alone. I began to realize how normal this entire morning had felt. I wondered suddenly if we were all just playing our roles. Perhaps Jerry knew he was really Randy, and Mike and Michelle knew they were really Steve and Carl. Maybe they were just as frightened as I was and playing their parts until something could be done. I doubted it, though. They seemed too comfortable with the parts they were playing.

I went downstairs and made some toast (no butter–must lose weight) and poured a glass of juice. It was about seven thirty. The offices at city hall should be open at eight, I thought. That meant I would probably be late for work, wherever work was. Maybe my wallet would answer the question.

I broke it open and looked at my ID’s. My full name was Cindy Mae Patton. Not a bad name, I thought. It could have been something long and hard to pronounce. Patton would do for now. I was twenty-five years old. Given the age of the twins, I must have had them right after high school. I wondered if I had had to get married. My height was listed as five four, so I had guessed almost right, and my weight was... well, let’s just say that I vowed to lose five pounds in a hurry and ten pounds over time if I remained as Cindy.

There was nothing in the wallet to tell me where I worked. There were no company badges or insurance cards or business cards. After I finished at the city hall, I would have to go back on autopilot and drive myself to work.

I looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was a quarter until eight, so I figured I would be able to be in the Judge’s office by eight. Ovid was a small enough town that I was sure I’d have no trouble the city hall again. All I had to do was backtrack until I reached the business district. It would be easy from there.

In the morning sun, Ovid appeared to be the pleasant small town of my youth. It was clean and bright, and showed the signs of small town prosperity. The only thing wrong with it was the people. Most of them still appeared almost transparent. I could see them, but I could also see right through them. But their actions appeared normal as they went about their business.

As expected, I had no trouble finding city hall. A police car was just pulling out, and the driver looked like Officer Mercer. I parked the Taurus in the adjoining lot and walked nervously into city hall. I expected to have to give a lengthy explanation to someone, but the receptionist on duty (mostly transparent) just looked up at me and smiled. “Morning, Cindy. You guys have a fun day at your folks’ farm?”

This was probably the most unexpected thing she could have said to me. “Uh, sure,” I managed to say.

“Good, because the mayor has been looking for you already.”

“The mayor?”

She frowned. “Cindy, are you okay, honey? You didn’t get bad news at your folks’ place, did you?”

“Huh? Oh, no. They’re fine. Everything’s fine.” I almost added ‘How are you?’ in imitation of the Star Wars line, but I held myself back. “I’ll check in with... the mayor right now,” I promised, starting down the corridor to my right toward the courtrooms.

“Then don’t you think you should go the right direction?” she asked.

“Oops,” I said with a smile and changed direction, nearly losing my balance when my weight shifted in the heels.

I was met suddenly by a man in a suit. He was partially bald with a small mustache. He appeared to be about fifty or so and significantly overweight. Like the receptionist and most of the people I had seen in Ovid, he was somewhat transparent. “Oh, there you are, Cindy,” he said. “I wanted to go over the speeding citations issued last week.”

I didn’t know what to say. I just stared at him. I had no idea what he was talking about.

When I didn’t answer, he said, “Let’s go down to the Judge’s office. We can look at them there.”

That was a great idea, I thought. He was going to take me right to the Judge. “Sure,” I agreed, following him to an office near the end of the corridor.

I could tell as we stepped in the office that no one was there. The office suite consisted of an empty secretarial station which was situated by the entrance to a larger, more opulent office, also deserted.

“Ah, here they are,” he said, lifting a report off the secretarial desk. As he leafed through the report, my eyes rested on the nameplate on the secretary’s desk. ‘Cindy Patton’ it read. Well, at least I didn’t have to figure out where I worked. I was there. This was the best break I could have hoped for, I realized. Now all I had to do was wait for the Judge to come to work.

“If you talk to the Judge today, tell him I’d like to go over this report with him,” the man said, heading for the door. “And tell him to enjoy his stay in Tulsa. I wish I could take a long weekend there.”

Tulsa? Long weekend? Oh no, I thought. That meant the Judge wouldn’t be back until Monday at the earliest. I was going to be stuck as a woman for the entire weekend. Well, at least I had access to the Judge’s office. Maybe I could learn what was going on.

If I was the Judge’s secretary, I assumed I would have full access to his office, and that seemed to be the case. Several people came into the outer office during the morning, and none of them seemed to give a second thought to the fact that I was systematically going through the Judge’s files.

At first, I found very little of interest. Most of the paperwork on and in his desk was the sort of thing you would expect on a municipal Judge’s desk. There were court briefs, recent rulings in other courts, and a number of professional journals. The only interesting aspect of his desk was the lack of personal paraphernalia. Everyone I’ve ever known had some personal items on his desk. Usually, it’s family pictures or coffee mugs that say ‘World’s Greatest Golfer,’ but in the Judge’s case, there was nothing. It was almost as if the Judge was as transparent in his own way as the other residents of Ovid.

The file that finally interested me was one tucked in the back of one of his desk drawers. It was a list of names with no explanation of its meaning. The list consisted of about five hundred names, one of the last of which was mine, or at least the name I now had. The rest of my family appeared on that list as well. I decided to make a copy of it. I suspected that the list was the roster of people the Judge had created in Ovid. Again, no one questioned me as I made the copy.

Once I had gone through the Judge’s desk, I decided it was time to go through my own desk. As I already pointed out, a good deal can be learned about a person by observing what is on or in their desk. There was the obligatory family picture, showing me in a nice off-white dress and Jerry in a stylish suit. The kids were dressed in their Sunday best, and we all looked happy and content. The only problem was we never posed for that picture.

There was another picture of me with an attractive older couple standing outside what appeared to be a well-kept farm house. The receptionist had said something about my folk’s farm. My guess was that this couple was my nonexistent parents. Or were they nonexistent? Perhaps they really were out there on the farm, thinking about their daughter and her family. I shuddered. It was all too weird.

The side drawers of the desk were filled with files and forms which looked like the files and forms anyone would expect in an office, but the center drawer held more clues about me and my new life. There was a list of emergency phone numbers, one for my ‘parents,’ two for the kids (one for school and one for afterschool day-care), and one for Jerry.

I had to pick up the kids after school, so I decided I’d better find out where to go. I dialled the number.

“Northside Elementary,” a voice answered.

“Yes,” I began. “My family just moved to town.” No lie there. “Could you tell me where your school is located?”

The directions were simple enough. I copied them down and then asked what time school was out. I was told three thirty. I did the same with the day care center, making sure that they picked up kids from Northside at three thirty. At least that situation was under control. All I would need to do after work was pick them up.

Next, I called Jerry.

“Duggan’s IGA,” a voice said.

“Yes, this is Cindy Patton. Is Jerry there?” I was a little tentative in my request. To be honest, I was surprised to learn that Jerry worked in a supermarket. I had seen several IGA stores on our trip, so I knew what they were. We seemed to live pretty well on a secretary’s salary and the earnings of a grocery clerk.

“Hey, hon,” Jerry’s voice came through, “I was just going to call you. Mr Duggan is coming in from Oklahoma City tonight. He wants to meet with me in the morning and then play a round of golf with Jack and I. Then, he’s going to take you, me, Jack and Sherry over to Winston’s for dinner. It sounds like it may mean a promotion to Store Manager. Jack’s in line to move up. Plan on meeting them about six tomorrow. Since the kids will be at church camp Saturday night, we won’t even need a sitter.”

“Gee, that’s great,” I replied, not really thinking it was great at all.

“Okay see you after work. What’s for dinner?”

Dinner? I had to cook dinner? “It’s a surprise,” I said. And it would be too–a surprise for me. I couldn’t cook worth a damn. At school, I had depended upon microwave dinners and fast food. At home, I always left cooking to my mother and sister. After all, that was women’s work. Well, guess what I was now?

“Sounds interesting. See you tonight about six thirty.”

I slumped down in my chair. This was getting more complicated than I could ever imagine.

At about noon, an interesting person came into my office. She was about my height, black with long black hair, and a body that would have stopped traffic. If I had thought my skirt was short, I looked like I was wearing a peasant skirt compared to this girl. I knew I was attractive, but I couldn’t hold a candle to this girl. But I haven’t mentioned the most interesting thing about her yet: she wasn’t transparent.

“Want to grab some lunch, Cindy?” she asked.

I looked at my tiny women’s watch. I could barely read the numbers, but I could see that it was lunchtime. “Okay,” I replied firmly. If this girl was real, I needed to talk to her.

“I’m Dinah Moon,” she told me with a smile. Her words surprised me for she obviously knew my name. There was something about her, too. It was as if she could walk through a rainstorm and not get wet. I knew instinctively that Dinah could tell me what was going on in Ovid–if she would.

“What’s going on here, Dinah?” I asked bluntly as we walked out of the building and headed toward the business district. No sense in delaying my questions. I felt like Alice in Wonderland (even down to the right sex), and something told me Dinah was my Cheshire cat. I didn’t want her to disappear before I got my answers.

“Let’s wait until we’re at lunch to discuss it, okay?”

“Sure,” I agreed, trying clumsily to keep up with her brisk pace. “But would you mind slowing down a bit?”

She stopped and looked at me. “A little new in heels, are we?”

Oh god! She did know! “No, I... I mean...”

“Don’t worry,” she laughed. “I’m the only one who’s noticed.” She slowed her pace to accommodate me.

We walked wordlessly for about a block when we came to a little cafe with a small painted sign in front which said ‘The Greenhouse.’

Dinah gave me a wicked smile and said, “Nothing but soup and salad for us chicks, eh?”

I didn’t bother to answer. Dinah seemed to be having enough fun for the both of us.

The cafe was only about half full. I guess Ovid wasn’t much of a town for soup and salad. It was probably more of a steak and potatoes place, I thought. Still, the Greenhouse was a pleasant enough place with lots of hanging plants and cozy little booths that afforded a fair degree of privacy. I wondered if that wasn’t the real reason Dinah had chosen it for lunch.

We were seated quickly, and each of us ordered a small chef’s salad. I ordered a glass of white wine while Dinah ordered an iced tea. “I have to watch my weight,” she told me with a wink, “so no booze for Dinah.”

“Uh, right,” I agreed, stopping the waiter. “Make mine iced tea, too.” No sense in tempting the God of Fat. I was going to have to be more careful.

“So how do you like Ovid?” Dinah asked.

“I thought I was a life-long resident,” I responded coyly. If she wasn’t going to tell me anything, why should I open up to her?

She laughed and patted my slender wrist. “Oh, that is really rich! You sure, are, honey. You’ve lived here all your life. So let me ask it another way. Is everything going well for you and Jerry?”

“I suppose as well as can be expected under the circumstances,” I said evasively. “I’m learning the ropes. Now, how about you? You know what’s happening here, don’t you?”

“Well,” she said with false modesty, “I suppose I do know more than most people around here.”

“Then tell me what’s going on,” I demanded.

She said nothing for a moment as our tea was delivered. I cursed the waiter’s timing, for now she would have time to consider her remarks more carefully.

“I really can’t tell you everything I know,” she said after the waiter left. “But I’ll try to answer some of your questions.”

“Okay,” I agreed, “here’s the first question. Why is it you and I know I wasn’t Cindy until yesterday?”

“Oh, more people than that know,” she said. “When the Judge changes someone–you had figured out it was the Judge, hadn’t you?”

I nodded.

“Well, when he changes you, you have about a one in four chance of remembering your past life. If you think about it, your family is right on the mark. You remembered, but Jerry and the twins don’t have a clue, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, there’s about five hundred changees in town right now, so that means about a hundred and twenty-five or so remember. Then there’s maybe another fifty or so who remember some of the time. Usually, they just chalk it up to a dream or fantasy, but every now and then, someone sort of ‘wakes up’ and remembers everything. Some of them remember from then on, and with some of them, the memory fades. Of course, that’s just the people. I don’t know about the animals.”

“Animals?” I asked, sipping my tea. It was good with some sort of berry flavor.

“Oh, sure. The Judge can make you into an animal, too. One guy a couple of weeks ago even got made into a tree. He’s that big oak tree down at Sooner Park by the playground.”

“What did he do to piss off the Judge that much?” I asked, horrified.

“I think he was some kind of child molester. I think the Judge thought if he liked kids so much, he’d put him where he could be around them all the time but never do them any harm. He has a unique sense of justice.”

“Who is he?” I asked.

“The Tree Man? I don’t know his name, but...”

“No,” I interrupted. “Not the Tree Man. The Judge. Who is he?”

She grinned a wicked grin at me. “I don’t think he wants you to know–at least not yet.”

We paused for a moment as our salads were delivered. Ovid might have been a small town in farming country, but the chef’s salad would have been a hit in Chicago. After only toast that morning, I was hungrier than I realized. I dug in, stopping for only a moment to ask, “So who were you before? I mean, were you a guy, too?”

Her smile this time was forced. “That’s not a proper question to ask in Ovid.”

“But you know about me,” I argued. “Why shouldn’t I know about you?”

“Oh, you’ll know some day,” she promised. “I think the Judge has some interesting things in store for you. After you’ve worked with him awhile, you’ll learn about me.”

I hoped he didn’t have anything else in store for me. What he had done to me already was bad enough. But on the other hand, at least I was still human. I didn’t think I could cope with being turned into an animal or, worse yet, a tree.

“At least tell me about Ovid,” I urged. “Anything you can tell me might be of great help later.”

“Well, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you,” she mused. “After all, a lot of what you want to know is probably available at the library. What would you like to know?”

“First, where did it come from? It’s not even on the map.”

“Well,” Dinah said looking up as if reading a book in her mind, “I believe the town was incorporated in 1908, the year after Oklahoma became a state and...”

“I thought you were going to level with me,” I said, showing my irritation. “I had a map of the state in the car before we came here, and there was no Ovid on it. The town isn’t so small that it wouldn’t be on the map.”

“Well,” she said slowly with a grin, “we did have lot of growth last year. We went from zero to about fifteen thousand.”

“Including the ghosts,” I prompted.

“Ghosts? Oh, you mean the shades. Yes, including them.”

“So where were you before Ovid?” I had asked her before if she had been a guy and she hadn’t answered, but I figured I might as well ask again in a little different fashion. It couldn’t hurt, and I didn’t really expect a straight answer. After all, Ovid seemed short on straight answers.

The question actually caught her by surprise. Her eyes widened for a moment before she said, “That’s not a good question. Don’t ever ask that of anyone. If they want you to know, they’ll tell you–quietly, of course.”

“But you haven’t always been Dinah Moon,” I prompted.

She shook her head, letting her silky black curls drift over her shoulder. “No, I suppose I haven’t, but then again, I suppose I have.”

“You’re talking in riddles,” I pointed out.

She patted my hand again. “Oh, I like you, Cindy. You’ll try to hunt the truth no matter what the cost. I think we’ll be good friends. But come on, let’s go now. Lunch is my treat.”

We walked back to the office together, discussing innocuous things, the weather and so on. I wanted to know more about what had happened to me, but every time I asked a penetrating question, she would deflect it with another innocuous remark. Finally, Dinah waived good-bye to me at the receptionist’s desk and I started back toward my office. Then, I remembered suddenly that Dinah had never stopped to pay for our lunches. She had apparently forgotten, I thought. I’d better run back to her office and remind her. Then I realized that I didn’t know where her office was.

I walked back to the receptionist and asked, “Where is Dinah’s office?”

“Who?” I got a blank stare from the shade (Dinah had called them) at the desk.

“Dinah,” I repeated. “Dinah Moon, the woman who came in here with me a few minutes ago.”

I had a sudden bad feeling about this. I half expected her to say “but you came in here alone,” but she didn’t. What she did say, though, was almost as bad. “She doesn’t work here. I’ve never seen her before.”

Well, what was one more mystery added to all the others? I went back to my office and pulled out the Ovid phone directory. As I anticipated, the book listed no Dinah Moon or D Moon or anything else to them. At least she said she liked me. In this Alice in Wonderland town, that might be important some day.

The rest of the afternoon I used to acquaint myself with my job, whatever that might be. I figured if I was going to be stuck this way for awhile, I needed to follow my job description. The afternoon passed without incident, and soon, it was four thirty. I gathered my purse and locked up the office with a key I found attached to my key ring.

I had no trouble finding the kid’s day care facility. I had studied a map of Ovid during my afternoon, and it wasn’t hard to figure out where everything was. I suspected I could have put myself on autopilot and made it there, but I didn’t want to do that too often. I was afraid of what might happen if I put myself on autopilot and couldn’t pull myself back off. Then I would really be stuck, just like Jerry and the kids.

It was funny, I thought as I pulled into the day care parking lot, I was actually starting to think of them as my husband and my children. If they had been able to remember their previous lives as I had, I might have been able to continue to think of them as Randy, Carl, and Steve. But instead, they acted at all times like my husband and my children respectively, and I was forced to interact with them as a wife and mother. I wondered how long it would take before this life seemed completely natural to me. Not long, I was afraid. With no anchor from my previous life to hold on with, I would probably drift into Cindy Patton full time or end up a mental case.

The kids were happy to see me, as most six year olds would be happy to see their mother. Both bounced into the car, talking at ninety miles a minute about their day in first grade and the neat projects they were working on. It was coming at me so fast that I couldn’t absorb any of it. I suppose it wasn’t just the transformation, but rather the same inattention all working parents gave their children every now and again. And god knows, I had had a stressful day.

Damn! I was going to have a stressful night, too, if I didn’t figure out what to do about dinner. Let’s see, I thought, what could I cook? My culinary skills were severely limited, but I thought maybe I could handle a meatloaf and maybe some mashed potatoes. I had made them both before, so it was worth a shot. I knew the address of Duggan’s IGA from my perusal of the Yellow Pages at the office and knew I would be expected to shop there. With my husband being, I assumed, the Assistant Manager, where else could I shop?

I was greeted at the store by one “Hi, Cindy” after another. I smiled and said “Hi” to each of them since I was expected to know them. Then a young boy about high school age who was spraying produce asked, “Are you looking for your husband, Mrs. Patton?”

“Uh, no,” I replied. “I just have a little shopping to do.”

“Okay,” he said with a grin. “Anyway, Mr. Patton is in with Mr. Spencer and Mr. Duggan. He got in from Oklahoma City early.”

“Thanks.” Great, I thought. That meant he would probably be late for dinner. And here I was, gathering the ingredients of a nice meal, and I bet he wouldn’t even bother to call to let me know he was going to be late. Just like a man...

What was I thinking? I was a man, at least mentally. Wasn’t I? I was beginning to think more than just my body had been changed. Oh, I had memories of my past life which the others didn’t have, but my thoughts seemed to be slowly coming into line with my body. This was not good. I only hoped there was enough of my male self left on Monday to demand a return to my old life.

I shopped quickly, brushing off the children’s incessant attempts to get me to buy every product in the store with sugar in them. I picked up a couple of pounds of lean (must watch the fats) ground beef, some tomato sauce, a bagged salad and a small bag of potatoes. I also found a cookbook dedicated to quick, easy meals for working mothers and hoped there was a good selection of recipes in it for future meals. And finally, I gave in to the kids and let them pick out a pie for dessert. I vowed to pass on that, or maybe just a small piece. After all, they picked cherry, which was my favorite.

I don’t know if I unconsciously went on autopilot or was just a better cook than I thought, but making dinner proved easier than I thought. Michelle actually helped some, and Mike set the table. I was ready with my meal by six thirty, and to my surprise, Jerry was on time.

“Great!” he said when he saw the meatloaf. “I love meatloaf.”

I found myself being oddly delighted by his praise. And, if I do say so myself, the meal was excellent. I took small portions, rewarding myself with a thin sliver of the pie. Still, my smaller body seemed satisfied with the smaller meal, so maybe losing a couple of pounds wouldn’t be difficult after all.

The evening went much the same as evenings I remembered with my old family when I was a little boy. Mike and Michelle needed to pack for the weekend church camp. Fortunately, they had been given a list to help parents get them ready. I made the kids actually find the various required items since I had no idea how their clothing was organized. They seemed to be pleased that I would let them do it themselves. Then, before I knew it, they were in bed, leaving me alone with Jerry.

I had felt a gnawing fear rising in me since dinner. Jerry had surprised me with his sexual desires the previous evening, and confused and disoriented, I had given in. Although it had not been unpleasant, the part of my mind which was still Matt found the idea of sex with a man repugnant. It was enough to make me go to church and confess, but I had noted from the list for church camp that we were now all Baptists. In any case, I had to be strong and decline any sexual advances or risk losing Matt forever.

I nearly gasped when finally, about ten, Jerry turned off the TV, got up from his recliner, and came over to where I had been sitting on the couch. Then, to my surprise, he leaned over, gently kissed me on the lips, and said, “Well, good night.”

Good night?

“You’re going to bed?” I asked, uncertain as to what his normal bedtime might be.

“Yeah. I’ve got an early meeting with Mr. Duggan and Jack, then a ten o’clock tee time, so I want to be rested. Mr. Duggan was really happy with everything at the store yesterday. I think there may be something good coming up for us.”

A transfer out of Ovid? That’s all I wanted. I wanted out of this town with my old life back. Did Mr. Duggan have that for me? I doubted it. Mr. Duggan was probably just one more shade, playing his part in the saga of Ovid.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Oh, that reminds me, you’ll have to take the kids over for church camp tomorrow. They’re supposed to be there by ten.”

“Okay.”

My entire ‘family’ was in bed now, leaving me to my thoughts. I had expected a repeat of the previous night’s sexual performance and found myself relieved that it had not occurred. But on another deeper level, I found myself a little disappointed. I felt a deep twinge in my body, like an itch that needed to be scratched. Don’t go there, I thought to myself.

With a sigh, I tiptoed off to my bedroom, found a nightie that wasn’t too... well, sexy, and crawled into bed next to my sleeping ‘husband.’ In spite of his snoring, I was asleep within minutes.

Jerry was gone when I woke up, and the sunlight was streaming in the bedroom window. I looked at the clock. It was already eight fifteen and the kids had to be at the church by ten. I jumped out of bed feeling the now almost familiar bounce of my breasts. It was funny how quickly you could get used to large breasts, fleshy hips, and the absence of anything hanging between your legs. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to get used to them permanently.

As I showered, I mentally congratulated myself on getting through an entire day in this strange body without a major faux pas. Only two more days to go and I could petition the Judge to get back my old body. It was odd, I thought, that I had begun to think of my male body not as my ‘proper’ body, or my ‘rightful’ body, although it was those things. Instead, I found myself thinking of it as my ‘old’ body, almost as I might speak of a castoff article. It only emphasized the urgency of getting to the Judge. Being Cindy Patton was beginning to be normal to me.

I managed to get the kids ready for camp, bathed, clothed and fed and delivered them to the church parking lot with ten minutes to spare. I waved good-bye to them, surprised to find I felt an emptiness as their bus drove away. It was silly, I knew. They were only going to be at the church’s campsite perhaps fifteen miles away, but they were my children and I missed them. I was beginning to think of them as my children in any case.

Alone at last, I determined to use my day to drive around the town a little more and finish my afternoon at the library, learning whatever I could about Ovid–both the town and the poet.

My tour of Ovid didn’t take long. There were only a few points of interest in the town. On the west side, there was a small private college called Capta College. It consisted of only a handful of buildings, and the entire serene little campus would have fit in a corner of the Notre Dame campus. It appeared to be a liberal arts college, so I decided the college library might have more on Ovid. I resolved to return here rather than the city library.

There were no true shopping centers. Instead, there were businesses sprawled all along the highway as I had noted the night we came into town, and the majority of businesses were concentrated along Main Street. Most of the businesses were local, not national firms. There were a couple of exceptions–a Sears Catalogue store and a Radio Shack, but none of the other business names were familiar. The only store which could pass for a department store was called March’s. It was only three stories tall and covered only a quarter of a block. I decided to take a closer look at it, so I parked the car and went in.

Like most of the shade shoppers, I was casually dressed in a knit top and jeans and tennis shoes, so I blended right in (except for the fact that I wasn’t semi-transparent). I looked like just another Saturday shopper checking our Ovid’s finest. It began as a lark, but slowly but surely I found myself getting into the spirit of a shopping trip. Maybe women really do have a shopping gene. I went through the men’s wear section first out of force of habit and found myself wondering what Jerry would look like in some of the shirts. The children’s section brought similar thoughts about Mike and Michelle. But it was the women’s department I found most interesting. I couldn’t help but wonder what I would look like in some of the outfits.

Then I came to the lingerie section. It was sort of a small town version of Victoria’s secret, and I found myself surprised that such sexy fashions could have made it to the hinterlands. I reached out to touch a particularly sexy little number–a pink teddy with attractive lace at the hem. It felt soft and silky and I was just thinking...

“It would look good on you,” a feminine voice said.

I turned to face one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen in my life. If I had still had a penis, it would have been rock hard just staring into her deep blue eyes. Her hair was golden–not blonde, but golden, looking lush and warm even in the mediocre department store lights. She was about my new height, but where I was merely well proportioned, she was magnificently proportioned. She wore a tastefully conservative periwinkle blue dress with matching jacket, but she could have been wearing yesterday’s newspaper and looked just as stylish. And she was real, not a shade. A small store name tag identified her as Vera March.

I had said nothing, so she continued, “I think Jerry would like that little number, Cindy.”

I blushed, for I had been thinking the same thing. It was if she had read my thoughts. Had I really been that transparent?

Vera laughed, “Don’t be embarrassed, Cindy. Revel in your new womanhood.”

She knew, just as Dinah had known!

“I... um... don’t think...”

“That’s right,” she said with a soothing voice which made me warm all over. “Don’t think. Love isn’t about thinking, is it? It’s about feeling. It’s the feeling of his strong hands on your breasts and thighs, his loving kisses, his manhood against the entrance to your body...”

I was floating. There was light and there was darkness, somehow mixed together in a pattern of warmth and comfort. My body was trembling in joy. There was Jerry and...

“Cindy!”

“Huh?”

I was standing on the sidewalk in front of the department store, a gray sack with ‘March’s’ stylishly displayed on the side in my hand. I looked up to see Dinah smiling at me.

“Been shopping, huh?” she said. “Whatcha get?”

Before I could protest, she snatched the bag and looked in. “Ooh...” she drawled. “Jerry’s gonna eat you alive in that.”

As she handed me the bag, I caught a glimpse of the pink teddy. I didn’t recall buying it. One moment I was looking at it, then Vera March spoke to me, and then... here I was.

Dinah gave me a knowing smile. “Vera talked you into it, didn’t she?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

Dinah laughed, “Vera can be very persuasive when she wants to be. I’ll bet she and Mark really go to town in bed.”

“Who?” I was becoming more bewildered by the moment.

“Mark March, her husband. He’s a hunk if ever I saw one. She has him wrapped around her little finger. Why, I can remember... no, I don’t think I’ll tell you about that just yet.”

I bit my lip, feeling the unfamiliar taste of lipstick. “Dinah, who are you?”

She looked at me seriously for a moment, then said, “I’m your friend, honey.”

“Why should I believe you?”

She was silent. Finally, she said, “I can’t think of one good reason, but I am your friend.”

“But you’re one of them,” I accused, not even sure who ‘them’ was. “You, the Judge, Officer Mercer, Vera Martin, and probably her husband are all... playing with me, as if I were some kind of a living puppet.”

She studied me for a moment, almost engulfing me with those deep brown eyes. I stood my ground, though, small, blonde, female, and almost ready to cry, but I stood my ground and never looked away from those eyes.

“He’s right about you,” she finally said, more to herself than to me. Then she was gone. I don’t mean she walked away. She was just gone, as if this were a movie in which she was there in one frame and gone in the next. And to think, I had been afraid she would only fade away like the Cheshire cat!

I shuddered for a moment, then looked around. There were only shades nearby, and none of them seemed to notice anything unusual. I sighed and got into the car. It was time to go to the college library and look for some answers.

Suddenly, I remembered it was Saturday, and the Notre Dame-Texas game had an early start. I fiddled with the radio until I found the game. It was already the end of the first quarter and Notre Dame was down 21 to 3. Disgusted, I turned it off. If we had made it to the game, we would all be disgusted by now. Randy had fifty dollars on Notre Dame, and Carl and Steve would have been drunk and disorderly by now. Me, well, somehow it was hard to imagine what I would be thinking if I were at the game. If everything had gone as planned, I would probably have lost my focus on the game and started looking for some nice young Texas coed willing to console a poor Irish supporter for the evening. Now I looked more like that prospective coed than I could have ever imagined two days before.

The college library was small, I realized, but it was probably larger than the town library. It was an older building, dating back, I would say to the twenties, with faux columns on either side of the doors and high arched windows along the front of the building. As I entered, I saw that the librarian was a shade, but she answered my questions as nicely as if she had been a real person. She directed me to the research section where I immediately looked for and found a history of the town of Ovid.

It seemed the town was founded in 1908, as Dinah had said, but I knew, of course, that the real date was probably less than a year ago. All the older buildings, such as the library, were really built to look old. The college was founded by a group merely listed in the history as a ‘religious order.’ The current President of the college was a woman named Betty Vest. The primary industries of the town appeared to be agriculture and a couple of small manufacturers, the largest of which was Vulman Industries which made car parts for Ford. I scanned a few more pages in the book until I convinced myself that most of the history was bogus.

Next, I tackled a copy of Ovid’s Metamorphosis. If there were answers in it, they were buried deeply, for the book was not an easy read. I had thought it would be like Edith Hamilton’s book, Mythology, which was about the only book I had ever read on the subject, but it was considerably more complex. I had read the Hamilton book while still in high school, so while some of the names were familiar to me in examining Metamorphosis, many others were not. The Hamilton book was much more readable, I thought.

Metamorphosis contained every imaginable sort of transformation, though. I found men and women changed into trees, fish, spiders, bears, cows, horse, rocks, birds, wolves, and yes, even men changed into women. Whoever had named Ovid had a great sense of the ironic. But there weren’t any gods and goddesses running around Ovid changing people into animals. Or were there?

My thoughts were interrupted as I looked at the clock. It was almost four thirty! I had become so engrossed in the book that I had not even eaten lunch. My stomach suddenly growled in protest. Oh well, at least I had wanted to lose a few pounds. But what was more important was that Jerry had said we would be meeting his bosses at six. That didn’t leave me much time to get ready.

I rushed out of the library and drove home. I had to keep my speed legal, though, because for most of the trip, there was a police car next to me, and the driver looked a lot like Officer Mercer. I suddenly realized that I had not seen any police officer except Officer Mercer, and he seemed to be everywhere. I filed that thought for later and rushed home.

As luck would have it, I beat Jerry home by ten minutes, so when he came into the bedroom, I was already stripping out of my jeans. I had no idea what to wear, though, and was considering slipping back into autopilot when Jerry walked into our closet, turned me around and planted a big kiss on my lips.

“Please, Jerry,” I gasped, “I’m half naked and I need to get dressed.”

“I’ve got great news, honey,” he said with a grin. “You’re looking at the new manager of Duggan’s IGA here in Ovid!”

Oh great, I thought, we get to stay in Ovid. “That’s wonderful... Jerry,” I managed.

“Yeah, Jack’s going to manage a big new store over in Tulsa, and he recommended me to take over here. That means a raise and that country club membership you’ve always wanted.”

I grew up in a small town, so I knew what a country club membership really meant. Usually in small towns, the country club was the hangout for businessmen and their wives since it often had the only golf course. It wasn’t the pillar of society often found in larger cities. Still, it mean Jerry and I would be with the local in crowd. As for his manager, he was probably just another shade, so instead of a store in Tulsa, he would probably be going to wherever the shades went when they were no longer needed.

Jerry grabbed a dress shirt and slacks and headed for the shower, leaving me to try to figure out what to wear. I slipped into autopilot and let my body do whatever it had to do. I slipped off a short black cocktail dress, the proverbial ‘little black dress’ and proceeded to gather everything I would need to go with it–new bra and panties, a smoky patterned pair of hose with a garter belt, black three-inch heels, and a gold necklace and matching bracelet. The dress was more revealing than I had realized, showing a significant amount of both thigh and breasts, but it was too late to start over. Besides, I told myself, women wore these things all the time. I would be fine. My body seemed to know how to dress and apply makeup, so by some miracle, I managed to be ready a few minutes before six. Even my first attempt at three-inch heels went fine.

Jerry drove, so I didn’t have to figure out where Winston’s was. It turned out to be on a little hill overlooking the town. The sign in front said ‘Best Darn Steaks in Oklahoma,’ so it looked like I was going to get a good meal out of this. A suddenly feminine thought crossed my mind as I realized any meal I didn’t have to cook was a good meal. I might be in for a future as chief cook and bottle washer for the Patton family for some time to come, and the thought disturbed me.

There was no valet parking. This was a small town, and ideas like valet parking didn’t jive with most people’s small-town, egalitarian ideas. I knew this because Ovid was in many ways like my hometown. So Jerry let me out at the door, coming around to help me out, for which I was grateful since I still wasn’t too sure about the three inch heels.

As I waited for Jerry, two couples went in and one went out. We all smiled and said our “good evenings” to each other, and everyone accepted me as normal. Even though they were all shades, I did feel a little uncomfortable as the men seemed to be staring at my breasts and not at my face.

Jerry collected me and we went in together. The rest of our party was already seated with wine glasses filled in front of them. My spirits perked up at the sight of the wine. A glass of wine would be perfect. I hadn’t had a drink since my transformation, and there is nothing like finding yourself in a body of the wrong sex to make you want a drink.

Jack and Sherry both stood with big smiles on their faces and greeted us. Fortunately, Jerry had given me their names, so I was able to greet Sherry by name and give her a sisterly hug. Although she was a shade, I was struck by how solid she felt. She might appear a little transparent, but it was an illusion. As I had expected, though, Jerry and I were the only two real people at the table.

“Cindy,” Jack boomed in a voice thick with an Oklahoma twang (did I sound like that?) that could be heard three tables away, “I want you to meet Henry Duggan and his lovely wife, Christine.”

I smiled and shook their hands before sitting demurely next to Jerry.

“Have you told her?” Jack asked Jerry without preamble.

“Not yet,” Jerry replied with an innocent lie. He couldn’t keep a secret, I suspected.

“Is there something I should know?” I asked innocently, playing along with Jerry’s little white lie.

“Cindy,” Jack began, “you’re looking at the new Store Manager of Duggan’s IGA here in Ovid.”

Think fast, I told myself. This is supposed to be great news. I get to stay in Ovid near my non-existent parents. I don’t have to move. I’m a lucky girl. Come on, Cindy, be happy. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” I gushed.

“This calls for a celebration,” Mr. Duggan said, beckoning to a waiter. He ordered two bottles of champagne and added to the waiter, “And keep them coming.”

The evening was pleasant, with champagne flowing through every course. I tried to order as light a meal as possible, sticking with a salad, a petite filet (of which I only ate half) and no dessert. But the empty calories I picked up from the champagne probably did more damage than the steak would have done.

Sherry and Christine without knowing it initiated me in the ritual of going to the ladies room as a group. I had to field questions which were new to me such as “I love your dress. Where did you find it?” and “how do you stay so trim with two children?” Apparently I gave all the right answers, for they seemed satisfied that I was one of their sorority.

We broke up about ten. As I stood up, I realized that all the champagne had been too much for my new, smaller body. I weaved slightly, almost falling. The combination of a body with new proportions balanced on high heels, coupled with more champagne than I could handle was almost disastrous. Fortunately, Jerry noticed my distress and put his arm around my waist, as much for support as for affection. He helped me into the car and began the drive home.

“You were a big hit with Christine Duggan,” he told me happily.

“I was?”

“That’s what Henry told me.” I noticed he and Mr. Duggan were now on a first name basis. “He told me he can always tell when his wife likes someone because she invited us to stay with them whenever we’re in Oklahoma City.”

“That’s nice,” I said, wondering when my world would stop spinning around. I vowed to watch my champagne consumption in the future.

When we got home, Jerry put his arm around me again and helped me up to our bedroom. In spite of the champagne, or maybe because of it, I found myself glad to be near him, so when he turned me around to face him and lifted my chin, I actually reached up with my lips to kiss him, enthralled as his tongue entered my mouth.

We were suddenly sliding our hands along each other’s body. I felt his strong back and firm ass while his hands were on my own ass. I could feel the heat from his body as it rubbed against my own.

The first night of my transformation, I had been too shocked to experience my initiation into sex as a woman. It had been as if I were in a bad dream, or rather, in someone else’s bad dream. But this time, I had been a woman for two full days, and the body was not quite as alien as it had been. That, coupled with several glasses of champagne, was sufficient to make me relaxed and willing. I no longer thought of this man I was holding as my old friend, Randy. Jerry was like Randy in many ways, but he was... well, he was Jerry.

I marvelled at how good it felt to hold on to his muscular body, and how my nipples brushing against the hair on his chest felt so hard and pleasantly sensitive. I began to feel something hard against the inside of my thigh, and then I felt a liquid warmth coming from between my own legs.

Jerry gently laid me on the bed and spread my legs. I knew what was expected of me and arched my back as I felt him enter me. He was gentle, playing around the entrance to my vagina rather than ploughing into me, and I began to feel a wave of pleasure rising in me unlike anything I had ever felt before until I heard Jerry cry out and felt something warm in me as he gave an orgasmic shudder.

I realized in the pleasurable fog which claimed me that we had both orgasmed together. I had never in my entire life, or perhaps I should say either of my lives felt such intense pleasure. Between the buzz from the champagne and the afterglow of my orgasm, I slipped off into a blissful sleep.

I was awakened by the morning sun peeking into our room through a crack in the drapes. I became aware suddenly of two things. The first thing was that I was still as female as ever, as evidenced by the fact that I was still completely nude, having fallen asleep after sex. The second thing I noticed was that Jerry was just as nude as I, sleeping peacefully beside me. I had avoided a hangover, but just barely, for there was the faint fuzziness I always experienced after too much liquor.

What had I done? I thought to myself. For the second night, I had experienced sex as a woman, but this time, it was different from the first. The first time, it was just surprisingly pleasant, but this time, it was terrific. I had enjoyed every minute of it, and I found my body even now getting turned on at the sight of the man sleeping beside me.

I slipped out of bed and covered myself in a filmy peach-colored robe. It did little to hide my body, but it was the principle of the thing. I was at least clothed again. Every day–in fact, every hour–I was becoming more and more Cindy Patton. Did this mean that eventually, I would be oblivious to what had happened to me as the rest my family?

My thoughts were interrupted as Jerry woke with a groan and asked, “What time is it?”

I looked at the clock on my nightstand. “Eight o’clock.”

Jerry leaped out of bed, nearly startling me. “Jesus! We need to hurry. It will be time for church in an hour.”

Church? As Randy, he had seldom gone to church. Even when he did, it was never on Sunday mornings. Like me, he had been raised a Catholic, and evening Masses were much more convenient. Sunday morning Masses were too much of an effort, especially after Saturday night parties.

“Church?” I asked.

“We’re greeting at the nine thirty service, remember?”

Greeting? Oh, that’s all I needed. I would have to stand there in a dress, pantyhose and heels and smile and shake hands with hundreds of people, most of whom didn’t really exist.

“And then we have to pick up the kids from Sunday school. That’s when their overnight camp ends.” He looked at me for a moment. “Are you feeling all right?”

I smiled a reassuring smile. “I’m fine.” What was I going to say? No, I’m not fine. I just had my sex changed and now I’m forced to live as a woman raising two kids who used to be my fraternity brothers while I’m on the receiving end of a game of hide the sausage with my former best friend. Oh, and to top it off, I’m surrounded by people who aren’t really there and a few others who are but still don’t seem normal. Maybe I wasn’t really fine, but the only person I really needed to talk to about it wouldn’t be back until the next day.

With a sigh of resignation, I headed for the shower while mentally planning what I would have to wear to church.

Jerry and I made it with ten minutes to spare. I managed to cut a little time off by fixing a breakfast of juice, coffee and toast. Jerry was expecting bacon and eggs, but I told him there wasn’t time. Besides, I thought to myself, I couldn’t afford the calories.

Jerry wore a sport coat and tie, and I found myself envying the good old days when I would have been similarly attired. As Cindy, though, I had to find the right dress (a light blue knit dress which had a little longer skirt–that is, ending at the top of the knee), neutral pantyhose, matching shoes and purse (white two inch heels and a small white leather purse), and the right accessories (gold necklace with matching earrings and a simple gold bracelet). Then came the makeup. I had to go back on autopilot for the first time in about fifteen hours. I was learning how to be a woman, but I wasn’t ready to ride without the training wheels when it came to applying makeup.

I did a lot of smiling, handshaking, and saying “Hi” to the members of the congregation as if I knew them. Most were shades, but every now and then, a real person would come up to shake my hand. A real person’s handshake didn’t really feel any different from a shade’s handshake, but with the shades, it was disconcerting to realize that I could almost see right through them.

One real person particularly caught my attention. He was young, perhaps sixteen tops and dressed in a blue dress shirt and what appeared to be a Jerry Garcia tie. He was pleasant looking, sort of like the proverbial boy next door. What caught my interest though was when he shook my hand and said softly, “Welcome to Ovid.”

He knew. He was one of the ones who retained his memory. There was a little coffee social after services, and I made a mental note to talk to him when we could be in private.

This was my first Baptist service, and I was comforted to see it wasn’t too unlike a Catholic service. Actually, given that I was now wearing a dress, I was just as happy to go through a church service without kneeling. The minister was a shade, but his sermon was a bit more passionate than any I had seen at Mass. The hymns were mostly familiar, and I was somehow pleasantly surprised to learn that I had a very pleasing soprano voice. Jerry’s clear tenor matched well with my voice, and I found it fun to be sharing the Hymnal with him as we sang in harmony.

After the service, Jerry stopped to speak with several of his friends while I got a cup of coffee and sought out the boy I had greeted earlier. He smiled when he saw me approach. Looking about to see that there was no one else in easy earshot, he smiled and said, “I’m Danny Mitchell. So how is your new life working out?”

I liked that. There was no preamble. I suspected this type of conversation was discouraged in Ovid, so it paid to get right to the point.

“All right, I guess,” I told him. “I’m not exactly used to it yet.” I wanted to add ‘and I want to get out of here before I do get used to it,’ but I didn’t.

He smiled again. “It takes a while to get used to it. I’ve been here almost a year now.”

“Then were you one of the first real residents?” I asked, warming to this young man.

“Pretty close,” he agreed. “When we got here, I think the town had just gotten started. You could go all day and not see anyone who was real.”

“We?”

“Oh, I suppose I should tell you my story. I was on a college football team last fall. We were flying down here from Northwest Missouri State to play Muskogee State in football when our plane developed engine trouble and had to land in Ovid.”

“Ovid has an airport?” I asked, surprised as I took a sip of coffee.

He nodded. “It does. It isn’t much of an airport, really–just a couple of private hangars and a lighted concrete runway, but it was big enough for our chartered plane. Anyhow, the coach explained our problem to the police officer who greeted us.”

“Officer Mercer?” I asked on a hunch.

“Who else? He’s the entire police force, but he seems to be everywhere. I’ve even seen two police cars on the street, both driven by Officer Mercer.”

So had I.

“Anyhow,” Danny continued, “we were taken into town on a bus that... you know, it’s funny, but I just happened to think of something. There was a bus waiting for us at the airport as if they knew we were coming.”

“I imagine they did,” I told him.

He nodded in agreement. “We appeared before the Judge right away. I couldn’t imagine why they took us to see him. I mean, we hadn’t done anything wrong. The Judge came out and muttered something I couldn’t understand, and then the changes began. About half of us stayed boys, although different, younger boys. We were all high school age. A couple of the white guys turned black and a couple became Hispanic, and some of the blacks and Hispanics on the team turned white. The rest changed into girls–all kinds of girls. Some were cute and some were plain. Again, some of their races changed. There was a lot of yelling and screaming from those of us who remembered who we had been, but the rest of the team just stood there and smiled as the changes claimed them. They didn’t even seem to notice what was happening.”

“Did the pilot and the coaching staff turn into students, too?” I asked.

“No,” Danny said, shaking his head. “Coach Wallace–he was the head coach–is now Miss Samson, our History teacher. The pilot was a woman. She’s a teller in one of the banks now. The rest of the crew just changed into people I haven’t met yet. Officer Mercer took me ‘home’ after that. I found out my parents weren’t real, but they were okay to me. Dad is real now, but I don’t know who they got to be him and he doesn’t remember.”

I hesitated for a moment, then asked, “What about the ones who became girls and remembered who they were. How did they handle it?”

“Pretty well, actually. One of them was our starting halfback, and he... she is now our head cheerleader. Another player–he was a defensive end like me–was runner-up for Homecoming Queen. She remembers everything, but she’s adapted well. She and I date quite a bit and I think she’s starting to like being a girl.”

“It sounds as if things are turning out all right for them,” I commented.

Danny nodded. “I think so. Of course it’s a lot harder for them than it is for you or me.”

I was puzzled. “Why do you say that?”

“Well,” he explained, “I was originally male, and you were originally female, so...”

“Wait a minute!” I interjected. “What makes you think I was originally female?”

His eyes went wide and his face reddened. “You mean you weren’t a woman before? Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that you act like a woman. I mean, I was watching you while you were greeting, and then in church with your husband. You talk and act just like a woman. Did I say something else wrong?”

“Oh, no,” I told him. “Excuse me, Danny. I’d better go now.”

I turned away without another word. Danny had said something wrong all right. How could he have ever thought that I was originally female? I hadn’t changed that much, had I? Maybe, I thought, my body was on autopilot more than I realized. Either that, or my female body was beginning to affect my predominately male mind.

As Jerry and I drove home from church after picking up the kids, I began to sort through my thoughts in light of Danny’s assumption. First, there was the sex. I had experienced sex as a woman on two evenings now. How did I feel about it? Did I enjoy it? I had to admit that I did. The physical sensations were very pleasant. I began to feel a moistness in my crotch just thinking about it. But what did this mean? Was I gay? I didn’t think so. I had been a normal heterosexual male in all ways before coming to Ovid. Now, I was a normal heterosexual female. It seemed the right thing to be.

Then there were the kids. I had to admit when we picked them up after church that I was glad to see them. Was it because I was worried about Steve and Carl? I didn’t think so. In some bizarre way, I was beginning to think of them as my children. It was hard to think of Mike as Steve and even harder to think of Michelle as Carl. They were happy, healthy, normal children in every respect.

I began to realize that I was becoming Cindy Patton in every way that was meaningful. I was beginning to think of myself as a wife and mother, to the detriment of my male ego. It was imperative that I see the Judge in the morning before Matt O’Hara disappeared completely.

Sunday afternoon was just a normal weekend day for the Patton family. Jerry settled in to watch a football game. Apparently, we were Dallas Cowboy fans to my chagrin. I had been a Steelers fan as long as I could remember since I grew up in Pennsylvania. In some ways, I mused, supporting the Cowboys would be tougher than being a woman. Although I said all the right things as we watched the game together, I was secretly glad when they were upset by the lowly Atlanta Falcons.

The kids just played and had a wonderful time of it. Two little girls (one a shade) came by to play with Michelle, while Mike was content to read comics and watch TV. In some ways, he was just like Steve had been. I resolved that if I had to stay in this role, I would raise Mike to be a better man than Steve had been. But then, what mother doesn’t want the best for her son?

I actually managed to make a pretty decent snack to tide everyone over, and then put together a meal I was actually quite proud of. It consisted of baked chicken and fresh green beans and a salad. It was nutritious and pretty low in fat. I had a waistline to think about.

By evening, the kids were tired, so I had no trouble putting them to bed. As I put them both to bed, I felt feelings of accomplishment I had never felt before. I think they must be feelings only a mother can experience. It was a felling of pride that I had actually created these two children. I knew, of course, that I had never experienced their actual birth, but the feeling that I had was there nonetheless.

Jerry had spent the evening reading and watching TV. It was how the old me would have spent the evening as well, but I felt the need to putter around the house a little bit. I did a quick load of laundry and folded it. Then, as I was putting it away, I noticed the sack from Martin’s. I had forgotten about it with all that had happened over the last day. I pulled the pink teddy out of the sack and held it up. It was incredibly sexy, and I found my groin becoming warm just looking at it. The matching panties were so sheer and soft...

There was something magical about the outfit. As I held it, I began to wonder what I would look like in it. I wondered what Jerry would think of it. I smiled at the thought.

A part of me knew that this was not what I should be thinking or feeling. I was not really a woman in spirit, only in body. Then I remembered the woman who had sold me the teddy. She had murmured something to me as she sold it, something hypnotic. I was being forced into these thoughts and feelings, I realized. They were not really my own.

My body disagreed. I began to feel the soft, yielding warmth between my legs, urging me to put on the teddy. It didn’t seem to be worth resisting, so I stripped off my clothes and put it on. The panties softly caressed my dampening crotch, and the silky feel of the teddy on my erect nipples made my body shudder involuntarily.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I was absolutely sexy. To hell with the five pounds I needed to lose. A little touch up of lipstick, expertly applied, a brush through my hair, and a little perfume spritzed in all the right places, and I was fantastic. For good measure, I slipped on a pair of three inch white heels. I smiled at the finished product and started into the den.

“Honey,” I called softly from behind him.

He turned around and I nearly laughed as his mouth fell open. Wordlessly, he jumped from his chair and slipped his arm around my waist. I smiled at him as we walked together silently back into the bedroom.

I won’t go through all the details. Let’s just say that it was everything I hoped it would be the first, second, and third time. When we had finished, we were both exhausted and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

I awakened the next morning to the sound of Jerry in the shower. I felt sticky between my legs and realized with a blush that I had slept through the night without cleaning up. It had been a contented sleep, I knew, and even in the light of day with my reason in control, I realized how fantastic the evening had been. As a man, I had never felt the waves of pleasure this new body had given me.

And yet, I realized suddenly, this was the day I would confront the Judge and ask him to change me back into my male self. What would it be like to be male again? I had actually grown used to the vacant feeling between my legs, and my breasts felt as if they had always been there. What would happen to Jerry and the kids? Could I bargain to get back all of our old lives. And what if I did? How could I ever face Randy again after what we had done repeatedly as Jerry and Cindy? Would Steve and Carl be as happy as my wastrel fraternity brothers as they seemed to be as Mike and Michelle? These were nagging questions for which I had incomplete answers.

And what was going on in Ovid? I thought I knew what, but not why. The answers had come to me slower than they might have had I not been faced with adjusting to a new life at the same time. But I was certain now that I knew who the Judge and Dinah and all the rest of them were. Somehow, I should have been more frightened, knowing what I suspected I knew, but I wasn’t.

I dropped the kids off at school and drove to work. In the parking lot, I looked myself over one more time. I had tried to look very professional for my confrontation with the Judge. I wore a cream-colored silk blouse, a tan suit, two-inch brown heels, and had carefully styled my hair as best I could. My makeup was a little understated, and I thought I actually looked like a lawyer myself. I had sought that look. I had a case to plead.

I arrived in the office before the Judge and had a sinking feeling. What if he didn’t come in again today? I was beginning to lose my grip on my male identity; I was fully aware of that. Was that his plan? To hide until I no longer had the will to return to my male form? How long would that be? If I were to remain Cindy Patton for even a few more days, I would completely lose my resolve to return to my old life. Each time I looked into my children’s eyes or felt the embrace of my husband or admired my image in the mirror, a little more of Matt died.

My fears turned out to be groundless, though, as he entered the office at exactly nine o’clock. He was dressed in a conservative gray suit with a red and gray striped tie and crisp white shirt. There was a newspaper tucked under his arm.

“Good morning, Cindy,” he said with a smile, as if there was nothing unusual. I thought for a moment that perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps the Judge knew no more than Jerry or the kids. But I dismissed the idea as quickly as I thought of it. The Judge had to be behind our transformations, and I was sure I knew who, or at least what, he was.

“Why did you do this to me?” I asked with a frown.

To my consternation, his smile grew wider. “Why did I do what?”

“You know what. Why did you change me into... into this?” I gestured at myself. “And why did you turn Randy into Jerry and Steve and Carl into children?”

He actually laughed. “Come into my office, Cindy, and I’ll answer all of your questions.”

When I was seated in front of his desk, he pushed the paper in front of me. “This may answer the ‘why,’ Cindy.”

I looked at the paper. It was a Friday Tulsa paper. I scanned the headlines, trying to determine from the front page exactly what he was talking about. There were the usual national and international stories, but it was a headline and a picture which went with it that caught my eye. In the picture, the remains of a charred Firebird were clearly visible. The headline read ‘Five Die in Fiery Crash!’ With a sickening shock, I realized the car was Randy’s. There could be no doubt as to who four of the five who died were.

“Do you mean... we’re actually... dead?”

To my relief, he shook his head. “No, not really. This is only what should have happened.”

It had to be the farm truck we almost hit, I realized. I remembered we were headed right for it and then... it was gone. We had hit that truck, I realized, or at least we should have hit it. Then we would have all died, taking the driver of the farm truck with us.

I looked up from the paper to face the Judge. “You saved us then?”

He nodded. “In a manner of speaking I did. If I had simply saved you, there would have been too many loose ends in reality. Your loved ones would have found you had disappeared, and the subsequent search might have led them here. What I did was erase you from reality. If you were to call your friends from school or your family, you would discover that they had never heard of you. Then, you four and the truck driver became mine to mold as I wished.”

“But that isn’t right,” I protested. “What gives you the right to do this to us?”

“I could say might makes right,” the Judge said grimly, “but I might also remind you that in many cultures, saving a life means that life is mine to do with as I please. In other cultures, I would be obligated to take care of you however I saw fit. Any of these answers gives me the right. Besides, you participated in the selection of your roles here. Observe.”

Suddenly, I could see the four of us back on the road again... The old me was speaking.

“There’s no Ovid on the map,” I was saying.

Steve, drunkenly from the back seat yelled, “Are we there yet?” as Carl snickered.

“Quiet, guys,” I had growled.

“Who are you?” Steve had taunted, “our mother?”

The scene faded. “I rest my case,” the Judge said.

“So based on that exchange, I get to be the mother?” I practically yelled.

“It won’t be so bad,” the Judge said. “Dinah tells me you’ve adapted to your role quite well. And I understand Vera sold you quite a sexy outfit on Saturday. Have you had a chance to wear it yet?”

My blush told him that I had.

“I thought so. As I said, you seem to be adapting well.”

It was true, I realized. I had been a woman for–what?–less than four days, and yet I had dressed as a woman, acted as a woman, and even on several occasions made love as a woman. Was I revolted by all of this, particularly the lovemaking? Yes, at first. It had all seemed so alien to me, but now? This morning, I had gotten dressed and put on my makeup as if it were second nature. I walked confidently in heels. I had kissed my husband good-bye as if I hated to see him go, and I had hugged my children before school as if I were trying to return them to my body from which they had supposedly come.

“All right,” I granted. “I suppose I have adapted, and this life isn’t so bad. But why did you do this to us? You didn’t save us out of the goodness of your heart.”

The Judge smiled. “I was right not to underestimate you. To explain why, you have to know who I am. Have you figured that out yet?”

“I think I have,” I admitted. “There were plenty of clues, but the answer was almost too fantastic. That’s why I rejected it when I first thought of it. But I suppose it was no more fantastic than what you did to us.”

“And the answer is?”

“You are the Roman gods,” I ventured, almost certain I was correct.

“Very good!” he replied, clapping his hands as he leaned back in his leather chair. “Have you figured out which ones?”

“I think so. You are Jupiter.”

He nodded, still smiling. “Correct.”

“Dinah is Diana, Officer Mercer is Mars.”

“Wrong on that one! Officer Mercer is Mercury.”

“Of course,” I said. “I should have guessed from the name. But wouldn’t Mars have made a better police officer?”

The Judge grunted. “I don’t think so. Mars is too much of a martinet. I needed someone who would be a little more understanding, and of course, I needed someone who could be everywhere almost at once. Mercury has the speed to do so. Mars, along with his wife, Venus, whom I believe you have met?”

I nodded. No wonder I bought the teddy from her and used it so amorously. I was under a spell from Venus.

“Anyhow, they run Martin’s Department Store. I suppose I should have let Mercury run it. He is, after all, the God of Commerce, but someone once compared business to war, so I suppose it all works out.”

“Are there any other gods I should be aware of? I wouldn’t want to cross any of them,” I told him. “The way I talked to Dinah, I’m surprised she didn’t turn me into a stag like she did in Metamorphosis.”

“Oh, that’s just the legend that survived,” he told me. “Have you ever heard of Siproetes?”

I frowned. “No, I don’t think so. I didn’t see it in Ovid.”

“It isn’t in any of Ovid’s works,” he told me. “The legend of Siproetes didn’t survive to your time. The only reference to him is in a work called Metamorphoses by Antoninus Liberalis. Siproetes was a young man in Crete who saw Diana–she was called Artemis then, by the way–bathing naked in a fountain. Rather than change him into a stag as in the legend you know, she changed him into a woman. Someday, I’ll tell you the whole story of that incident, but as you can see, your current transformation meets with her approval.

“As far as any other gods you should be aware of, well, you’ll meet others, I’m sure, but don’t worry about them now. They all know I personally decided to make you and your friends into the Patton family. I doubt if any of them will bother you. Actually, there are only twelve true gods in the pantheon. The rest are sort of second-rate gods. I’ll introduce you as the occasion arises.”

My conversation with the Judge had not worked out quite the way I had thought it would. I had as much as agreed to remain Cindy Patton. I supposed I could have suffered a worse fate. Besides, in a perverse sort of way, it was actually fun to be a woman. It’s just that I had thought from the moment that my transformation had been all wrong. Now, though, it seemed so right. Matt O’Hara had another semester of undergraduate work left followed by three years of law school. Cindy Patton had the opportunity to participate in the most unique exercise of the law ever imagined. And I would get to be with Jerry and the kids.

“All right,” I sighed. “I guess I’m Cindy Patton for keeps. But what am I supposed to do around here?”

“Oh, general secretarial chores will be your official job.”

“And unofficially?”

“Very good. You will attend court sessions with me,” he told me. “I need someone who can chronicle all of the cases as they actually occur. Otherwise, eventually even I will forget who was who around here.”

I frowned. “You mean you want me to be the court reporter?”

“No, no,” he replied, shaking his head. “I want you to tell them as stories. You will be my female Homer, telling the stories of those who visit my courtroom. I want you to tell the tales in your own words, expressing your own feelings. The stories will, of course, be only for the consumption of myself and my fellow gods. Yours will be the most important job of any mortal in Ovid. How does that sound?”

I had to admit to myself that it was intriguing. I would be witness to remarkable events that no mortal had witnessed before. And since I had wanted to be an attorney before my transformation, I would see courtroom justice meted out in a way I could never have imagined a few days before. How could I say no? I smiled at the Judge and nodded my head. “Okay,” I said, “you have a deal.”

He clapped his hands. “Excellent, my dear. You won’t regret this. Now, we had better go to court. Officer Mercer has just stopped a drunk driver on the edge of town. Such childish behavior warrants a stern sentence.”

“How did you know he just picked up a drunk driver?” I asked, hurrying to keep up with him as he headed for the courtroom.

The Judge only laughed.

‘You know,’ I said to myself, ‘come to think of it, this could be fun.’

The End