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I was up to my eyeballs in work.

If somebody had told me a little over a month ago that I would be the secretary to a municipal judge in Oklahoma, I would have snickered at them. If they had told me that the judge in question was in fact the Roman god Jupiter, I would have chuckled at them. If they had told me that instead of my normal male self, a college student from Notre Dame, I would be an attractive twenty-five year old woman with a husband and two children, I would have laughed so hard tears would have streamed down my face. But I wasn’t laughing now.

Here I was, that attractive woman I spoke of, trying to make sense out of my job. I had come to accept my new life, and even enjoy my roles as a wife and mother, but on the job, I was frustrated. I had been hired to tell the stories of the other humans who came before the Judge to be, against their will, transformed into the residents of Ovid Oklahoma. In order to do my job, I had to sit in the courtroom for every trial and watch as the Judge passed his unusual sentences. It wasn’t all that hard, really. Court was held Monday through Thursday from nine until noon, if the Judge was in town. The rest of my time was spent trying to make sense of the records of the court.

The Judge could hold about four trials an hour. I know that sounds incredible, but he didn’t exactly pay attention to normal courtroom procedure. Usually, he would just hear the charges and pass sentence. The defendants were usually too frightened to say anything or were in a virtual trance during which they thought everything was perfectly normal. The frightened ones would find themselves transformed over the next hour into residents of Ovid. They would be confused at first, but they would usually find themselves playing along before very long. What else could they do? I mean, look at me. Here I was, an attractive young woman whom everyone in town knew to be Cindy Patton. What would have happened to me if I had told them my real name was Matt O’Hara? I’d be in a rubber room if I did. Most other people realized the same thing, if they remembered who they were.

About three out of four people were in a trance before the Judge. They would leave the courtroom, thinking they had gotten off lightly. They, too, would transform into new identities over the next hour. The difference is, they would never realize it. They would believe they had always been whomever they had transformed into.

Sometimes, I thought they were the lucky ones. My husband and two children, for example, believed they had always been the individuals they were now. None of them realized they were my college classmates, and they never would. But here I was, as female as I could be, after twenty-one years as a male. As much as I was learning to enjoy my new role, it had its trying moments.

Also, if I had remembered only my new life, I would have probably been given everything I needed to perform my job. In my present state, however, there was no one to train me. The Judge was nice to me, but he wasn’t a teacher. Most of it I had picked up with a little effort. I knew I was supposed to schedule the Judge’s trials (but never other times; he took care of that himself). I had to submit dummy paperwork to the state to make it look as if Ovid was just another normal Oklahoma municipality. But it was the other part of the job I had the most trouble with. How was I supposed to report on the transformees if the Judge never gave me all the information? All I knew was what happened in the courtroom.

When I would ask the Judge for some help, he would just smile and say, “Don’t worry about it. You’ll figure it out.”

Figure what out? I had never even been able to figure out what the Roman gods were doing in a small town in Oklahoma. The Judge never got around to telling me that, either.

I was seriously thinking about finding a match to burn the pile of rough notes regarding the trials which I had assembled on my desk when the receptionist buzzed me.

“What is it, Mary?” I tried not to snap at her. She was only a shade, but shades had feelings, too.

“Dina Luna is here to see you.”

Who? I thought. I knew a Dinah–Dinah Moon but... Wait a minute. Luna is Spanish for Moon. “Send her in,” I told Mary.

In moments, there appeared a stunning Hispanic woman with long black hair and a perfect body encased in an expensive red dress which looked as if it had been painted on. It was Dinah all right, in a brand new body every bit as stunning as the black one I knew her in. I guess when you’re really the goddess Diana, you can look however you want.

“Buenas Dias, Chiquita!” she greeted me, swaying over to give me a sisterly hug. “Como estas?”

“I’ve been fine, Dinah,” I said, returning the hug. I was actually glad to see her. Of the gods and goddesses I had met in Ovid, Dinah was the only one I had come to consider my friend.

“It’s Dina now, hermana,” she said proudly. Then, motioning to her body, she asked, “What do you think of it?”

“It’s stunning,” I had to admit. “But so was your other body. Why did you change?”

“Why not?”

I guess when you’re a goddess, why not?

“But how about you, Seá±ora Patton?” she said, taking a closer look at me. I was dressed in a rather flattering outfit if I do say so. It was proper business attire, but it was very feminine as well. It consisted of a silk blouse patterned with tiny lavender flowers and a gray skirt, nearly as short as hers. I had on two-inch gray heels and light, almost white stockings. I thought I looked pretty hot for a mother of two.

“Do you like it?” I asked, striking a pose.

“On you, it looks magnifico,” she said. “You just bought it.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. “Yes, how did you know?”

“Because I picked out all your other clothes.”

“You?”

She shrugged. “Who else? You didn’t think the Judge picked out your wardrobe, did you?”

“I guess not.” I really hadn’t given it much thought. No wonder my wardrobe looked so good. Dinah had exquisite taste.

“And have you lost some weight?” she asked with a critical eye.

“Four pounds,” I confirmed, proudly. I had looked good from the beginning, but another two or three pounds and I would stop traffic.

“Good for you!” she said, clapping her hands. “How did you do it?”

“Oh,” I began, “I just watch what I eat. And I try to lay off alcohol.”

“Then it’s time to backslide,” she said with a devilish twinkle in her dark eyes. “Let’s go get a drink.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t,” I protested. I hadn’t had a drink in weeks–too many empty calories.

“Why not? It’s Friday and ten minutes until quitting time, and the Judge is out of town.”

True, and why not? Jerry and I had planned a romantic evening. I had been out of action for a few days with my first period. It was almost enough to make me run screaming to the Judge renewing my demands to be male again. But at least it was over for another month. Both Mike and Michelle had been invited to sleepovers, so Jerry and I had planned a nice dinner at Winston’s and then... whatever came naturally.

Then disaster struck. Jerry’s night manager had gotten sick, so Jerry had to fill in for him until the store closed at nine. By then, he would probably be too tired for any fun. The thing that really annoyed me was that Jerry’s night manager was actually a shade. That meant he wasn’t even real, so he couldn’t really get sick, or at least I didn’t think he could. So now, instead of a pleasant evening out with my husband, I was at loose ends until the store closed.

“Oh, all right,” I said. At least I could kill an hour or so of my wait with Dinah–or rather Dina.

“Bueno! Let’s go.”

I left the pile just where it was on my desk and locked the door. I would have to get in a little early on Monday before the Judge saw it, but I couldn’t face it any more today. I was closing up ten minutes early with work still on my desk and was about to drink wine with my friend. I was a bad girl. And it felt good.

“We’ll walk over to the Greenhouse,” Dina said. “It’s only a block.”

“Sure,” I agreed. It was only a block, and although late fall could be bitterly cold in Oklahoma from what I had heard, it was remarkably mild, even though the afternoon sun was very low in the sky. I slipped on my trench coat just to be safe since the temperature would probably drop before we left the Greenhouse. Dina didn’t bother with a coat. I guess goddesses don’t get cold.

We walked briskly toward the restaurant, causing Dina to remark, “You’re walking lot better in heels now.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to practice.”

She laughed.

The Greenhouse did a decent lunch business, but the dinner crowd was usually a little sparse. Also, people in small towns don’t spend much time in the bars after work, so the place was practically empty when we entered. I think Dina really liked it like that. It meant we could talk without eavesdroppers picking up our conversation. I was a little excited at the prospect since I had questions for her.

We each ordered a glass of Chardonnay and talked of inconsequential things until our drinks came. After a sip each, Dina began, “So let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?” I asked.

“The interesting cases. What else?”

“Okay,” I agreed, swirling the wine in its glass. “But first, tell me why all of the gods are here in Ovid.”

“They’re not,” she replied.

“Then what are...”

“Some of the gods are in Ovid,” she corrected. “Some never come here. Take my brother, Apollo. He’s never been to Ovid and will probably never come here. He didn’t even like Rome. He used to spend all his time in Greece being the god of beauty and truth and poetry and soothsaying and whatever else they could hang on him.”

This was off the subject, but I was intrigued. “I thought he was the sun god.”

She shook her head. “No, he was never that. He was the god of light, whatever that meant, but never the sun god. He’s probably sunning himself on some beach in Hawaii right now, waiting for the big wave. He usually looks like the god of surfing.”

I took another sip of wine. It tasted good, but I hated to think how many calories were in it. “So, back to my original question. What’s Ovid all about?”

Dina just shook her head and chuckled. “Girl, you won’t give up, will you? I can’t really tell you. It’s the Judge’s idea and only he can tell you. Don’t worry, though, he will. You just have to be patient. Now, about those interesting cases...”

I shrugged. “There haven’t been that many interesting ones, just your standard transformations and sex changes. Besides, I haven’t had time to write any of them down.”

“Write them down?” she repeated, laughing. “Hasn’t the Judge told you? You don’t have to write them down.”

“I don’t?”

“Of course not, silly. All the stories are in your head. All you need to do is call them up. That’s the power the Judge has given you.”

I thought about that for a moment. When I first went to the Judge and asked to be returned to my old sex, he had somehow made me see our arrival in Ovid. It had been for a few minutes as if I were back in my old body. Apparently, I could do this with others as well, if I could figure out how to do it.

“What do I need to do?” I asked.

Dina smiled and replied, “Just think of the case and remember who the defendant was. You’ll slip off into a little trance, and I’ll be able to see and feel what happened through you.”

“Well, okay,” I agreed reluctantly. “I’ll try. I guess the most interesting case happened about two weeks after I went to work for the Judge. You see, there was this lawyer...”

Damn, this car was hot!

I felt ten–no, fifteen years younger as I put my Lexus GS400 through its paces on the less-travelled highways of Oklahoma. I was really glad I had decided to drive instead of fly this trip. To fly from Oklahoma City to Little Rock would have involved either a small commuter airliner (which I hate) or changing planes in Dallas, Houston, or St Louis. Why bother? They weren’t that far apart, and it was a weekend, and I did have a brand new car–the hottest sports sedan on the market, I had been told. I had to thank the guy who sold me the car when I got back to Dallas. He told me to really appreciate it, I’d have to go on a road trip. He was right on the money.

I hadn’t felt so relaxed in years. I had just finished up a trial in Dallas, getting Billy Bob Dooley off on the murder charge for killing his girl friend. He was a rising country western star with a couple of best-selling CDs, and his studio was willing to pay big bucks to get him off the hook. It wasn’t easy, either, because he did kill her. I mean, everyone knew that. He even admitted it. But it took an attorney of my stature to get him off the hook by making a jury believe that he was acting in self-defense. How a jury could be made to believe that a two-hundred pound man was defending himself against a slip of a girl was a real test of my abilities.

How did I do it? Well, the beauty of the American judicial system is that you don’t have to prove you’re innocent, but the prosecution has to prove you’re guilty. The deck is pretty well stacked in the defense’s favor. All you have to do is make the jury unsure. If there is any doubt in their collective minds, the jury must rule in favor of the defendant. With Billy Bob, I had to make him look like a big old country boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Then, I had to make his dead girl friend look like an unstable person who was capable of anything–a real Lizzie Borden type. Then, when Billy Bob testified that he tried to break off with her and let her down gently, only to have her attack him with a pair of sharp scissors, he tried to defend himself. But the poor guy didn’t know his own strength and pushed her too hard, forcing her to fall down a flight of stairs landing on the sharp point of her own scissors.

Was it true? Maybe. Did I believe it? Not for a minute. Billy Bob is a crass character who wouldn’t have given a damn about her feelings. She may have made a threatening gesture with the scissors, but he wasn’t the sort of man who would be frightened by it. He probably pushed her to put her in her place, and down the stairs she went.

Did he kill her on purpose? I don’t know. I like to think that he didn’t. In any case, if the DA had settled for involuntary manslaughter, he might have won. But the DA was after something bigger. He thought a win against a star like Billy Bob would have set him up for higher political office. His reach exceeded his grasp, though, when he came up against me. Now, he would be lucky to get re-elected as DA.

A small portion of my fees bought this $50,000 Japanese Rice Rocket, so I was in tall cotton. Then, a chance to consult on a couple of cases, one in Oklahoma City and one in Little Rock, gave me the perfect excuse to go on a road trip. After I was finished, I would be off for Branson, Missouri, where I would meet up with Talia Moore, the hot new singing sensation. A few days shacked up with her and I would be rested and ready for the next case. How did I meet Talia? Oh, I got her brother off on a murder charge last year, and she was so grateful that one thing led to another.

One thing often did lead to another when you were Brad Monroe, ‘Mouthpiece to the Stars,’ as one pundit had named me.

How did I get to be Mouthpiece to the Stars? In law, timing is everything. I went through law school at Yale. It was supposed to be the best law school in the country, and I planned to be the best criminal lawyer in the country. So after law school, I took a job with a firm in Dallas. Now, Dallas is sometimes called the ‘Murder Capital of the World.’ It’s really not that bad, but it’s bad. I was very idealistic when I graduated from law school. I came from back east, and I had the impression that Texas justice was designed to railroad innocent victims onto Death Row. I was going to protect their rights and see that justice was done.

Unfortunately, I began to realize that justice often was being done. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t believe in the death penalty and I never will, but the felons I was suddenly faced with were often vicious, heartless killers who deserved to be put away (although not killed, I believed). Still, I did my very best to defend them. They were entitled to that.

Then, five years ago, right after I turned thirty, the big break came. A movie producer on location outside Dallas beat the hell out of local prostitute. She died, never regaining consciousness. The DA went for the whole enchilada again: Murder One. I ended up with the case because my firm had hired me out to the producer as a technical expert since the film was to be about a murder trial in a small Texas town. Life began to imitate art suddenly, and instead of advising the actors on trial procedure, I was defending the producer against real charges.

He claimed he left earlier that evening, before the girl was beaten. That explained why his prints were all over her room. The evidence was purely circumstantial, and like most prostitutes, she had more than one john on any number of occasions. The local DA never had a chance. The word got out about how there I was, a bright young lawyer who had gotten off one of the most notorious hedonists in Hollywood. It turned out everyone back in California thought he did it. Did he? He said he didn’t, and that was good enough for me. Even if he had admitted it to me, he was entitled to the best defense I could provide.

Suddenly, I was on every studio’s list. If there was big trouble for any star of stage, screen, television or music, call Brad Monroe. If he could get that producer off, he could get anybody off.

Unfortunately, as my professional star was rising, my personal life was in a nosedive. My wife, Brenda, and I had met in college. We were both from the east, both young and idealistic, and both likely to be in the top of our fields. She was two years younger than me, but she was closing in on a doctorate. She had majored in literature, and several universities had put out feelers to her. Her master’s thesis was widely read, and her reputation would have netted her a great teaching job except for one thing: she married me.

Dallas isn’t a big college town, and teaching jobs were scarce. Her sterling reputation in the east was not as great in Dallas, but we needed her to work at first since starting attorneys aren’t rich from the getgo no matter what you’ve heard. The only job she could find was as an Assistant Librarian in Plano, the Dallas suburb where we settled. The job was beneath her, but she was happy.

We were both happy in those days. Then things started going downhill. First, we found out we couldn’t have children. I never blamed her for it. She couldn’t help the flaws in her reproductive system, but she blamed herself. She felt it made her less of a woman.

I didn’t really notice how it had affected her. I was too busy becoming the Mouthpiece to the Stars. I didn’t notice when the drinking started, but start it did. At first, she drank mostly wine. There would be a glass with me and most of a bottle at dinner. Then it would be a glass or two at lunch at the club with her friends. Then it became too much to drink at parties. She was hurting my career. I gave up drinking entirely, hoping she would follow my example. She didn’t. It all came to a head almost three years ago.

I had just won the Andy McConnel rape case. You may remember it. They were calling him another River Phoenix until he was accused of raping a young girl while on location in Italy. The girl was only fourteen, and McConnel was rushed out of the country before he could be indicted. It was up to me to fight his extradition. The girl was alive, but it had been dark when the assailant pulled her into a dark alley and sexually assaulted her. McConnel was seen in a sidewalk bar, and witnesses said he had watched her walking down the street with interest. She went into a store while McConnel paid his tab and left. He was obviously drunk. The girl was seen walking in the direction he had gone minutes later.

It had been dark, I argued, and the girl could only say her assailant “looked like Andy McConnel.” There was no proof. No one had taken semen samples. McConnel may have been too drunk to rape her, and so on. I won as I always did.

I had gone home, happy in my victory to be greeted by Brenda. She had been drinking and could barely stand as I told her of my latest victory.

“So another lowlife is still on the street thanks to you,” she sneered.

“There wasn’t sufficient evidence to extradite him,” I tried to explain.

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it,” she countered. “Don’t you ever get tired of helping these animals escape justice?”

“Justice isn’t the only issue,” I pontificated. “What is important is the law. How can there be justice without law? The burden of proof is always on the prosecution. The defendant is always entitled to the best defense...”

“That money can buy!” she finished for me.

“No, that’s not it at all.”

“Quit deluding yourself,” she practically sobbed. “You used to have ideals. You wanted to make a difference.”

“I am making a difference.”

“You are making a mockery of decency. You don’t care if your clients are guilty or not.”

“That isn’t even an issue,” I protested. “Guilty or innocent, I’m required to defend them.”

The argument was an old one. We had had it before, but this time, all of the frustration and resentment bubbled over. She moved out that night and began divorce proceedings the next day.

I suppose I was lucky in a way. She was well off in her own right since her parents had died leaving a substantial amount to their only daughter. I was worth a couple of million on my own by then, but she went after almost nothing. Again, my reputation among my colleagues was enhanced. Brad Monroe had beaten his own wife in a divorce settlement. I said nothing, but the fact was, she asked for very little, and I gave her whatever she asked for. In spite of our problems, I still loved her.

Now I was respected, powerful, wealthy, and single. The combination drew women to me in droves. I was never without female companionship if I so desired. At first, it actually seemed an improvement in my life. What man wouldn’t view a steady diet of women as an improvement? But as the weeks went by, I found myself comparing each of them to Brenda. Many were better looking, for while Brenda was attractive, she was not glamorous. Some (only a few, if the truth be known) were intelligent, but they lacked Brenda’s keen wit.

Many was the time that I almost called her up, but pride always got in the way. I kept thinking that the very next girl I found would be her equal, but she never was. And then, one day almost a year ago, she was gone. She had planned to move back east, to Albany, New York, ever since the divorce. I had heard that through mutual friends. Then, late last fall, she made the move, and I hadn’t heard from her since. I had tried to call her once, but there was no listing for her in Albany. It was apparently unlisted. Since her friends had blamed me for the breakup and felt I had screwed her over the divorce settlement, I knew better than to call them for her number. They would never give it to me.

“I miss you, Brenda,” I said to myself as I soared through the Oklahoma countryside. “I should never have let you go.”

I snapped out of my reverie as I pulled the Lexus through a sharply banked curve in the road. It was stupid of me to even think about Brenda. Here I was, on my way to a rendezvous with Talia Moore. I’d be on the cover of a magazine or two after that and be the envy of half the men in America. Maybe Talia would be the one.

I could have driven Interstate 40. It was the most direct route between Oklahoma City and Little Rock, but I knew it was heavily patrolled, and I had no intention of being restricted to the speed limits while driving a GS400. I chose more challenging two-lane roads which wound through the hills of eastern Oklahoma as they slowly became the beginning of the Ozarks. I pushed the car through the straightaway to well over a hundred, never getting even close to its governed top speed of 148, but fast enough that the telephone poles were going by almost too fast to count. I would slow down in the curves, but not enough to miss the sensation of torque as my marvellous machine gripped the road.

It was on a small unmarked section of what I assumed to be a state highway that I saw a white car in my rear view mirror. I couldn’t tell from where he had pulled out onto the road. It was almost as if he had appeared from out of nowhere. I had been watching carefully for patrol cars. Perhaps, I thought to myself, it wasn’t really a patrol car. That hope was dashed when the dreaded red and blue lights on top of his car began to flash.

Damn! How fast had I been going anyway? I looked down and saw that I had unconsciously brought the car down to a tepid seventy miles an hour, but I must have been doing nearly a hundred when I went past his vantage point. It was time to stop and face the music. With any luck, he would recognize me, at least by name and I would be able to charm him into letting me go with a warning or, at most, a minor ticket. The last thing I wanted was to be bogged down in some little tank town waiting for some small-time traffic court judge to tell me what a bad boy I had been.

I looked back at the car. A single officer was in the vehicle. As we both stopped by the side of the road, I watched him as he got out of the car. He was tall and slender to the point of being almost thin. His movements were fluid and graceful, almost like a dancer as he approached the car. His eyes were hidden behind the mirrored sunglasses that were always popular in law enforcement.

I rolled down the window and said as charmingly as I could, “Good afternoon, officer.”

“Good afternoon, sir,” he said formally. “Sir, do you have any idea how fast you were going back there?”

“Well,” I said slowly, as if I were giving it some thought as I read the name on his name tag, “I’m not really sure. But you see, Officer... Mercer, is it? Well, Officer Mercer, you see, this is a new car and I’m not entirely...”

“Step out of the vehicle, please, sir.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Do you want to see my license and registration?” I asked, climbing out of the car.

“Yes, please.”

I handed him my wallet, telling him that the registration was in the center console. He examined both, then looked at me from behind the mirrored glasses. “Sir, do you have any idea how fast you were going?”

“No, I’m sorry, but I don’t,” I said abjectly. “You see, I was thinking about a case I had been working on, and...”

“You were clocked at ninety-six miles an hour.”

I knew he was correct, but I feigned surprise. “I had no idea! Well, Officer, if you’ll just give me my ticket, I’ll be on my way.” Sometimes, when you’re willing to accept the ticket, they let you go with a warning. Maybe I would get lucky.

“I can’t do that sir,” he replied, the deadpan expression never changing.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said I can’t do that, sir,” he repeated. “You were thirty-one miles per hour over the speed limit. State law requires me to impound your vehicle and place you under arrest pending trial.”

I had no idea what Oklahoma law said on the matter, but my cooperation turned to recalcitrance. “Officer, I’m in no position to be delayed. I’m due in Little Rock in the morning to consult on a very important trial. Detaining me may cause a delay in a court date which would be frowned upon by your superiors, I’m sure.”

“The keys, please, sir,” he said, ignoring my tirade. “And please get in the vehicle on the passenger side. I’ll drive your vehicle.”

“I can drive it,” I argued. “Otherwise, you’ll have to leave your vehicle here.”

“That’s been taken care of, sir,” he answered, nodding to his police cruiser.

I looked up at his car and was surprised to see an officer sitting behind the wheel. Where had he come from? I was sure there had only been one officer in the car. Wordlessly, I handed him my keys and got in the passenger side.

I rode in silence as Officer Mercer drove, his partner driving just behind us. The two officers must have worked together for a long time, I thought, since the two cars seemed to move almost as one, the interval between the cars never changing.

At last, I asked, “How long until I can see the judge? As I told you, I have to be in Little Rock in the morning.”

“The Judge won’t be back until morning,” he told me. “You’ll be a guest of the city of Ovid tonight.”

Ovid? I had never heard of a town called Ovid. “Surely you don’t plan to keep me in jail until tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll have to do just that, sir,” he said.

“I’ll post bail,” I offered, trying to control my rising fury. I had no intention of being incarcerated, even for one night.

“There’s no judge to grant you a bail hearing,” he explained, “and Oklahoma law requires you to be held until the Judge is available.”

“That’s ridiculous!” I finally exploded. “That can’t be the law. You’re denying due process.”

“I wouldn’t know about that, sir,” he replied innocently. “You’ll have to take that up with the Judge in the morning.”

The rest of the trip was conducted in grim silence. I was quietly fuming, trying to decide my best course of action. It appeared I had no choice in the matter of my confinement. It was afternoon on Sunday. By the time I got hold of anyone who could help me, it would be late evening or maybe even Monday morning. This was going to screw up my schedule for the entire week. I would have to wait until morning and raise hell with this judge he kept referring to. With any luck at all, I would have Officer Mercer’s head on a platter before I left Ovid.

As we drove into the town, I was surprised to find it was much larger than I had expected. It looked like any of a number of small Midwestern farm communities. I estimated the town to be at least ten thousand people, maybe half again that. It was clean and well-maintained, with the usual assortment of small businesses clustered along the highway and a small business district. Most of the downtown buildings were two and three story affairs with retail shops on the first level and offices above.

We pulled up in front of a small complex of buildings with a sign on one of them which proclaimed it to be the city hall. The police department was right next to it. The buildings had that timeless look of modern government buildings, except for the Doric columns framing an area which was probably the city courts. I estimated they were maybe fifteen or twenty years old. Since I was going to be staying at the Steel Bar Hilton for the evening, I was grateful it wasn’t one of the old courthouse jails built back before the Depression. Evenings were cool in Oklahoma this late in the year, and I didn’t want to spend the night in a drafty cell which should have been condemned back when Truman was President.

Officer Mercer showed me to my cell and personally brought me a clean shirt, fresh underwear and my electric razor from my bag. That was one advantage of a small town jail. In Dallas, I would never have been allowed personal items in my cell. He even let me keep my briefcase so I could get a little work done.

It appeared as if I had the entire cell block to myself, so it was quiet and clean. Even the bed was fairly comfortable, so my evening wasn’t too bad, but I wouldn’t have let Officer Mercer know that. He looked in on me a couple of times to be greeted by my best scowl. I seemed to be his only entertainment since I was apparently the only prisoner.

Come to think of it, I mused, I had not met any other police officers. When we had entered the station, there was no one at the front desk. There were no voices coming from any of the offices we passed either. I finally chalked it up to life in a small town. With little crime, probably most of the force took Sunday off to go to church and barbecue in the back yard. Whoever was minding the station had probably been in the back room getting coffee when we came in. At least it would be quiet and I could get some sleep.

I was awaked the next morning by a tapping on the bars. I opened my eyes and turned my head to see Officer Mercer standing there. “It’s six thirty,” he told me. “The Judge wants to see you at eight, so I got you up so you could take a shower and get some breakfast.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I muttered. After a shower and dressed in a clean shirt and underwear, I was beginning to feel human again. I thought about asking for a suit, but if I looked too sharp, I wouldn’t be able to press home my point to the judge that I had been inconvenienced.

I wondered what the judge would be like. To me, judge was a title, like the banker or the plumber. When Officer Mercer said it, though, it was as if ‘Judge’ was the judge’s name. Apparently, they only had one judge in municipal court. Maybe I could impress upon him all the people I knew who might be able to get him a seat on a higher court. If I could convince him that I was important enough, he should go easy on me. I’d have to wait and see before trying that, though. If he decided he was hot shit in this burg, I could get myself in deeper by playing the big city lawyer.

Breakfast was served in my cell. I was surprised to see it was like something out of a small town restaurant instead of institutional jail food. It went down pretty good. Even the coffee was hot and fresh. I found myself wondering if Miss Kitty had brought it over from the Long Branch covered in a little gingham napkin. I actually chuckled at the thought.

Officer Mercer led me into the courtroom right at eight o’clock. I was actually surprised at the appearance of the courtroom. The decor was fairly recent and very stately. Walnut wainscoting surrounded the room and the bench was quite imposing for a municipal courtroom. There was only one person seated in the visitor’s gallery. She was a very attractive woman with dark blonde hair. In her navy blue suit, I assumed she was probably an attorney waiting for a client for a morning hearing or trial. I smiled at her, and she smiled back. I couldn’t get close enough to see if she was wearing a wedding ring. She probably was. I couldn’t imagine someone like her staying single very long.

“All rise!” Officer Mercer intoned, acting to my amazement as bailiff as well. That I would have expected in a small town. “Municipal Court for the City of Ovid is now in session, the Honorable Judge presiding.”

I wondered if my hearing was going bad. I hadn’t heard him announce the judge’s name. I must have missed it, I thought.

The Judge (for upon seeing him, he rated the capital ‘J’) was an impressive figure. With his dark hair just starting to turn to gray and his scholarly beard, he didn’t even need his gold-rimmed glasses to look like one of my professors at Yale. His robe was perfectly draped around him, as if he were sitting for the annual picture of the US Supreme Court Justices.

“Be seated,” he intoned. I heard the rustle of a skirt as the blonde sat. Since Officer Mercer at my side remained standing, so did I.

“First case,” he ordered as Officer Mercer placed a thin folder in front of him. “Mr. Bradley Monroe, you have been charged with speeding. We’re a little short of time around here, so let’s just proceed with your sentence.”

“Your Honor!” I interjected. “This is not proper courtroom procedure, even for something as relatively informal as municipal court.”

“You don’t say,” the Judge said with a soft Oklahoma twang. “And just what gives you the authority to tell me this?”

“I’m an attorney,” I said, almost as if I had said, “I’m Batman.” If I had expected the Judge to react to this, I was disappointed.

“I know who you are, Mr. Monroe, but that doesn’t give you the right to challenge the procedure in my courtroom. Are you licensed to practice in the state of Oklahoma?”

Actually, I wasn’t. I had consulted in the state, but never appeared before the bar. “Not exactly, Your Honor, but...”

“I don’t understand ‘not exactly,’ Mr. Monroe. The only two available responses would seem to be ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Now, which is it?”

“No, Your Honor,” I admitted.

“Is it my understanding that you wish to defend yourself against these charges?”

I had been willing to plead guilty, pay my fine, and move on, but the Judge had riled my legal dander. “I do, Your Honor.”

To my surprise, he stood and intoned something which sounded like Latin. I picked up a word or two. Every attorney knows a little Latin since so many legal terms are in that language, but I couldn’t catch enough words to make any sense of it. Then, he sat down again. Was it my imagination, or had the lights dimmed while he was speaking?

“Very well, Mr. Monroe,” he said, writing something on a slip of paper. He handed the slip to Officer Mercer, who in turn handed it to me. “This is the name of one of our local attorneys. With her help, you will be given everything you need to practice in this court.”

I looked at the slip of paper. The name ‘Susan Henderson’ was written on it, as well as an address and phone number. “How long should this take, Your Honor?” I asked.

“You will be able to practice in this court by the end of today’s session. Normally, we adjourn at noon, but I’ve had to double up since I’ll be out of town tomorrow. You may appear before me this afternoon at two if everything is in order.”

Two o’clock! What was I thinking? I was supposed to be in Little Rock. Now, I would shoot the entire day here in Ovid. Well, there was nothing to be done about it, I supposed. I would have to see this Susan Henderson and go from there.

“Until two then, Mr. Monroe.”

Officer Mercer escorted me from the courtroom. As we reached the outside door, I stopped him and asked, “Where are you taking me?”

“The Judge wants me to escort you to Ms. Henderson’s office,” he replied.

“I didn’t hear him say anything about that,” I commented.

“Its standard procedure,” he replied from behind his sunglasses.

It wouldn’t do any good to argue, I realized. “All right,” I agreed, “but can I use a phone first? I need to call Little Rock and tell them I’ll be a day late.”

“You can call from Ms. Henderson’s office.”

As I was led out to the police car, I noted another officer with a pair of teenagers dressed very punk. He was leading them into the courtroom. There were two things that struck me as odd, though. First, both teenagers, a boy and a girl, appeared to be almost in a trance, walking in a shuffling step with their eyes looking forward but apparently not focused on anything. The second thing was that the officer leading them in looked like a virtual clone of Officer Mercer. Before I could get a better look, Officer Mercer nudged me gently into the passenger seat and closed the door.

I rubbed my eyes. It was only nine, and yet this had been a tiring morning. I actually felt a little light headed, and there was a tingling sensation throughout my entire body. I began to wonder if all of this frustration had played havoc with my blood pressure. I worked out frequently to keep in shape and keep my blood pressure down, but maybe Ovid had driven it up. The doctor had warned me it was getting a little high the last time I saw him. I resolved to get a check-up when I got back to Dallas.

We turned on to the main business street, and for the first time, I noticed something which had evaded me the day before. On Sunday, few people will be walking around in the business district of a small town, so I had not seen anyone other than Officer Mercer. Today, though, was Monday, and there were people everywhere going about their business. The problem was that many of them didn’t appear to be complete. It was as if I could almost see through them, like a double image in a photograph. Other people–normal people–appeared not to notice anything strange and even stopped to talk with the strange ones.

Before I could ask Officer Mercer about them (although I honestly don’t know what I would have asked him), he said. “That’s Susan Henderson’s car over there.”

He was pointing at a Honda Civic diagonally parked in front of a Radio Shack. It looked to be about three years old. Apparently being a lawyer in a small town didn’t pay all that well.

“So where is her office?” I asked.

Officer Mercer pointed to the gray stucco building next to the Radio Shack which proclaimed itself to be the Farmers’ and Merchants’ Bank. “Second floor. The entrance is over there next to the bank entrance.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said, not really meaning it as I opened the car door. “Don’t you want to escort me upstairs, just to make sure I don’t skip town?”

“You won’t,” he said so matter-of-factly that I paused to wonder how he could be so sure. “And when you get a minute,” he called after me, “you might want to move the Civic. The meter is expired.”

I turned to ask him why in the world I would want to move someone else’s car, but he had already driven away.

As I climbed the stairs, I found myself hoping Susan Henderson had a good working relationship with the Judge. I needed to get out of Ovid and back to work as quickly as possible. I realized the Judge intended for this woman to be my attorney of record. Then, she could use me in court as a consultant on my own case while she defended me. It would cost me the amount of her fee, but it was preferable to waiting for approval to practice in Oklahoma.

Her office was at the end of the hall toward the front of the building. The door was open, so I went in. It was a two-office suite. The outer office was obviously used as a waiting room with a desk for a secretary/receptionist while the inner office must have been Ms. Henderson’s. It appeared that no one was home and might not have been home for some time. While there were the usual guest chairs and desks and filing cabinets, there were no other signs of life. There were no pictures on the walls or potted plants in the corner or magazines in the waiting area. The secretarial desk was completely devoid of any personal items. There was a computer on it, but the screen was blank.

Then I noticed a telephone on the desk in the inner office. I still needed to call Little Rock, and since no one was home, I didn’t think they would mind if I used the phone. I would reimburse them later. I dialed the number of Mayberry Jessup, the firm in Little Rock where I was already an hour overdue for my appointment. When the receptionist answered, I asked for Henry Mayberry.

“Mr. Mayberry is in a meeting right now,” she told me.

“Yes, I know,” I told her. I had given her my name, but she apparently didn’t connect me with the meeting. “Again, my name is Brad Monroe, and I’m supposed to be in that meeting with Mr. Mayberry.”

“Oh. One moment, please.”

I listened to innocuous background music for perhaps two minutes, growing more annoyed as the seconds passed. At least I heard someone typing on the keyboard in the out office. Apparently, Ms. Henderson’s secretary had just stepped out for a potty break.

“Mr. Monroe?” the voice on the phone asked. To my disappointment, it was the secretary–not Henry Mayberry.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Mayberry said he did not expect you for this meeting.”

I was suddenly very confused. “But isn’t the meeting to discuss the Nichols case?”

“Yes,” she said hesitantly, as if I had dragged top-secret information out of her.

“Then I’m supposed to be there.”

“Mr. Monroe,” the secretary began in her most imperious tone, “I’m afraid Mr. Mayberry has never heard of you. Now, good day.”

The line went silent. What did she mean he had never heard of me? I had presented a paper at the Arkansas ABA Convention three months ago and met Henry Mayberry then. He had asked me to consult on the Nichols case and we had discussed it by phone at least once a week. This whole thing was starting to make my head spin.

I sat down behind Susan Henderson’s desk. The tingling sensation was stronger, and I was so light headed that I was actually dizzy. The entire room seemed to be going in and out of focus. Then, as I looked at the blank wall in front of me, a picture suddenly formed on it. It was a still life of a very tasteful wildflower arrangement, frame and all. A bookcase suddenly appeared with a little pop as it displaced the air. As I watched, law books began to appear neatly one by one on the shelves.

I tried to get up, but I found I couldn’t. I seemed to have lost partial control of my limbs. I looked down in distress as my clothing seemed to be crawling over my body, like ants at a picnic. My shirt and pants seemed to be reshaping themselves. Then, suddenly, I realized that it wasn’t just my clothing. My entire body was shifting as well. I managed to push the chair away from the desk and look down as my pants changed color, from gray to a light tan. Then, the legs of the pants grew short, moving up my legs and fusing into a... skirt?

I looked down at my legs. They were hairless and less muscular, and a thin film of nylon was knitting itself over them. My black oxfords were becoming smaller and more open, and a two inch heel formed on each of them as they changed into a soft brown color.

Something was crawling on my neck. I managed to turn my head to see a fan of light brown hair drift over my shoulders. I could feel the hair growing longer by the second. There was a sharp pin prick on each of my ear lobes, and I felt a sudden small weight on each ear.

I knew what was happening to me. How could I not know? It was impossible; it had to be, but the impossible seemed commonplace in Ovid.

There was an abrupt contraction in my groin, and I knew at once that where my penis and testicles had happily resided moments before, there was now only a feminine slit in their place. Something soft and clinging covered the new anatomy. I crazily wondered what color these new panties were. Breasts were starting to grow under what was now a silky beige blouse with a scoop neckline. A delicate gold necklace looped itself around my neck. The breasts continued to grow. I knew they were not inordinately large–probably only a B cup–but I didn’t want to have breasts of any size!

I was now wearing a tan jacket which matched my skirt. On my right wrist, a gold bracelet appeared out of nowhere balanced by a small, feminine watch on my left wrist. My fingernails were actually growing as I watched them, tapering into points. They weren’t terribly long, but they were obviously feminine.

As I was changing, the room was changing as well. A coat rack was suddenly standing in the corner with a woman’s trench coat and multi-shaded brown scarf hung over it. Files were appearing on the desk, as were pens and pencils. On a chair near the windows, a brown purse suddenly popped into existence.

Just when I thought the changes had stopped, a pair of glasses appeared on the desk. They had small wire frames and oval lenses. I looked up to see if anything else had changed, but the room was now blurred to my vision. Great, I thought, realizing whom the glasses were for. It wasn’t enough for them to change my sex; they had to make me nearsighted as well. With a frightened sigh, I put on the glasses. The world drew back into sharp focus again.

The popping and swishing noises of the changes had stopped, and the only sounds I could hear were the sounds of someone typing in the outer office and the nervous breathing coming from my (my?) own body.

I could move again, but I didn’t want to. It was almost as if I thought that as long as I didn’t move and feel the movement of breasts and hips, it would all go away. All I had to do was sit still until I woke up from the nightmare. It had to be a dream. There couldn’t be a town where all the police officers looked alike and teenagers walked around in a trance and offices rearranged themselves and some people were almost transparent and other people changed sex, could there?

I thought back upon my recent exchange with the Judge. How had he phrased it? He said something to the effect that with the help of Susan Henderson, I would be able to practice–no. What he said was I would be given everything I needed to practice in his court. Everything I needed? A vagina, for example?

I was dealing with a clever man, if ‘man’ was the right term. There was no doubt in my mind that what had happened to me was the work of the Judge and his minions. Officer Mercer was certainly one of his cohorts. Were there others? What about the attractive blonde who had been sitting in the courtroom?

I had a court date at two that afternoon. That left me a little over four hours to figure out a strategy. Did the Judge plan to leave me like this? With a sinking feeling, I realized he probably did. I wondered how many other residents of Ovid had been changed by that... creature. But would he leave me a way out–a way to get back to my old life? Maybe he would. I suspected he was playing a game with me. If I won, I would have my old life back, but if I lost, it would be pantyhose and heels for the rest of my life. There was no doubt in my mind that my two o’clock court date would be the most important of my life.

I had to prepare. I needed first to find out as much about who I had become as possible. That might provide some clue as to how to approach the Judge. I got up slowly, balancing for the first time on heels. I had thought it would be no more difficult than walking in cowboy boots, but I was wrong. I was required to walk in an entirely different manner which caused my hips to sway back and forth in what I considered an exaggerated motion. I managed to figure it out pretty quickly. I walked back and forth between the desk and the purse three or four times until I got the hang of it. Still, I wondered how women I knew managed to balance themselves on even higher heels. I hoped I didn’t have the chance to find out.

The purse contained the usual collection of garbage all women seem to carry around. There were tissues, credit card receipts, keys, a compact and lipstick. I shuddered when I held the lipstick in my hand. Then, tentatively touching my tongue to my upper lip, I felt an odd taste and realized I was already wearing some of it. I shuddered in disgust. At the bottom of the purse (why is whatever a woman is looking for always at the bottom of a purse?) was a wallet.

I extracted an Oklahoma driver’s license and winced at the picture. Was there ever a good driver’s license picture? This one had what I could only assume was my new face. It was an attractive face, but falling short of pretty. The gold framed glasses I now wore were posed on the girl’s face in the picture. She wore long dangling earrings and only light makeup. The picture was cropped above the breasts, but she (I still couldn’t think of her as me) appeared to be wearing a mauve sweater, very light and feminine. She looked more like a college student than an attorney. I thought she would be more at home picketing the Student Union than arguing in a courtroom. Perhaps this was part of my handicap. Instead of a dynamic attorney like Brad Monroe, I would have to sway a judge in the guise of a neophyte lawyer.

My age was listed as twenty-five, confirming my suspicions that Susan Henderson was a fairly inexperienced attorney. I was five seven, so at least in heels I wouldn’t feel like a midget. Hair color was brown, eyes were blue, and the weight was... well, I guess the weight is nobody’s business. That was an odd thought, I realized. If someone had asked me the day before what my weight was, I would have proudly told them one seventy-two. At a little over six feet in height, that was a pretty good weight for a man in his thirties, and I would have been proud of it. Now, though, although a quick glance at my body told me I was well proportioned, and if anything, a little on the slender side, it was still a subject I didn’t want to discuss.

“Susan?”

I looked up just because I heard someone speak, but I realized in a heartbeat that I was supposed to be Susan, so I replied, “Yes?”

The speaker was a woman, probably early forties with soft brown hair just starting to go gray. She was dressed in a conservative dark blue dress and was fairly attractive in a motherly sort of way. To my dismay, she was also one of the semi-transparent people I had noticed. I realized it must have been her I heard at the keyboard.

“Norman Collier just called,” she said, as if I would know whom she was talking about. “He said he is running about fifteen minutes late.”

“What time was he supposed to be here?” I asked, pleased that my voice, although feminine, was the type of voice that would be effective in court. I had been afraid I would have a high, childish voice, but this pleasant alto voice would do.

“He was due here at ten,” she said in a voice that told me that I should have known what time he was due.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

I had passed the restrooms on my way in, so I knew where they were. I didn’t have to go (thank God), but I did want to get a preliminary look at my appearance. If I looked as bad as my driver’s license photo... well, let’s just say that if I had to be a woman, I would rather be an attractive one.

With trepidation, I entered the women’s restroom. I felt like a voyeur. If the Judge really wanted to play with me, he would change me back as I entered the restroom and have me picked up on every perversion charge imaginable. I would have gladly taken my chances on that, but when I looked in the full-length mirror along the far wall, I saw the face of a woman. I was relieved to see I was actually fairly attractive. I mean, the cosmetics companies would not have been climbing all over themselves to sign me as a model, but I wasn’t bad. I had that fresh-scrubbed average all-American girl look. I hated it, but if I had to be a girl, I was happy to be a normal looking one.

As far as the details were concerned, my hair was pretty long, flowing about half way down my back. It was as brown as brown can be and looked shiny and healthy. There were small pearls on gold settings hanging from my ears, and my makeup was feminine but a little understated. My lashes appeared naturally long, and I was surprised to note that my glasses actually made them look more alluring, like a picture in a frame.

I looked down my breasts, hoping no one would come in at that moment. I suppose I could make it look like I was adjusting my bra. As I suspected, my breasts were fairly small. I think the term one might use for them would be ‘pert.’ That was fine with me. I had heard too many women with large breasts complain endlessly about how uncomfortable they were. That was one distraction I didn’t need.

Probably my best feature was my legs. They were long and smooth with well-shaped ankles. I felt as if I had forgotten to wear any pants as I looked at them, encased in that tight tan skirt. I resolved to be careful of how I sat. I would have to keep my legs very close together, as unnatural as that was for me.

All in all, I could have done a lot worse, I realized. I looked feminine without looking dainty; I looked professional without looking butch, and I was attractive enough to feel good about myself without being so stunning that men would be spending an undue amount of time staring at my body. I never stopped to think at the time that these thoughts ran through my head how uncharacteristic they were.

When I got back to the office, a man was waiting for me. He was dressed in a plaid shirt, leather jacket, work pants and boots. And he wasn’t transparent. From the look of him, I suspected he was a farmer. I didn’t know if he was my appointment, or if I should know him or not, but he solved the dilemma for me when he said, “I’m sorry I’m late, Susan, but I had a little trouble finding everything.”

“No problem,” I said smoothly, unsure if I should call him Norm, Norman, or Mr. Collier. “Let’s go to my office.”

As we sat and my secretary offered coffee, which he gratefully accepted, it was time to get down to business. Unfortunately, I had no idea what the business we had to get down to was. Was this our first meeting, or was this part of an ongoing process about which I hadn’t a clue? Again, he saved me by saying, “I brought these papers in for you to look at.” He placed a neat file folder on my desk.

I opened the file and found several documents pertaining to a property sale with subsequent financing documents. It was easy to see what his problem was. The seller had backed out, refusing to return his deposit, claiming that Mr. Collier had not obtained proper financing in the requisite amount of time. It was a simple case that any first year law student could have handled. I hadn’t done property law in years, but I was confident I could help him and told him so. He left, pleased that he had found a competent lawyer to handle his problems. I only hoped that by the time it was actually settled, I would be back in my own life. Let someone else be Susan Henderson.

My appointment had taken almost an hour. I checked with my secretary and found I had no more appointments for the day. That was both good news and bad news. The good news was that I would have time to prepare for my two o’clock trial date with the Judge. The bad news was that if I was stuck in this life very long, I would need more than one appointment a day to pay the rent.

I was wondering idly if I could get in to see the Judge any earlier when an opportunity to do just that presented itself on my doorstep. The opportunity was in the form of a sixteen-year-old boy named Johnny Lavelle.

“Susan?” Dori said (I had finally looked up my secretary’s name in her file in my drawer–it was Dori Smithwick). “There’s a young man out here without an appointment, but he says it’s very important that he see you.”

“Okay,” I agreed. The young man looked like a high school football player. He was about six-two, in good shape, and handsome (now where had that thought come from?). He was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt that bore the legend ‘Ovid High School.’ He muttered his name almost too low for me to hear. Of course, it didn’t help that he was busy looking down trying to see down my blouse. This was Johnny Lavelle. After introductions, we sat down and I asked him, “Aren’t you a little young to need an attorney on your own?”

“Look,” the boy began, “let’s cut the bullshit. I know you aren’t who you look like and you know I’m not who I look like.”

What did he mean? Was it that obvious, or was everyone in Ovid not who they seemed to be?

“Go on,” I prodded.

He peered at me. “First, I gotta know, were you a lawyer before, or were you something else?”

I was something else all right, I thought, but I answered, “I was a lawyer. A very good one, too.”

“Okay. Now,” he said, satisfied, stretching out in the chair, “I’m–or at least I was a twenty-four-year-old man until I came to Ovid. The Judge, he changed me into a fifteen-year-old kid. He claimed I was driving reckless and endangering people, so he made me fifteen so I could be young enough to take Driver’s Ed. He put me in a family of shades and...”

“Excuse me,” I said, “but what is a shade?”

He grinned. “Boy, you are new here, ain’t you? Shades are like your secretary. They’re not real. I mean, you can talk to ’em, though ’em, even screw ’em, but they ain’t real.”

“But where do they come from?” I asked, genuinely interested.

“How the hell would I know? Now, do you wanna hear my problem or not?”

“Go ahead,” I said, really hoping there was a reform school in Ovid.

“So that pig, Mercer, he picks me up for speeding. He said I was doin’ fifty in a school zone. What a dork!”

“Did he clock you?”

He shook his head. “You don’t know Mercer very good, do you? He don’t need no speed gun to tell you how fast you’re going. He just knows.”

That was a little factoid I filed away for my own defense. “So when is your trial?”

“Noon today.”

I shook my head. “Why didn’t you come to an attorney earlier?”

“You gotta be shittin’ me, lady,” he said. I cringed silently as he called me ‘lady.’ “All the other lawyers in this fucked up town are shades. They’d just do whatever the Judge told them to do. He’d probably make me into a tree like that other guy.”

“He turned someone into a tree?” I asked, horrified. There were apparently worse fates than being changed into Ovid’s answer to Ally McBeal.

“Yeah. Some pervert. I don’t know the whole story. Mostly, people are afraid to talk about this shit.”

I could understand why, but he seemed to be willing to talk about it, so I asked, “Just who is this Judge anyway?”

A scowl appeared on his face. “That’s one thing we can’t talk about.”

“Why won’t you talk about it?”

“Weren’t you listening, lady?” he snapped. “I said ‘can’t.’ We all figure out who he is, but we can’t talk about it. I figure it’s part of the spell.”

He slumped back in his chair. “So can you get me off?”

“Well,” I began, “if he didn’t clock you, we may have a chance.” Actually, I was starting to get excited. If this defense worked for this obnoxious teen, it might work for me as well. It was worth a shot.

I got all the pertinent facts from him: the time and place and so on, and at eleven thirty, we left for court.

Susan Henderson’s Honda Civic was not much of a car, but it got us to court in time. I was actually looking forward to this. Even though Johnny Lavelle probably deserved to have the book thrown at him, I thought I had a good chance of beating the rap. We would call Officer Mercer to testify and destroy his testimony since he didn’t have the readings from a radar gun to back him up. This could work.

We entered the municipal building just as Officer Mercer was coming out of the courtroom. He was holding the leash of a very unhappy Basset hound. “Ms. Henderson,” he nodded, ignoring my client. Then, to the dog, he said, “Come on, Sam. Your new master’s waiting.”

The dog looked up at me with sad brown eyes and whined. I could guess he was trying to say, “And you think you have it bad...” I gave an involuntary shudder.

“Jeez,” Johnny muttered, “the Judge is in a piss-poor mood today. You’d better be damned good, lady.”

So help me god, I thought, if he calls me ‘lady’ one more time, I’m going to... going to... what? Hit him with my purse? Beside, lady was probably the best he could do. After talking with Johnny for a while, I’m surprised he didn’t call me a cunt.

When we entered the courtroom, the Judge was nowhere to be seen. I assumed he was in chambers. I was surprised to see Officer Mercer acting as bailiff, though.

“I thought you just left,” I said to him.

“I did,” was all he said in reply.

The blonde was still there in the visitor’s gallery. She was as attractive as ever, but I found to my surprise that I was having some odd thoughts as I watched her. I kept wondering what I would look like if my hair was styled like hers, and where had she gotten that dress? Be careful, Brad, I told myself. These are not thoughts to be thinking. Apparently more than my body had been affected by the change. It was time to get down to business and get my old body back.

“All rise!”

I hurried Johnny to stand next to me at the defense table as the Judge entered the room.

“Be seated,” he said without looking at the audience. When he was seated, he looked up at me, one eyebrow raised. “Ms. Henderson, I was under the impression that you would be here at two o’clock. I believe it’s just now noon, and I have a trial with Mr. Lavelle.”

I stood, trying to look imposing and failing. “Yes, Your Honor,” I agreed. “I am acting as legal counsel for Mr. Lavelle.”

“Legal counsel?”

“Yes, Your Honor. I believe I am authorized to represent defendants in this court.”

The Judge was silent for a moment. Then, he nodded and said, “Very well, Ms. Henderson. I hope you know what you’re doing. Your client is charged with speeding. How do you plead?”

I nudged Johnny, hoping he would remember to say what I told him. “Uh... not guilty, Your Honor.”

I breathed a tiny sigh of relief.

“Not guilty!” the Judge said loudly. I could have sworn I heard the rumble of thunder when he spoke. “Officer Mercer picked you up for doing fifty in a school zone. How can you plead not guilty?”

“Your Honor,” I said with a calmness I did not feel, “Officer Mercer did not actually clock my client’s speed at the time of the arrest. Therefore...”

“Officer Mercer!” the Judge interrupted.

“Yes, Your Honor?”

“How fast was this young hoodlum going?”

I tried to break in by saying, “Your Honor, this is not proper courtroom procedure.”

His wrath was suddenly turned on me. “Are you trying to tell me how to run this court, young lady?”

There was that lady word again. “No, Your Honor, but...”

“Then answer the question!” the Judge said to the bailiff.

“He was travelling at exactly fifty-three point six miles per hour,” Officer Mercer recited.

“Good. Then Mr. Lavelle is guilty,” the Judge declared.

“Your... Your Honor,” I stammered, “how can you just take his word for it? I mean, he didn’t have a radar gun.”

“Ms. Henderson,” the Judge said in a condescending tone, “if you would take the time to read our Municipal Code, you would know that the word of an officer is sufficient in this court.”

“But surely that law couldn’t stand up under state laws,” I argued, getting angrier by the minute.

“No, I imagine it couldn’t,” he agreed, “but in Ovid, you don’t just get law; you get justice!”

Many years ago, a Federal judge supposedly told a young attorney, “In this world, you get law. In the next world, you get justice.” Apparently, Ovid was closer to the next world. I was in deep shit, and I knew it. It was time to shut up. The Judge was obviously baiting me.

“Yes, Your Honor,” I said meekly, eyes downcast.

Mollified, the Judge went on, “Mr. Lavelle, I had thought that taking Driver’s Education would improve your driving skills. It seems I was wrong. Perhaps you need a little more time to grow up before you get behind the wheel of a car again.”

The Judge stood and began the chanting again I had heard at my own appearance that morning. This time, I was ready for it. I listened closely, but could only pick out a word or two. What little Latin we use in the legal profession is unaccented. This Latin (if it was in fact really Latin) was warmly accented with a flavor that made it sound almost like modern Italian.

Unlike my own situation, this change was almost instantaneous. Apparently, it didn’t really take any time at all to invoke the spell. I watched as Johnny started to shrink. There was a look of terror in his eyes as he became smaller. I wondered if he was going to disappear entirely, but when he was about two feet tall, the shrinking stopped. His hair was growing longer and weaving itself into two tiny pigtails with a little pink ribbon on each one. His jeans and sweatshirt turned pink and became a small, frilly dress. White leggings were now on his tiny legs and little white shoes. He–or I suppose I should say she–looked up at me with her pretty little blue eyes and said, “Wady, some wawyer you turned out to be.”

“Officer Mercer,” the Judge said, “would you escort little Lisa Ann home?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

I turned and watched with a mixture of horror and amusement as little Lisa Ann took Officer Mercer’s hand and was led reluctantly from the courtroom. She looked back at me with disgust, and I realized with a start that I had just lost my first case ever. That was a sobering thought since my own turn before the Judge was quickly approaching.

“Ms. Henderson!” the Judge’s voice boomed from behind me.

Reluctantly, I turned to face the Judge. As much as I didn’t want to be Susan Henderson, I was beginning to realize that my fate was a pleasant one compared to becoming a three-year-old girl or a dog or a tree. I was somewhat relieved, though, when I saw that the anger had left his face. He looked serene and compassionate, the perfect model of a modern judge.

“Ms. Henderson,” he began in an almost fatherly tone, “I actually admire your spirit. It took a lot of courage for you to try to defend that little rat in this court. You still don’t seem to understand how the system works here in Ovid, though.”

He paused for a moment, as if waiting for me to reply. I thought better of it, though, and continued to give him by best contrite, attentive look. I hoped that it was the right look. After all, I wasn’t used to this face. He seemed satisfied and continued, “Instead of our two o’clock session, perhaps we can come to some agreement now. You are qualified by virtue of your current identity to practice before this court, so have you prepared your defense?”

I had, but I realized it would be as unproductive as my defense of Johnny–or rather Lisa–Lavelle. Think fast, Brad, I told myself, or it’s pantyhose and purses for the rest of your life.

“Your Honor,” I said finally, “may I approach the bench?”

“By all means.”

I walked with as much dignity as I could muster in unfamiliar heels to the bench and said, “Your Honor, I don’t understand all of this, but I do understand that a usual defense of my case would result in my loss.”

“That is the most astute thing you have said to me yet, young lady.” There was that ‘lady’ word again.

“Then I would like to plea bargain. I will admit to my guilt in the speeding case in return for a sentence which will allow me to regain my old life. Is that acceptable to the court?”

At least, I had him thinking about it. He appeared deep in thought for a moment, his eyes never leaving mine. Then, his eyes widened for an instant. “Ms. Henderson, I believe I have something in mind which will satisfy us both.”

“Yes, Your Honor?”

“I will accept your plea, and grant you a sort of probation. The terms of your probation will be as follows. You will remain as Susan Henderson for exactly one week. During that time, you will act at all times as the woman I have made of you. You will dress, speak, and behave in a manner appropriate to your current identity. You will, however, have to maintain a high moral tone. This is a small town, and we espouse decent family values. You may not engage in sexual relations with anyone, male or female, for this period. The definition of sexual relations we will use in this case will be the old ‘penetration, no matter how slight’ which has been a standard for many years.”

Actually, that was subject to some recent interpretation, but I knew what he meant. It was a safe bet, though, because I had no intention of engaging in sexual relations while in this body.

“Furthermore,” he continued, “I want you to demonstrate to me your fitness to practice in this court in accordance with the rules of conduct I have established. Make trial that you may know. You must within a week argue and win a case before me. I assure you, in spite of what you are probably thinking, that it is possible to do.

“Now, if you are able to do these things in a satisfactory manner, and appear before me next Monday at nine o’clock, I will return you to your old life as you have requested. Are you willing to accept this probation?”

What choice did I have? “I am, Your Honor.”

“Very well. Then final judgement shall be set aside until next Monday at 9 AM. Case is continued until that time.” There was a sharp rap of his gavel. I was dismissed.

As I picked up my purse, the Judge called out to me, “One other thing, Ms. Henderson. I would advise you to read two things before we meet again. The first is the Ovid Municipal Code and the second is Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice.”

“I will, Your Honor,” I said, but I was puzzled. I understood why he would want me to read the Ovid Municipal Code, but of what value was a Shakespearean play? I had never cared much for the Bard, but if the Judge thought it would help, I would have to find a copy of it.

I got back to the office just before one, tired and hungry. I was depressed from losing in court, an entirely new experience for me in either gender. My feet hurt from being in heels, and the muscles (such as they were) in my legs were tired from trying to balance on those tiny heels. The bra was rubbing on the bottom of my breasts, and my panties felt like they were trying to crawl up inside me, both front and back. My neck even hurt from the weight of my hair, and I kept having the feeling there was something crawling on the bottom of my ear lobes every time my earrings moved. To make matters worse, I had to go to the restroom and I didn’t particularly want to experience that as a woman. Still, if I was going to be one for a week, I would have to go sometime, and my body was telling me that sometime was very soon.

“How did it go?” Dori asked me in a tone so cheery that I wanted to kill her. Could you kill a shade? I suspected you could.

“I lost,” I mumbled.

“Oh, you poor dear,” she said rushing over to put her arm around me. “Well, you’ll win the next one.”

I hoped so. I almost said, “Thanks, Mom.” I couldn’t imagine anyone in my old office acting so concerned about a loss. They would probably be hiding out. Whenever one of my associates had a bad day back in Dallas, it didn’t pay to be very visible in the office. I would have to change that when I got back. I liked Dori’s approach better.

“Thanks, Dori,” I said with a small smile I didn’t feel. “Is there anything to eat around here?”

“I’ll order us a couple of salads from the Greenhouse,” she said. Oh, great–rabbit food. “Do you want your usual?”

“Sure,” I said, dropping my stuff in my office.

The restroom was my first chance to really relax for a few minutes. I squatted on the toilet and just forced myself to relax. To my surprise, I felt a flow of liquid from my new plumbing. That was all there was to it, it seemed. It really wasn’t that much of a different sensation as a woman. The best I can describe it is that as a man, it’s like using a hose and as a woman, it’s like emptying a bucket. I could live with it for a week. Carefully and tentatively, I wiped myself as I knew I was supposed to. I hoped I did it right, I thought. What I had done was just let my mind go for a minute and do it the way it seemed right. Maybe I had a few basic skills built in. It was the first time I had had the opportunity to touch my vagina. I thought about what the Judge had said about no sex. That really wouldn’t be a problem. Even I wasn’t anxious to touch myself there, and I certainly wasn’t going to let a man touch me.

Back in the office, I spent the afternoon poring over the Ovid Municipal Code. It seemed pretty straightforward, very much like most city codes. The only thing which threw me a little was at the beginning of the document where it said, “Moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue.” Where had I hear that before? Wherever it was, it suited the Judge to a T.

After I had eaten my salad, I began to settle into a routine I knew I would have to suffer for the next few days if I was ever to return to my old life. I didn’t have many clients, and those I did have had fairly easy legal needs. I saw two clients in the afternoon, both walk-ins, and each had problems I was able to help them with without the need of going to court. I began to long for another Johnny Lavelle. At least, he was interesting, the little shit.

The good thing is that I wasn’t feeling so strange any more. I thought this was because I was busy being a lawyer. Male or female, I was doing the same job. Now, if I had suddenly been forced to be a waitress or a teacher or a housewife, I would probably felt more alien, but there were as many women graduating from law schools now as men, maybe more. I didn’t exactly feel like a woman; I felt like a lawyer.

Five o’clock rolled around, though, and I would have to stop being a lawyer for awhile and spend the evening alone as a woman. I wasn’t looking forward to it. I said good-night to Dori and promised to lock up. I had survived my first day as Susan Henderson. One day down and six to go. All I had to do was act the part and win a trial with the Judge. The first part I could do with a little discipline. It was the second part that worried me. I needed a case to go to trial almost at once. I resolved to drop by the municipal offices in the morning and see what was coming up on the court schedule.

I found my apartment without too much trouble. Ovid wasn’t that big, so I just looked at my driver’s license to get the address and checked the map of Ovid in the back of the phone book. Small towns aren’t much for building apartments, but Ovid had a small college, and there were several small apartment buildings catering to students and faculty around it. My apartment was in a small complex with about a dozen units, located a block south of the campus. I had to admit, the five-minute commute beat the forty-five minute one on the Central Expressway I tolerated in Dallas.

My apartment was feminine, but not overtly so. There were a few more frills and pastels around, but no more than I had experienced when Brenda had been with me. I slipped out of my skirt, blouse and hose and climbed into a sweat suit and sweat socks. I felt almost normal again. Not quite, but almost normal.

I spent a boring evening by myself. I fixed a quick dinner. Fortunately, the pantry was full, and being a bachelor for the three years since Brenda had been gone had forced me to either eat out or become a decent cook. I had chosen the latter, since I knew my waistline would not stay firm if I ate out all the time. I had a simple salad, a chicken breast, and a baked potato (no butter). It was pretty standard fare for me, and this female body seemed to like it fine.

The rest of the evening, I spent looking though drawers and closets, trying to familiarize myself with all the things I would need to know for the next six days. I didn’t put it past the Judge to have a trick up his sleeve. I didn’t want to show up Monday morning and find out his idea of acting like a woman for a week included something I hadn’t done. I would have to dress and act like the young woman lawyer I was. I had no doubt that any being who could change my sex so easily could be spying on me right now.

The only thing I had to soul search on was in the bathroom. I found a small container of pills which I recognized were birth control pills. As I had said before, I had no intention of needing them, but perhaps this was the trap the Judge had set for me. If I didn’t take them, I wasn’t really getting into the spirit of the thing. You weren’t acting like a woman. Sound the buzzer. You lose. Next contestant, please. I found the pill in the slot marked ‘Monday’ and reluctantly swallowed it.

Tired from my ordeal, I went to bed early. I found a pair of pajamas, which looked relatively unfeminine if you ignored the little red roses printed all over them, and went to bed. It had been a dull evening, in spite of my time spent investigating my new and (hopefully) temporary life. But it wasn’t just dull, I reflected, closing my eyes. I was lonely. In fact, if I was honest with myself, I had been lonely for a long time. At first, I had Brenda to spend my evenings with. Then, as we drifted apart, there was my work, which often kept me working very late. After Brenda, was gone, my work continued, often punctuated with short, shallow relationships with a number of women. Even if I hadn’t come to Ovid, my relationship with Talia Moore would probably have been over almost before it started. She wasn’t the right woman for me, I thought as I drifted off to sleep. She wasn’t Brenda.

I awoke at six on Tuesday, oddly refreshed. I knew at once who I was and where I was, so there was no sudden shock. I always woke up that way, and being Susan didn’t seem to have changed that. I did feel ten years younger, though, and then I remembered that I was ten years younger. I resolved to go running that evening. It would be interesting to see if the ten years and more than fifty pounds I had shed improved my running.

Dressing proved a chore, as I was afraid it would. Still, I managed to do a respectable job with my makeup. I had watched Brenda do her makeup a number of times, so I had some idea how to do it. It took a couple of times, particularly the eyes, but I managed. In fact, I thought I actually looked a little more alluring than I had the day before, for what that was worth. I have to admit, though, that if I just relaxed, my hands seemed to know what to do without any conscious thought. Still, I was proud of my efforts.

I managed to get all the tangles out of my long hair and get my bra fastened without ripping off a breast. Picking a dress for the day wasn’t that hard either. I picked a nice dark blue skirt and matching jacket, a white blouse, and black heels, about the same height that I had worn the day before. Getting new earrings in took a few minutes, but I managed. By seven thirty, I had eaten a light breakfast and was ready to go. I was actually looking forward to the five-minute commute. Day two was underway. After today, only five more days to go.

I got to the office, exchanged morning pleasantries with Dori, and looked over my calendar. I had two appointments for the day. Surely one of them would involve some court time. The first appointment wasn’t until ten, so I headed for the Judge’s office to see what his court schedule looked like.

The receptionist told me that the Judge was not in. I remembered that he had said something about that when I was in court. She then said, “But Cindy is in, so she can help you.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “Where is her office?”

The receptionist looked at me oddly, as if I should have known the answer. “It’s down that hall, right next to the Judge’s office.”

“Thanks again,” I said with my best smile.

I was more than a little surprised to find the blonde from the courtroom was apparently Cindy. She looked up and saw me, then smiled. “Hi,” she said softly, rising and offering me her hand. I took it, startled that her hand and mine were about the same size. “I’m Cindy Patton, the Judge’s secretary.”

“Uh... I’m Susan Henderson,” I said, playing the role as best I could.

Cindy laughed, “You don’t have to pretend when you’re here with me. The Judge just expects you to act like a woman. I know who you were, of course. As far as most people around here think, you and I are old friends. We even went to high school together.”

“We are? We did?” No wonder the receptionist was surprised that I had to ask for directions.

“Yes,” she replied, “that’s the way things work around here. When you change, you’re given a complete life. I know what’s supposed to be happening since I have to follow it all for the Judge.”

“Then you’re like him?” I asked.

She laughed her musical laugh once more. “Oh, no, I’m a changee just like you. Just about everybody who’s real in Ovid was changed, but most of them don’t remember it. They think they’ve always been here.”

“Who were you before?” I asked.

“I’ll warn you, Susan, that isn’t considered a polite question in Ovid,” she admonished me.

“But why not?” I asked, genuinely puzzled. “You know who I was.”

Cindy sighed, “Well, for openers, it affects how we relate to each other. Let’s say that I told you that I used to be a four-hundred pound Sumo wrestler, which I wasn’t by the way. That would affect how you talked to me and acted around me. It wouldn’t be a natural way to act around a woman like me. Do you see?”

“I suppose,” I admitted. “It’s all pretty complicated.”

“Well, you’ll get used to it.”

I shook my head, feeling my long hair drift around me. “I hope not. I still have a chance to get back to my old life.”

“That’s right, you do,” she agreed. “I imagine that’s why you’re here today–to look for a good case to defend.”

“That’s right. Can you help me?”

She smiled. “Sure. Always glad to help out an old high school classmate.”

I smiled back. “Thanks, Cindy,” I said, getting into the spirit of the thing. “You’ve always been a great friend.” We laughed together. I think it was the first time I had felt like laughing since I had come to Ovid.

We looked at the court calendar. The Judge was out of town that day, but court was scheduled for Wednesday and Thursday, but not Friday. There were a couple of mundane trials and an arraignment on Thursday, but nothing else. “Then I can schedule a trial for any other time?” I asked Cindy.

“Not necessarily.”

Oh-oh, I thought. The Judge plays games with the schedule. “Why not?”

“Well, people like you get brought to court on pretty short notice. Anyone who gets picked up today will have to appear tomorrow, and if court is in session, they’re brought in for judgement immediately.”

“Well, how about one of them? Couldn’t you just give me a call and I could defend one of them?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Susan.”

I winced at the name, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“People who are brought in for that kind of judgement are going to become citizens of Ovid, and there’s nothing you or any other attorney can do to stop that. You see, the Judge knows what they’ve done, and they’ve all done something. Usually it’s some traffic offense, like yours, but sometimes, it’s more serious. This place is sort of a speed trap in the Twilight Zone. All you’d do is lose another case like you did yesterday.”

I saw her point, but that did nothing to help me. How was I going to find a case to try before the Judge on such short notice? I had only two days to find a client, gather all the information, and get a trial appearance scheduled. The bastard had stacked the deck against me! I wouldn’t be able to do it, and would be stuck as Susan Henderson for the rest of my life. In frustration and rage, I felt the most unnatural urge to cry.

Cindy saw my distress and put a comforting hand on my shoulder. I was learning that women touch each other a lot more than men. I found myself envying her. She was comfortable as a woman. I suspected she had always been one, though. I wonder what she would think if she suddenly found herself in the body of a man.

“Look,” she said softly, “I’ll do what I can for you. I’ll check around with Officer Mercer and see if he knows of any locals who need a lawyer. If there needs to be a trial on any of them, I’ll schedule it in. But that may be a long shot, so keep working on it yourself.”

“I will,” I said, trying to smile and hold back the tears at the same time.

I got back to my office in time for my ten o’clock appointment, but there was nothing to take to trial there. It was just two shades who were a married couple wanting to set up a simple will. My two o’clock wasn’t much better. It was an elderly woman (and a shade) who wanted to set up a trust for her grandchildren. I wondered to myself if they were shades, too, or if they were scampering around the school playground unaware that they had been adults only a short time before.

That was it for the day. It was nearly four and I was no closer to a trial than I had been that morning. I called Cindy, but it had been a slow day for our ever-busy police officer. There had been no new arrests and there was nothing pending. Apparently the Judge liked an orderly little town. What this town needed was more Johnny Lavelles.

I was getting depressed. It was looking more and more as if I would be in skirts for the rest of my life. Then, at about four thirty, Dori popped in the office. “There’s a young man who would like to see you right away. He just called and is driving over now. He said he could be here in ten minutes. I told him it would be all right, since he sounded very upset. I hope I did the right thing.”

“I’m sure you did, Dori,” I told her with a confirming smile. A client was a client. Even if it wasn’t something I could take to court right away, if I ended up stuck as Susan Henderson, struggling young lawyer, I might need every client I could get. That Honda Civic had a lot of miles on it, and the rent needed to be paid, I was sure.

The young man Dori spoke of showed up, good to his word, ten minutes later. He was about my current age, and I found myself thinking he was quite attractive. Apparently my new hormones were kicking in, much to my chagrin. He was about six foot one with brown eyes and dark brown hair cut fashionably short. He appeared to be in good shape, but wasn’t muscle-bound by any stretch of the imagination. He was wearing gray slacks, a lighter gray herringbone sport coat and a dark blue turtleneck. And like me, he was wearing glasses.

“I’m Steven Jager,” he said in a soft, mellow voice as he offered me his hand.

I rose and took it, feeling very tiny as his larger hand surrounded mine. “Susan Henderson,” I said.

“I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice,” he said, taking the seat I had motioned him to. “I just didn’t want to let this wait until tomorrow since it was so upsetting.”

“Please tell me about it,” I urged. Could this be the case I was looking for?

“Well,” he began, “I teach English at Capta College. This is my second year on the staff.”

Somehow, I wasn’t surprised that he was a college instructor. He looked every bit the part. “Are you tenured?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No, the agreement I have is year to year. I won’t be up for tenure until I’ve been there five years, and as it stands right now, I may not be there another five days.”

“Why is that?” I asked. I could sense a case coming up.

“Two of my freshman English students, both young girls have accused me of sexual harassment,” he said, his face turning beet red. “Well, actually, only one has, but the other one is backing her up.”

Two emotions coursed through me at the same time. The first was sympathy for this man. He didn’t look like someone who would sexually harass his students. Of course, I was still looking at him from a predominately-male perspective. If I had been a woman all my life, I might have thought differently. Still, he looked shy and gentle–certainly not like a sexual aggressor.

The other emotion was disappointment. This didn’t look like a crime under the Ovid Municipal Code. Oh, I might be able to take it there if there was no other court to handle it (and I suspected that there were no other courts available to the residents of Ovid), but that would take time. I couldn’t force that before my deadline. But, as I had said to myself earlier, I might soon need every client I could get.

“Did you?” I asked.

He looked at me blankly. “Did I what?”

“Did you sexually harass her?”

He straightened up so fast I thought his backbone would snap. “Certainly not! I couldn’t dream of such a thing.”

I pulled out a pen and legal pad. “Why don’t you tell me the whole story?”

He was embarrassed, I could tell. That was actually a good sign. In spite of what most people believe, the guilty are often the most confident. They can look you right in the eye and deny they ever did anything wrong. As often as not, the innocent are the ones who are nervous and embarrassed. They know they don’t deserve the accusations, but they are unnerved because others do believe they are guilty. Steven’s embarrassment was a small indicator of innocence. I found myself happy about that. I liked what little I had seen of him, and I wanted him to be innocent.

“Judy Walker and Audrey Bertram are in my beginning English class,” he began. “They’re both pretty good students. They’re not A material, but they have strong B grades and participate well in class. They seem to be good friends since they always come to class together, usually giggling and talking like old friends. Then, about a month ago, Judy started hanging around asking questions. I didn’t think much of it, but she was always the last student to leave.”

I was taking notes furiously. “Did she seem to hang back so she was always the last student to ask a question?”

Steven thought for a moment before replying, “Now that you mention it, yes. She would hang back from the other students and then ask me questions when we were alone.”

“Were you alone in your office?”

He shook his head. “No, only in the classroom.”

“Was the door open?”

“Yes.”

“Did she ever make any advances at you?”

“I don’t think so. It’s actually a little hard for me to tell.”

“Are you gay?” It was a question I had to ask. How could he not notice if she was making advances? I found myself hoping he wasn’t gay, although it would have made his defense easier. I wondered why I cared.

He smiled. I thought that was odd. Most men would protest vehemently, even some who really were gay. “No, I’m not gay.”

I shifted forward in my chair and looked him straight in the eye. “Then why is it so hard for you to tell? You’re an attractive man. Surely other girls have come on to you before.”

He looked a little startled. “Do you really think I’m attractive?” he asked.

Did I? “Well...” I managed, “...yes.”

We were both silent for a moment. I didn’t know why he was silent, but I knew why I was silent. I had just told a man I thought he was attractive. I mean, it wasn’t a come on; it was just a statement of fact from an attorney to his–rather her–client. Still, it was odd that I even noticed. Like many men, I had never been able to tell if another man was good looking or not. It just wasn’t something straight men looked for in another man.

Flushed, I tried to get the discussion back on track. “So have girls come on to you before?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, yes, but I’m not the kind of person to take advantage of that. I mean, I’m a little old to be chasing after eighteen-year-old students.”

“You don’t look that old,” I pointed out. “What are you? Twenty-six?”

“Twenty-eight actually,” he said. Then, looking me straight in the eye, he added, “Now.”

My heart jumped. He was like me; he remembered his previous life. “So you remember who you were,” I concluded.

He nodded. “Yes, and from your statement, so do you.”

“Then is there anything in your previous life that might help us?”

“No,” he said. “It wouldn’t be allowed anyway. By the way, I suppose I should ask if you are really an attorney. You act as if you might be new around here.”

“Yes, I am. I’m new around here and I am an attorney,” I told him. “I was an attorney before I came here, and I was a damned good one. Now, what do you mean by ‘it wouldn’t be allowed’?”

“Well,” he began, “we can talk about who we were here in private, but if you try to talk about it around more than one other person, you’ll find you can’t say a thing. It’s like a safety valve. If we couldn’t talk about it among ourselves, we’d probably go crazy, but if we talked about it around a group of people, particularly the ones who don’t know they’ve changed, we could upset the entire social system here in Ovid.”

It made sense in a perverse sort of way. Many dictatorships had operated on the principle that two people was a conversation and three people was a revolution. Ovid was certainly an odd form of a dictatorship, albeit an apparently benevolent one.

“So what you’re saying is you have no interest in college girls,” I concluded. “What kind of girls are you interested in?”

Now what made me ask that? It wasn’t something I really needed to know, but I found that some strange part of me wanted to know the answer. I leaned forward to hear his response.

“I guess I really haven’t thought much about that,” he replied after a moment’s thought. “First, there was the change that turned me into Steven Jager, and then, I had to establish myself in a new role. It’s a demanding job, really, and I enjoy it. I want to be tenured and stay at Capta College for the rest of my life.”

“Be careful of that,” I warned him quietly. “Getting too wrapped up in your career can be very costly in your personal life. I know.”

He looked at me in silence for a moment; then said, “I believe you do.”

“Well,” I said, somewhat flustered, “I think we need to get back on track. What does this girl claim you did?”

“She said I took her back to my office and made sexual advances to her after class yesterday,” he replied hesitantly.

“What did happen?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “We did go back to my office. That much is true. She got very close to me and asked me what I thought of her. I told her I thought she was a good student and I was pleased to have her in my class. She asked me if that was all, and I told her it was. She seemed disturbed by this and left.”

“Did anyone see the two of you in your office?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Was your office door open?”

“Yes. I never close it.”

Either he was a polished liar or so naive that he couldn’t understand what had happened to him. He seemed so innocent and unsuspecting that I was beginning to think he was telling the truth. That had never been very important to me before, but there was something about this man that made me genuinely want to believe him.

“How did you find out about the accusation?”

“I was called into the Dean’s office earlier this afternoon. He told me what had happened, and that the College’s Board of Trustees wanted me to appear before the Moral Review Committee on Saturday.”

“This Saturday?”

“Yes.”

That meant even if I did find a case to argue before the Judge, I would still be here to defend Steven before the Committee. That actually made me happy. I felt he was being railroaded. Apparently, even in Ovid, political correctness was out of hand. It was so much easier for an organization like the College to punish an individual like Steven than find out what had really happened. It made my blood boil.

“Okay,” I told him. “I will defend you at the meeting on Saturday, but I’ll warn you, it won’t be easy. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

We spent over an hour examining every possible detail of the situation. We discussed how well the girls responded in class, what the subject of their papers had been, who their other friends were, what they wore to class. I began to form a mental picture of the two girls. First, they were both shades. Did this mean shades could act independently, or was someone pulling their strings? Assuming for the moment that they were acting independently, why were they doing this? Was it to attract attention? Was it to get revenge for a perceived slight? My next step would be to interview the two girls. I suspected that Judy would stick to her story no matter what, but perhaps I could do something with Audrey.

Steven suddenly leaned back and groaned, “I can’t think on an empty stomach. Are we about finished?”

I looked down at my notes. “We are finished for tonight. I’m tired, too. I need to interview both girls before we can do anything else.”

“Okay, fine with me.” He looked at his watch. “Are you leaving now? If so, I’ll walk you to your car.”

I looked up at him in puzzlement. “Why should you do that?”

His face turned red. “Well, it is dark out, and a young woman alone on the street... it’s just not a good idea.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Most women I knew did not like to go out in the dark to their cars. Of course, Dallas, like all major cities, could be a dangerous place at night, even for men, but I never stopped to consider that I should take precautions in Ovid. “Do you think it’s necessary?”

“Probably not,” he admitted, “but it’s still a good idea.”

“Well...”

His face brightened. “Say, I have an idea. Why don’t we go over to Rusty’s? I’ll buy you a burger.”

My clients had never been my friends, and I always tried to maintain a discrete distance from them outside legal issues. This is just good common sense, since most ethical rules for attorneys stipulate that there should be no relationship with a client which might prevent a lawyer from doing his or her best for the client. I had always subscribed to that rule. But did that mean I couldn’t have dinner with a client? Certainly, if I had been male, I wouldn’t have thought twice about a conflict just because I had a burger with him. But now, things were different. I was a woman and he was an attractive man (there was that odd thought again).

I decided it wouldn’t be a conflict. After all, a going to a place called Rusty’s for a burger hardly seemed like a romantic evening. Besides, I was hungry and I didn’t like eating alone. “Okay,” I agreed.

“Great! I’ll drive us over and then drop you off back at your car after dinner.”

I readily agreed since I didn’t have the foggiest notion where this Rusty’s was.

Steven drove a Volvo. I filed that fact away, too. If he had driven a Corvette or some other flashy car, it would have said something about the type of man he was. It didn’t necessarily mean that he was on the make just because of the car he drove, but it was a potential indicator. Volvos aren’t exactly babemobiles, and Steven’s looked to be several years old. It somehow made him seem even more professorial.

Rusty’s proved to be exactly what I thought it would be. It was a small burger joint out on the highway where all the car dealers, gas stations, and fast food joints were located. The neon sign proclaimed ‘Rusty’s Best Burgers’ under a smiling neon bull. The sign was so large, it almost threatened to dwarf the white stucco café beneath it where the words ‘Rusty’s Burger Barn’ were printed in fading red paint.

Inside, the dining room was brightly lit with only a few customers parked in the row of booths by the window. I suspected this place did most of its business on weekends and in the summer when the high school kids could stay out later. An attractive young brunette in a tight-fitting waitress’s uniform was at our table almost before we were seated. She was a shade.

“Hi, Mr. Jager,” she said with a wide smile. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“You know the life of a college instructor, Maxine,” he said, returning the smile. “Busy all the time. No time to eat.”

She laughed, “Then you’ll have to make up for it tonight. What will you have, folks?”

We ordered burgers, fries, and I had a Diet Coke while Steven had a vanilla shake. When the waitress left, I asked, “Is she a friend of yours?”

“As in a girlfriend of mine?”

I smiled.

“You never stop working, do you?”

“Not if I want to win,” I replied.

“Is that what’s most important to you?”

“It’s pretty important,” I replied, but I wasn’t sure if it was still the most important thing to me. If someone had asked me that a few days ago, I would have said yes, but now I wasn’t sure. Maybe losing that little case with Johnny Lavelle had taught me that even when you lose, life goes on. If I had been a little less intense in my career, I might have won as many cases as I did, but I might still have Brenda.

“To answer your question, she was in one of my classes last year. She’s working on a degree in psychology.”

“She seems to like you,” I noted.

Steven frowned slightly. “Does that mean we must have something going on? Just because she likes me?”

I put my hand over his in a gesture that seemed somehow natural. “I’m sorry, Steven,” I said softly. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that some people might think that if they saw you talking to her. She’s young and pretty, and given the accusations against you, a lot of people might think just that.”

“But I can’t ignore girls like Maxine,” he protested. “They’re my students.”

“I know,” I agreed. “Just be aware of appearances.”

The burgers came, and they were great. I couldn’t eat all of mine, though, but Steven devoured every bite of his own burger as well as half of my fries. We talked about the College mostly. It was a small liberal arts school with only about two thousand students. It had apparently originally been a denominational school, but that had changed. Steven wasn’t sure when. The president was a woman named Betty Vest.

“You’ll meet her Saturday,” Steven said.

Steven dropped me off at my car and waited until I had started it and put it in gear before driving away. We had set up another meeting for the next day right after lunch since he had a free period then. I was going to try to interview Judy and Audrey before then.

I got home tired but somehow in a good mood. I was no closer to solving my dilemma than I had been the night before, but I was busy again. Actually, it was more than that, I realized. It had been a long time since I had represented someone in an important case whom I really liked. There was something about Steven that I really liked. It was as if he were vulnerable and I could protect him.

As I got ready for bed that night, I was actually happy. I had broken my rule about clients. I had made a friend.

The next thing I knew, it was six in the morning again. I got up and started my morning routine of getting a shower and getting dressed. It actually was a routine now. Although it was only my second morning in the body, it was far easier than the previous morning. Oh, the shower was still a challenge. It was a terrible temptation to fondle myself. My male mind found this body very attractive, and fondling it would have been natural, but I wanted to keep myself as chaste as possible. Perhaps I feared that I might enjoy self-stimulation a little too much. If I wasn’t able to get back to my own body, I might try experimenting, but the goal for now was to return to my old life.

Susan’s wardrobe was mostly lawyerly suits, for which I was thankful. I would have been very uncomfortable in less tailored attire. Still, the suits were feminine, even the charcoal gray one I had donned for the day. And the addition of hose, gray heels and a ruffled white blouse were certainly not examples of masculine attire. But when in Rome...

I phoned Dori and told her I was going immediately to the Judge’s office. Then, I downed a slice of toast and a glass of orange juice and started off for another day.

Cindy greeted me warmly and offered a cup of coffee, which I accepted. I really was starting to think of her as a friend. When I had taken a drink of the coffee, I asked her, “Is there anything coming up for trial today?”

She looked at me with sympathetic eyes and said, “Susan, I’m afraid not. The Judge has been called out of town for the rest of today.”

My heart sank. I was running out of time. I had to find a case to try or I was Susan forever. “Is he coming in to the office at all?” I asked.

“Yes I am,” a voice said from behind me. It was the Judge. He looked at me for a moment and told me, “Come in. I can only give you a few minutes. I do have to go.”

I followed him in and took the proffered seat. Without preamble, I began, “Your Honor, as you can see, I’m trying to meet the terms of my probation. In dress and manner, I have displayed the feminine attributes you required, but I can’t argue and win a case before you if there is nothing on the docket for me to do.”

“That isn’t my problem,” he said laconically. “It’s your problem. I never promised you a case. You could always go find one on your own.”

“You set me up,” I accused. “You knew there wouldn’t be a trial for me to conduct. You plan to beat me on a technicality–no possible case, no win.”

To my surprise, he actually smiled. “A technicality? You mean like when you got that soundtrack composer off for molesting little girls?”

“The prosecution stepped over the line with my client,” I explained, feeling my face flush. “They didn’t follow proper procedure.”

“So, thanks to you, a dangerous pervert escaped justice.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “He was caught a year later in London. They imprisoned him there, so I’d say justice caught up with him.”

“No thanks to you,” the Judge pointed out. “I only wish he had come through Ovid. We need more oak trees in the park.”

I shuddered. At first, I thought it was at the thought of being turned into a tree, but then I realized that I had pictured the composer in my mind. He was a sick man who should have been put away sooner. By getting him off, I had been partially responsible for the molestation of at least three other girls whom he had attacked after I got him off. I had never really thought of it that way before. I was suddenly not very proud of myself, but I pressed on, “My past cases aren’t the issue. I know I can win a case if I have more time.”

“You have no more time,” he said sternly. “You are to appear in my courtroom at nine o’clock next Monday. If you haven’t met all the terms of your probation by then, you will be sentenced to be Susan Henderson for the rest of your natural life.”

He said it as if it were a life sentence. I suppose it really was.

“Now, that’s all the time I can give you this morning. I have to be in Tulsa in fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes? But Tulsa was at least an hour and a half away. But I supposed that would not be a problem for the Judge. He rose from behind his desk and walked into the outer office. I turned to follow him, but he was already gone.

“Where did he go?” I asked Cindy.

“Tulsa,” she replied.

“Yes, I know he’s going to Tulsa, but where is he right now?”

She smiled. “Oh, he’s already there. It doesn’t take him any time at all to get there.”

“Damn!” I said, tears welling up in my eyes.

Cindy looked at me with concern. “What’s wrong, Susan?”

“Cindy, you know about my probation. You were in court when the Judge gave it to me. I’m running out of time. If he’s not in court today, that just leaves tomorrow’s session for me to win a case and get my old life back. What if there’s nothing for me to take to trial tomorrow?”

That was it. I did break down and cry. I knew it was those damned female hormones coursing through my body which brought on the tears, but that only made it worse. I was becoming a prisoner of this body–a prisoner for life if something didn’t happen in a hurry.

Cindy put her arm around me. “It’s okay, Susan. If you have to stay a girl, it won’t be that bad. I’ll help you in any way I can.”

“Not that bad!” I repeated, practically screaming. “That’s okay for you. You’ve always been a girl and...”

“Always been a girl?” Cindy laughed. “Until a few weeks ago, I was as male as you were.”

“But that can’t be,” I protested. “You act so... so...”

“Feminine?”

I nodded, wiping the tears from my eyes. “How is it that you seem so natural as a woman?”

“Well,” she sighed, “I don’t really know. I never wanted to be a woman, but I seem to have an aptitude for it. It feels natural. I guess the Judge knew where I would fit in best here.”

Was that to be my fate? Would I slowly become more and more comfortable as a woman until I just gave up and accepted my new gender? I shuddered at the thought. I didn’t want to be a woman. I didn’t want to wear skirts and pantyhose and makeup. I didn’t want to have periods or have someone stick his hard dick in me. I didn’t want to have babies and wear heels. There was nothing about being female that had any appeal for me. I had been a woman for nearly forty-eight hours, and that was nearly forty-eight hours too long.

“Look,” she suggested, “why don’t you just show up in court tomorrow morning. I’m sure at least one of the cases will be something you can at least take a stab at. I’ll let you know tonight if anyone is awaiting trial in the morning.”

I nodded, trying to smile bravely. “You really are a good friend, Cindy. If I’m stuck here, I just hope we can... you know.”

She smiled at me. “Sure. We’ll be friends. But let’s do what we can to get you out of here, if that’s what you want.”

I got back to the office in time to handle my ten o’clock appointment. It was an insignificant matter. A local roofing contractor wanted me to help him file a lien on a house where the homeowner had disputed the total payment. I convinced him to participate in an arbitration meeting first. We tentatively scheduled it for the following Tuesday. I was beginning to think I’d be at that meeting since I would be stuck as Susan.

I looked at my watch. I still had over two hours before I met with Steven. That would give me the time I needed to interview Judy and Audrey. I hoped they weren’t both in class.

I got their room assignments from the Registrar’s office. Both girls lived in Rhea Hall, the one of only two women’s dormitories on the campus. In character with other buildings on the campus, it appeared to be perhaps fifty years old and built in a Neo-Gothic style. Both girls lived on the same floor, but at opposite ends. I decided to go right for the gold and try to break Judy first.

“Why should I talk to you?” she asked after I had introduced myself. She was certainly attractive, the sort of girl many guys, even college instructors, would be happy to make a play for. She had long blonde hair, large breasts, and a nearly perfect face and figure. She was as Steven had said a shade, but certainly a very attractive one.

“I’m just trying to find out what happened,” I told her, mustering as much innocence in my voice as I could manage.

“Then read my statement,” she replied, not fooled by my act. “I don’t have anything else to say to you.” With that, she closed the door in my face. I couldn’t help but feel she was hiding something. I was even more convinced that Steven was being railroaded.

Her friend Audrey was a little better. She was an attractive brunette, but nowhere near as attractive as Judy. She invited me into her room and said, “I don’t know what I can do to help you. I mean, Judy is my friend and I didn’t see or hear anything.”

“I realize that,” I said, “but she has made a very serious charge against Mr. Jager. Have you considered what might happen to him?”

“Well,” she answered, “it isn’t a trial. I mean, he can’t go to jail.”

“That’s right,” I agreed, “but he could lose his job. That job is the most important thing in the world to him. Do you want to be responsible for his dismissal?”

I could see that she had never thought out the consequences of the accusation. No matter that she was a shade; she was a person, or at least ably playing the part of one. It was time for me to press my point home.

“Now, do you want to tell me what really happened?”

She was silent, as if weighing the consequences of her response. If she told me that Judy was telling the truth, she would be responsible for destroying a man. If she told me Judy had lied (which I was sure was the case), she would destroy a friendship. Was she mature enough to make the right choice?

“What... what will happen to Judy?” she asked. The unstated part of the question was ‘if I tell the truth.’

I put my arm around her as Cindy had done with me. It was a staged gesture for me at first, but when I held her for a minute, I began to see why women did it. There was a comforting feeling to it. I think I was actually as comforted by the gesture as I wanted Audrey to be.

“I told you, I wasn’t there,” she said, crying softly, “but I know she’s really had a thing for him for some time. She... she told me the morning it happened that that would be the day she got him to make a move on her or else. That’s all I know, except for what she said he did to her.”

I thought I knew what the ‘or else’ was. I didn’t have an iron tight case, but I had enough to cast serious doubts on her accusation, if I could get Audrey to tell the truth. Cindy would have two days to work on her, so I had to reinforce what she had said.

“If you tell that to the committee, I think you’ll be doing the right thing,” I told her softly, hugging her. “It’s the right thing for Mr. Jager, and it’s the right thing for Judy, too. Someday, she would regret doing this, but it would be too late. She needs help, and now, I’ll see that she gets it.”

Audrey looked up at me and smiled through the tears. I smiled back, surprised to find that my eyes were a little misty, too.

“I can’t promise you anything,” she sniffed, “but I’ll think about it.”

A couple of hours later, Steven was in my office. He was a little depressed because although he was still on the payroll, he had been temporarily taken away from his teaching assignments. The College had told everyone only that he was on a special project, but he and I both suspected that everyone on campus knew the real reason. I told him what I had found out from Audrey, and that perked him up somewhat.

“Now,” I told him, “we need to start working on the members of the committee. Do you know who will be on it besides Betty Vest?”

“Yes, I do,” he told me. “I got the Board secretary to give me the names of the members of the Moral Review Committee. In addition to the President, there’s Eric Vulman, the President of Vulman Industries, and the Judge.”

My ears perked up. “The Judge is on the committee. I mean, the Judge?”

“There’s only one.”

The wheels were turning inside my head. I thought back to what the Judge had said when detailing the terms of my probation. He had said I must argue and win a case before him. He hadn’t specifically said it had to be a trial, had he? No, he hadn’t. I was sure of it. I had taken Steven Jager’s case, and I was prepared to argue it Saturday before the Moral Review Committee, of which the Judge was a member. I had him! I could still get my old life back!

“You seem happy to hear that,” Steven commented. “Being in front of the Judge isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

“Oh, I think things will go just fine,” I said enigmatically.

Steven looked at his watch. “I have to get back. Even though I’m not teaching, they expect me to be in the office for regular hours.”

“But I need to go over some details with you,” I said. “I need to know everything you can tell me about the members of the committee.”

Steven thought for a moment, then replied, “Why don’t you come over to my place for dinner and we can discuss it then?”

Alarm bells suddenly started going off inside my head. Was he putting the moves on me? Did he figure dinner, a few drinks, and then get little old Susan into the sack? I wasn’t that kind of a girl. Hell, I didn’t even really consider myself a girl at all. This was just a body I was forced to wear until my normal one was ready. Maybe I had given Steven too much credit.

“Unless you think it would be inappropriate,” Steven was quick to add.

What was I afraid of? I could handle myself. I didn’t think he would get carried away with his own lawyer three days before the big event. Besides, I told myself, it would be all business. “No, that’s fine. I’ll be there.”

He smiled. “Great. Shall we say six thirty?”

“Sure.”

He started to leave, then turned and pulled a small book out of his pocket. “I know you’ve been very busy,” he said, “but I found a book you might find interesting.”

He put it on my desk. It was called Mythology by an Edith Hamilton. I was curious as to why he thought the book would be of any interest. Still, I told him I would look at it when I got a moment.

I was in high spirits for the rest of the afternoon. For the first time since I had initially checked the Judge’s court calendar, I was beginning to feel as if I had a real chance to get back my old life. With any luck at all, the Mouthpiece to the Stars would be leaving Ovid in his GS400 in a few more days. The first thing I would do when I got back to my old life would be... would be... It was odd, but I really couldn’t think of what the first thing would be. Back in the days when I was married to Brenda, I would tell her everything, the triumphs and the tragedies. I guess the first thing I wanted to do was tell someone about Ovid. Oh, they wouldn’t believe me, but I had to tell someone–someone I liked and trusted. Someone who was a true friend, practically a soul mate.

It was at that moment that I realized there hadn’t been anyone like that since Brenda. Well, I would just have to find someone like her, or maybe I would try to reach her. Maybe we could get back together again. I could change; my few days in Ovid had proven that. The loss of my first case had taken the sharp edge away from my life. I no longer had a perfect record to protect. I could live a normal life with a less frenetic practice, and maybe Brenda would be willing to be a part of that life again.

No, I realized sadly, that couldn’t happen. I had been as bad for Brenda as she had been good for me. It was my thoughtlessness and inattention which had driven her to seek solace in a bottle. If she were to come back to me, we would both fall into the same old patterns we had been in before, and I would destroy her life again. It wasn’t fair to her.

The afternoon passed quickly with only one appointment dealing with a simple real estate transaction. I told Dori to close up and I took the rest of the afternoon off. I wanted to get changed before going to Steven’s for dinner. Back in my apartment, I stripped out of my heels, pantyhose and dress and slipped on a woolly robe. It felt absolutely heavenly. I wouldn’t miss the heels when I got back to my old life, I thought, although I was actually getting pretty good at walking in them.

Rather than a shower, the thought of a warm bath appealed to me. I ran the water and slipped into the tub. Showers are quick and utilitarian, but baths could be absolutely sensual, I suddenly realized. It was really the first time I had looked at my new body without trying to wash it, dress it, or figure out just how to live with it. The breasts weren’t terribly large, for which I was thankful, but they were well formed with substantial pink nipples which seemed to actually harden as the warm water slipped around them. My waist and hips were nice, too, and the legs were a masterpiece. I noted, though, that I would have to shave them, as some stubble was beginning to grow. All in all, it was a very nice body as bodies went. If I had not found a way to beat the Judge, it wouldn’t have been a bad body to spend my life in.

Growing bored with this self-examination, I picked up the book I had left by the side of the tub. I had about half an hour to read and relax before getting ready to meet Steven. It was the mythology book he had loaned me. I thought I would read a few pages and give it back to him at dinner.

I had never cared for mythology as a child. I was always firmly rooted in serious nonfiction, and myths did not fit my definition of that. Sure, I had heard or read many of the basic Greek myths, but I found this book much more literate than the children’s tales usually associated with the topic.

Relaxing, almost to the point of sleeping, I scanned the book. The, near the end of the introduction, I found a familiar name: Ovid. Apparently, he was a Roman poet who, although he didn’t believe the myths for a minute, had written a very literate work on the subject. I could see how Steven, as an English instructor, would be fascinated by his works, but I decided not to add them to my reading list.

It was the next chapter that really caught my attention. I was reading about Zeus, or Jupiter as the Romans knew him. There was a quote by Zeus from the Iliad (another work I suspected I would never get around to reading) which intrigued me. It began with ‘I am the mightiest of all. Make trial that you may know.’

Odd, but that phrase seemed familiar to me. Where had I heard it before? With a start, it came to me. It was when the Judge had issued my probation. He had said, “Make trial that you may know.” Apparently, he had read the Iliad or... Now wait a minute! I thought. That’s impossible. He can’t be... It’s just not possible.

But with a shudder, I began to realize it was possible. I was living proof of that. Who but a being with godlike powers could have changed me into a woman? Who else could have created a place like Ovid?

I read on. It was all becoming clearer to me now. I continued to read and came to an unsettling conclusion. I was not going to be up against one god, but three gods. Betty Vest was probably Vesta. I didn’t really understand why Vesta would be a college president. It seemed more a task for Minerva, but I didn’t know enough of the details of the myths to understand why. There didn’t seem to be many tales written about Vesta, but she was apparently Jupiter’s sister. In any case, she seemed to be a family-oriented goddess. Would she espouse ‘family values?’ I suspected she would. That meant she would expect high moral standards.

Eric Vulman was most likely Vulcan. Like Vesta, little had been written about him, but he was apparently the blacksmith of the gods. That would fit him in the role of Ovid’s leading industrialist. From everything I read, he seemed to be a kindly god. He was also apparently Jupiter’s son.

The Judge, his sister and his son–that made the Judge the key to it all. If I could convince him that Steven was innocent, the other two should follow along. It was doable. I could almost feel my penis and testicles growing back already.

I put the book down and picked up a razor from a basket of bath items by the side of the tub. I wasn’t looking forward to shaving, but I had to conform to social convention. I sort of let myself go and managed to shave my armpits and legs without drawing blood. That job complete, I got out of the tub. I needed to get ready to go to Steven’s. What to wear? I thought about just a blouse and jeans, but I was a little concerned that the Judge would construe such attire as unfeminine and deny my return to manhood. I decided on a casual but feminine look. This was just to meet the terms of my probation, I told myself. Looking good for Steven never crossed my mind, did it?

In a short time, I was dressed in a black turtleneck, red plaid skirt, black hose and black patent flats. A gold necklace with a gold bracelet and two fair-sized gold hoops on my ears and I looked darned good. Applying makeup was becoming almost second nature, although I suspected I was getting some help from Ovid’s magic. The only problem was my hair. It was still long and straight like many girls wore it in college. I thought as a professional, I should have a little more sophisticated hairstyle. I resolved to do something about it by Saturday.

Steven’s house was a small bungalow just a block off campus and only about four blocks from my apartment. In spite of the proximity, I drove. I was now an attractive woman, so it wouldn’t do for me to be walking too late. Also, it was November, and gray skies had moved in that afternoon, threatening perhaps the first snow of the approaching winter season.

Steven greeted me at the door. He was wearing a forest green turtleneck and khaki slacks. I couldn’t suppress the fact that he looked quite handsome. His glasses actually accentuated his eyes, and I hoped mine did the same. He smiled at me. “Hey, you look great!”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I managed, actually meaning it. Was I actually becoming attracted to him? I had to get back in my old body quickly before my whole sexual orientation was affected. These new hormones coursing through my body were changing my entire perspective.

“Would you like something to drink?”

Oops. Here it came. Start to get her drunk and then take advantage of her. “Do you have any Diet Coke?”

“Lots of it.”

I smiled. “I’ll take one, please.”

If Steven was disappointed, he didn’t show it. I got out two glasses and filled them with ice and Diet Coke. It gave me a moment to look around his apartment. It was uncharacteristically neat for a college instructor’s home, I thought. Most bachelors were talented amateurs when it came to keeping a sloppy home. I had been something of a slob myself in my single days. Brenda had hired a maid who stayed with me after she left or my half-million dollar home would have been carpeted in dirty laundry. But college instructors were true professionals when it came to keeping messy houses. Steven was the exception to the rule. The furniture was not new, but it was clean with all the nicks and scratches polished away. The carpet was recently vacuumed, and all the fixtures had been recently polished.

Even the kitchen was fairly neat, I noticed as he handed me my Diet Coke. There were obvious signs of meal preparation, but even the utensils had been neatly rinsed and placed near the sink for washing. He would make some woman a wonderful husband, I thought. Damn! I had to stop thinking that way.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I just remembered, I didn’t get any wine for dinner.”

“That’s okay,” I told him, actually a little relieved. “I don’t drink.”

“Really?” he said brightly. “Neither do I. I guess we’re both cheap dates.”

I used to drink, I mused, but when Brenda started having her drinking problems, I gave it up to try to help her. I had never been much of a drinker in the first place. Of course, I couldn’t tell any of this to Steven.

“Did you want to go over anything before dinner? We’ve got about fifteen minutes.”

“Let’s wait until after,” I suggested. Business after dinner would prevent a nice dinner from leading to anything more intimate. Steven didn’t seem like the lecherous sort, but I was taking absolutely no chances when it came to the terms of my probation.

I helped him in the kitchen, and as promised, in fifteen minutes we were sitting down to a simple salad and what looked like a very tasty lasagne. The meal was, in fact, great. I had to watch how much I ate since my body was no longer the size it had once been, but I still managed to eat a full helping and all of my salad.

“I didn’t make any dessert,” Steven apologized.

“I’m glad,” I told him. “This was delicious, but it’s more than I’m used to eating.”

“I’m pleased that you liked it. Did you want to get down to business now?”

“Let me help you clean up.”

He shook his head. “No, there’s not that much. I’ll get it later.”

As I said to myself before, he would make a wonderful husband. I mean, for somebody else–not for me. I was going to be husband material myself if everything went right.

“Okay,” I agreed. I pulled his book out of my purse and handed it to him.

“You read it already?”

“Not all of it,” I admitted. “I just read the first part of the book. But do you really think that the Judge is... is...”

I was trying to say, “Do you really think the Judge is Jupiter?” but it wouldn’t come out. It was that sort of feeling that happens when you try to think of a word and you just can’t think of it. I looked at Steven as if waiting for him to say it for me.

“What’s wrong, Susan?”

“I wanted to tell you something,” I replied, “but for some reason I can’t.” Wasn’t that what Johnny Lavelle had said? You can’t say it because it’s part of the spell.

Steven seemed to understand. “I know. You can’t say it directly, but if you’re a little obtuse, you can usually get the idea across, so yes I do.”

“Then that means that Betty Vest and Eric Vulman...?”

“Are, too.”

I breathed a heavy sigh. It was just nice to know I wasn’t stark raving mad. Others believed it as well. So I was up against the gods, but I wasn’t some virile young warrior in a tunic and sandals, my sword and shield challenging the very gods. Instead, I was a fairly attractive young woman in a skirt and pantyhose armed only with my law degree. Well, it would have to be enough.

“Okay. That doesn’t change anything, though. We still have to convince them that Judy is lying. What can you tell me about her that we haven’t already discussed?”

“Nothing really,” he replied. “She’s just another student as far as I know. We’ve never discussed anything outside of class. You know she’s a shade, but like all the other shades, she seems to have a completely independent personality.”

He said roughly the same thing about Audrey. It seemed I probably knew more about them than he did at this point. Then, we discussed the committee. Again, he knew very little about any of them, except for Betty Vest.

“She’s very family-oriented,” he explained. “That’s why she seems so upset about this incident. If I’m guilty, I’m flaunting her values. She’ll have to be certain Judy’s lying or she’ll be against me.”

“What about Eric Vulman?”

He shook his head. “I’ve seen him around town. Except for the College and the city, he’s the biggest local employer. He walks with a limp, but I’ve never actually met him.”

“And the Judge?”

He smiled. “I think you know him a lot better than I do. Other than my day in court, I’ve tried to avoid him. Most of the real people in Ovid do, too.”

That was a pretty common attitude in any town, I realized. Judges and police officers represent authority figures most of us would prefer to avoid. Unfortunately, I needed to know everything I could about them. I made a mental note to talk to Cindy the next day.

“Well, I guess that about does it,” I concluded. “I should probably go home and get some sleep.”

“You sure you wouldn’t like a cup of coffee?”

I found that a part of me did want to stay and get to know Steven better, but I couldn’t afford a personal entanglement. I shook my head. “Maybe some other time.”

“How about this,” he proposed. “If we win this case Saturday, I’ll buy you a big steak at Winston’s that night. Consider a bonus on your fee.”

“All right,” I laughed. “It’s a deal.” Why not? If we won, I would be in a mood to celebrate Saturday evening.

I got out without even an attempt on Steven’s part to kiss me good night. I found I was both relieved and a little disappointed. I would have begged off, of course, but... Don’t go there, girl, I thought.

I was still thinking about Steven when I got home. I don’t think I had ever known a man quite like him. He was thoughtful, gentle, intelligent, and, to be completely honest with myself, he was attractive. If something went wrong on Saturday, what would my relationship be with him? There might not even be an opportunity for a relationship, I realized. The Judge might decide to call him into court for his transgressions, and I had little doubt that the punishment would involve a name change to Stephanie.

I had to make sure that didn’t happen. Steven was completely innocent; I was certain of that. As I drifted off to sleep, my last thoughts were that I would see Steven acquitted or know the reason why.

It was suddenly Thursday morning, and I got out of bed with a renewed spirit. I had only one appointment in the office that morning. Then, I would go over to the municipal building and beard the Judge in his own den. I was actually looking forward to it.

Even Dori commented on my mood. I just laughed as she handed me a cup of coffee and told her things had been looking up. She gave me a motherly smile and went back to her desk. I was actually going to miss Dori. I made a vow to try to find someone like her for my office in Dallas. Then, I realized that would be a problem. The office in Dallas was too high pressure for someone like Dori. Her type belonged in a place like Ovid where legal matters were simpler and people operated more on common sense. The more I thought about it, the more appealing it sounded. Maybe when I got back to Dallas, I’d cut back a little bit.

Of course, I suddenly realized, there was another reason a person like Dori wouldn’t fit in my Dallas operation. She and I had developed something almost like what I suspected was a mother-daughter bond over the last few days. I doubt if she would have been able to do that with Bradley Monroe. It wasn’t that Bradley was such a bad person, it was just that he... Now what was I doing speaking of myself in the third person?

“Susan!” Dori called out.

“What is it, Dori?”

“Cindy just called. Court is running a little fast today. She says the Judge will probably adjourn in the next thirty minutes.”

Holy cow! I thought. It was almost ten. I had an appointment at ten thirty and I needed to see the Judge. “Dori, can you see if you can reschedule my appointment for after lunch? I really need to see the Judge this morning.”

“No problem, dear,” she said as I rushed out the door.

As I rushed down the hall to the courtroom, two elderly ladies came out from a trial. They smiled pleasantly at me and continued planning for a bridge party that afternoon. Both ladies were real people. I wondered who they had been. I was still looking back at them as I opened the courtroom door.

“Purse snatchers,” Cindy said to me.

I turned to look at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“You were wondering about those two older women,” she told me, smiling. “They were purse snatchers. They beat up a little old lady in Tulsa a couple of days ago and took her purse. The police were after them when they fled in the direction of Ovid. Unfortunately, they don’t remember who they were, but the punishment certainly fit the crime, don’t you think?”

“I have to admit, it does,” I replied. “They didn’t rape the woman, did they?”

“If they had, they wouldn’t have gotten off so lightly,” Cindy said grimly. Then, smiling again, she continued, “I told the Judge you were on your way over. He’s waiting for you in chambers.”

“Great!” I exclaimed. Cindy really was becoming a good friend. On the spur of the moment, I asked her, “Look, after I’ve talked to him, do you have time for lunch?”

She looked at her watch. “It’s a little early, but sure, I’d love it.”

The Judge was reviewing some papers as I entered. He looked up and said with a smile, “Yes, and what can I do for you today, Ms. Henderson?”

He thought he had won. Court was over for the week, and I hadn’t won a case. I hoped I had a big surprise for him.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said during my probation hearing the other day, Your Honor,” I began brightly.

“Yes?” he said cautiously.

“You said I had a week to argue and win a case before you, but you didn’t say it had to be a trial.”

“I believe I did use the word trial,” he countered.

“Yes, but not in the same context, as we both know.” His use of trial had been the quote from the Iliad.

“What other case could you be arguing?” he demanded.

I folded my hands before me in what I hoped was a very demure pose. “Well, Your Honor, I’ll be representing Steven Jager at the Moral Review Committee on Saturday.”

The Judge grunted, “He’s charged with a very serious offense. I don’t think you have much of an opportunity with him.”

“Oh, has his guilt already been determined?” I asked innocently.

“Of course not!” he said, his voice rising defensively. Then his eyes narrowed. He looked me straight in the eye and asked, “Young lady, are you trying to annoy me?”

“Of course not, Your Honor,” I replied. “It’s just that this will probably be my last chance to meet the terms of the probation. I believe I have met all of the other terms.”

“Let’s see about that,” he mumbled, suddenly closing his eyes and freezing in place. When his eyes opened a few seconds later, he said, “Yes, you appear to have met the other terms for the moment.”

I wasn’t surprised to learn that he had the ability to see what I had been up to. I suspected nothing in Ovid was outside his view.

“Very well, Ms. Henderson,” he said at last. “I think you have earned the right to meet the final requirement of your probation. We will consider the Jager affair to be a case for the purposes of your probation. But I must warn you, your chances of winning will not be good.”

“But the hearing will be fair?” I asked.

“Very fair.”

I smiled and prepared to leave. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned.

Cindy and I were walking together chatting like the old friends we were supposed to be. She had suggested we go to the Greenhouse, the place Dori ordered salads from. We had walked over to the restaurant, and on a cold blustery day where the threat of snow was still in the air, I realized I at last had the answer to the question of how women can wear pantyhose in the winter without getting their legs cold. The answer is: they can’t. My legs felt as if they were encased in ice cubes, and the wind swirling under my skirt threatened to make more intimate parts of my body cold as well.

The restaurant was a pleasant little place. We were early, so there was no crowd to worry about. Still, Cindy requested a booth near the back where we could talk without being overheard.

“So what did the Judge say?” she asked the moment we had been seated.

I told her of my conversation with the Judge, then added, “Do you think he’ll really be fair?”

“He always keeps his word,” Cindy told me, “no matter what.”

“You make that sound like a problem,” I observed.

She waited for a minute as the waitress supplied us with water and menus. When she was gone, Cindy said, “It’s not a problem; it’s just that he seems a little inflexible sometimes. He had a strong sense of right and wrong. I think he used to be a lot more arbitrary–how shall I say this–when he was younger. It’s almost as if he’s making up for that now. So once he’s promised something, he never goes back on it, even if what he’s promised doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“But you think he’ll change me back if I win?”

“It’s a big if,” she noted, “but yes, he’ll change you back if you win.”

We each ordered a small chef’s salad with dressing on the side and iced tea. Then, Cindy said, “Look, Susan, I’ve noticed a pattern to the Judge’s sentences.”

“So have I,” I said dryly. “He gets his jollies out of changing men into women.”

“Sometimes,” she conceded. “But there’s a method to what he does. It seems to go beyond justice. Take me, for example. I thought he was giving me a punishment when he changed me, but it really wasn’t a punishment at all. I can’t imagine being anyone but Cindy Patton anymore.”

“That’s fine for you, but what about the person he turned into a dog, or the guy who became a tree? And I don’t imagine those two little old ladies were so tired of being young men that they decided to look like their grandmothers.”

“None of those people deserved any mercy. I did because I really hadn’t done anything wrong. I was just a young guy who was going to die if I didn’t become Cindy, so the Judge did all right by me.”

I saw where she was going with all of this. “Look, Cindy, let’s cut to the chase. You’re trying to tell me the Judge did me a favor by turning me into Susan, am I right?”

She looked down for a moment. “Well... yes.”

I shook my head, feeling my long hair move against the back of my neck. “I don’t see it that way. Cindy, I was a very successful lawyer, but I know I wasn’t a very nice person. I was egotistical, I drove my wife to drink, and I helped a lot of bastards stay out of jail where they probably belonged. I won’t say I haven’t learned a few things since coming to Ovid. I hope I’m a different person–a better person. But I wasn’t cut out to be a girl.”

“Haven’t you enjoyed it just a little bit?”

I was silent. I really wasn’t sure how to answer the question.

She out her hand on mine. “Look, Susan, I’m just saying give it a chance. You may lose Saturday, and I’m afraid if you do, you’ll be devastated. At the risk of sounding like a pop psychologist, get in touch with your feminine side. If you do go back to your old life, you’ll never have an experience like this again.”

She was right about that. “I’ll try,” I promised.

“Good. And, Susan, if you do lose, I can help.” She wrote a phone number and address on a slip of paper and handed it to me. “This is my home number and address. Call me or come by if you need to talk after the hearing.”

We said our goodbyes and I walked back to my car. As I was getting in, I suddenly realized that if everything went right, I wouldn’t see Cindy again. I would actually miss her since she had become a good friend in a very short period of time. I felt almost as if we really had been old school chums. It was funny how things in Ovid had a tendency to grow on you. For all its bizarreness, it was actually comfortable, like an old pair of shoes.

I took care of my rescheduled appointment. It was an easy one, so it only took about thirty minutes. I spent another hour working on paperwork, since I didn’t want to leave any of my clients to the skills of the shade Susan who would probably replace me, assuming they replaced me at all. I wondered, if they didn’t replace me, what would happen to Dori? Would they find another role for her, or would she be changed into someone else? I didn’t know if that was even done, but I knew Ovid would be a poorer place without her. If I got changed back, I would ask the Judge to take care of her.

By four, I was finished for the day. I didn’t really want to go back to my apartment, and there was nothing to keep me at the office. I wanted to go to the library and do some research on Vesta and Vulcan, but I didn’t want to do it until Friday morning when I was fresh. I didn’t really know that many people in town. Cindy had a family anyway, and I noted Dori wore a wedding ring. That just left Steven, and he and I had just had dinner together the night before. With a sigh, I resigned myself to a lonely evening at my apartment. Maybe I would use the time to get my personal life in order. I realized with a start that I hadn’t even checked the mail at home all week. I had better do that. If I got to be my old self again, I should at least leave Susan’s personal life in order, and if I failed on Saturday, it would be my life, so I shouldn’t ignore it.

There was actually very little in the mail. There was a letter from my mother. Apparently, she and my father now lived in Tulsa where dad was with an oil company. I wondered if they were really in Tulsa. Were there shades there acting out the roles of my parents, or did the letter just come out of some supernatural post office? I would probably never know, no matter what happened to me after Saturday. The rest of the mail consisted of bills and junk. There was one magazine tucked in between the junk mail. It was Cosmo. I can’t say that I had ever read it, but it actually looked interesting to me for some reason. I decided to make myself a tuna sandwich and read it. Maybe I’d watch a movie later.

It was then that the phone rang. It was Steven. “Hey,” he said lightly, “are we all ready for the big day?”

“I think so,” I replied. “I do have a little more research to do on the committee, but that should wrap it up. Then all I have to do is cast doubt on Judy’s story.”

“Do you think you can do it?”

“I think so,” I told him. “I don’t think Audrey will give much support. It may come down to your word against hers, but I think I can make you look good.”

“I’ve got every confidence in you,” Steven said, giving me an oddly warm feeling. “Say, look, would you like to go out for a bite to eat?”

“No, I’m sorry. I’ve already eaten,” I lied. Why didn’t I go eat with him? I wondered. I did like Steven. I felt very comfortable around him. Maybe that was the problem. I was beginning to feel too comfortable around him. This boy-girl stuff was new for me while I was on the girl side.

“Oh.” I could hear the disappointment in his voice. I suddenly realized Steven was as lonely as I was. My heart went out to him. Maybe that’s why I suddenly asked, “Say, why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow night? We can go over any last minute items then.”

“I’d like that.” His voice was suddenly brighter.

“Great. How about six thirty?”

“I’ll be there.”

Now why had I done that? I would be preparing my arguments the night before the hearing. Fixing dinner for Steven would be a complication, but I wanted to do it. We were two lost souls, it seemed. I hoped that if I succeeded Saturday, the Judge would provide another Susan for Steven. I sensed there was more to Steven’s interest in me than a client to his lawyer. Did I reciprocate? Well, of course I did, but we were just friends, weren’t we?

I put on a sweatshirt and jeans. God, did it feel good to get out of the pantyhose. I made my sandwich and opened a Diet Coke. After snarfing it down quickly, I curled up on the couch with the copy of Cosmo.

The Cosmo was actually kind of fun to read. I actually giggled at the title of the article I first turned to. It was called ‘Ten Ways to Please Your Man in Bed.’ I read it anyway, and realized the article was right on. There was nothing in the article that as a man I wouldn’t have liked. I didn’t know how anxious I would be to do some of them as a woman, though. I was actually beginning to feel a little warm reading the article, and there was a strange tingle around my nipples. I looked inside my bra and was shocked to realize the nipples were actually slightly erect. There was a moist warmth in my crotch, too.

I closed the Cosmo quickly and threw it on the coffee table. I pulled myself up into a tight ball, willing the feelings to go away. Put the magazine down, lady, I thought to myself, and slowly move away. Nobody will get hurt.

As the feelings subsided, I watched a little TV and actually got to bed by nine o’clock. I was bored to tears, so there was nothing to do but go to bed. I think I was asleep before I could even muster one more coherent thought.

Friday morning was my fourth morning to awaken as a woman, and I had actually gotten the routine down pretty well. I had noticed if I just let myself go into sort of an alpha state, everything came naturally to me. I could select matching outfits and accessories, apply the right makeup, and arrange my hair, all with confidence.

It was in a lawyerly gray suit and two-inch gray heels that I strode confidently into my office that morning, greeting Dori with a cheery smile. I only had one appointment that morning. Then, I would go over to the College library and do some research in the mythology section. I suspected they would have a good one in Ovid.

The appointment didn’t take too long, but it was an interesting one. One of the waitresses at a little bar called Randy Andy’s wanted to sue the owner, a Marty Bachman, for sexual harassment. It sounded as if she might have a good case. She was real, and I found myself wondering if she was a former man who had lost her memory and now had to learn how the other half lived.

As she left, I found myself wondering if that was why I was now a woman, I didn’t feel as if I had ever harassed a woman, but what else would explain what had been done to me? I was still an attorney. My profession had remained the same but my sex had changed. Why? I’d probably never know, and with any luck, it wouldn’t be an issue in a couple of days.

I told Dori where I was going and headed over to the College library to do my research. Before I did, I checked in on Audrey. She was nervous about testifying, but so far, Judy didn’t suspect she might be helping our case. Things were looking good.

I had been correct. The mythology section in the library was a good one. It took me very little time to find the information on the various gods. What I had not realized before, though, was that the myths on the gods were not exactly consistent. I was sure Betty Vest was Vesta, but there was very little written about her. She seemed to be goddess of the hearth. Nothing was said about her role in education. That seemed to be the province of Minerva as I had thought, but I wasn’t aware of any Minerva associated with the College. Eric Vulman was consistent with his suspected mythological persona of Vulcan. The smith of the gods had become the industrialist of the gods. Here again, though, little was actually written about him. He seemed to have a gimp leg and was apparently well liked, but sources seemed to disagree about many other details, including who his wife was. Some sources indicated it was Venus while others leaned toward Aglaia who was apparently one of the Graces, whatever they were.

As for the Judge, or rather Jupiter, entire volumes were written on him. Some of it backed up the image I had formed of the Judge, but some of it seemed as if Jupiter was wilful, petty and capricious. Perhaps he had changed over the centuries, or perhaps he was the victim of hearsay. I decided to rely on my gut instincts in dealing with him.

So my research came to less than I had hoped. There were no terrific insights on the gods to be gleaned from the books I scanned. I knew a few things about them I hadn’t known before, but not enough to weigh in at the Saturday hearing.

Just as I was getting ready to leave, I remembered the Judge telling me to read a Shakespearean play. Which one was it? Oh, yes, The Merchant of Venice. I got a copy to read later and checked it out.

I got back to the office just before lunch. Dori had ordered a salad for each of us, so we sat in my office and talked as we ate. I got the feeling I was dealing with a real person. She talked about her husband who was apparently a honcho at Vulman Industries. I wondered to myself if he was a shade, too? Dori had a girl in high school. The way she talked about her, she was a handful. Dori said she was dating some guy on the football team whom she didn’t like. It all sounded so normal. I actually enjoyed the conversation. I couldn’t imagine talking with my secretary in Dallas in that way. Maybe Dori wouldn’t have talked to Brad Monroe that way, but as Susan, I was just one of the girls. The way I was participating in the conversation, I felt myself being more and more feminine.

After Dori took away the empty Styrofoam plates and went back to her desk, I sat there thinking about something Cindy had said. She had told me to get in touch with my feminine side. I wasn’t sure I really had one, but it might be interesting to try. I was at loose ends for the rest of the afternoon. Besides, wouldn’t it be fun to get a new hairstyle and a sexy dress for my Saturday dinner with Steven? It should be my next to last night as a woman, so it would be interesting to see what it felt like to be an attractive young woman out on a date with a good looking guy. I mean, I would have to restrain myself. Any hanky-panky might be enough to screw up my return to my old life. Besides, I wasn’t too sure how I felt about even kissing a guy, especially Steven. So okay, it was time to quit just getting my toes wet and dive into the pool.

“Dori?” I called. “Who does your hair?”

“What do you think?” Janice held the mirror so I could see what she had done to my hair. Janice ran M’lady, supposedly the best beauty shop in Ovid, and Dori told me Janice was the best stylist in the shop. She had agreed to take me on short notice. I think it was just because she and Dori were good friends.

My hair looked great. With it trimmed up and slightly curled, I looked less like a college radical and more like a poor man’s Cindy Crawford. “I like it!” I said to my own surprise. I had had some real misgivings about this little fling when I entered the shop, but the results were impressive.

“While you’re here, how about letting us do your nails?”

“Well...”

“Oh come one. It’ll make you feel like a new woman. I can tell Bobby Sue over there is just dying to work on you.”

I already felt like a new woman and had for the last four days, but what the heck. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.

Bobby Sue, like Janice, was a shade. She looked like the stereotype movie manicurist, blonde with heavy makeup to compliment her inch long nails. I was expecting her to be chewing gum and talking in a high-pitched voice. Instead, her voice was a pleasant alto with no indication that she was chewing anything.

“While you’re here, I’d like to work on your makeup a little if you don’t mind,” she said pleasantly as she expertly used a file on my somewhat short nails.

“What’s wrong with my makeup?” I asked. I was rather proud of the progress I had made over the last few days applying it.

She shrugged. “Nothing, really, but I’m a licensed cosmetologist, and I think with these new nails, you might want a little makeup treatment. If you like it, I sell a full line. What do you say?”

“Why not?”

She took about an hour with me, doing both my nails and my face. Several times I wondered what I had been thinking when I told her to go ahead. I had no desire to walk out of here with a painted lady look. When she was finished at last, she held a mirror up to my face and said, “Well, what do you think?”

I was stunned. With my glasses off, hair styled, and makeup professionally applied, I looked almost good enough to be a model. She had given me a very professional look, with the makeup actually more understated than I had been doing. The difference was the colors and how it was applied.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

‘Like’ wasn’t exactly the word I was looking for. For the second time in a week, I felt like a different person. Since Monday, I had been a lawyer first and a woman second. This creature in the mirror was a woman first and foremost. I felt somehow smaller and more vulnerable. I began to think I had made a mistake doing this. I was really just satisfying my curiosity, but how far would that go? What if I decided to satisfy my curiosity about going to bed with a man?

Was I curious about that? Yes, to be honest, I was very curious, but I wasn’t curious enough to ruin my last chance of returning to my old body.

“Yes, I do like it,” I finally managed to answer.

“Oh, that’s great!” Bobby Sue said with a big smile. “You were so quiet there for a minute, I thought you didn’t like it.”

I paid Janice and Bobby Sue, giving them both a healthy tip, and I even bought some cosmetics from Bobby Sue. I figured if I remained as Susan, I could use them, and if I didn’t, I wouldn’t even have to pay the credit card bill. I couldn’t lose. I hoped I could afford it if something went wrong on Saturday. I had no idea how well my law practice was going, but I hadn’t exactly been overworked during my stay.

My next stop was March’s Department Store. The entire three-story store could have fit into a small corner of any major Neiman Marcus store in Dallas, but in spite of its shortcomings, it did seem to have an excellent women’s department. I found the right dress for Saturday night. It was dark green with a very short skirt and cut to show a lot of cleavage. I managed to pick out a pair of shoes and a purse to go with it. My last big fling as a woman was going to be a fashionable one.

“Wow! What happened to you?” Dori asked as I breezed back into the office.

“Janice does nice work,” I said with a grin. I pulled the dress I had just bought out of its sack. “This is for tomorrow night,” I told her.

“What’s happening tomorrow night?” she asked.

“Steven is taking me to Winston’s, hopefully to celebrate.”

Dori gave me a sly look. “You and Mr. Jager seem to be developing quite a relationship.”

“Relationship?” I repeated. “No, Dori, we’re just friends. Besides, he’s a client.”

“You can’t fool me,” she said smiling. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he comes into the office. I think he’s nuts about you. And you look like you might be just a little bit interested in him.”

“Oh, no, Dori. This is all just your imagination,” I protested, but something told me she might be right. Steven had been looking at me differently the last day or so. Had I been looking at him the same way? I didn’t think so. I just considered Steven a friend. He was a gentleman and a good looking guy. Maybe my hormones were sneaking up on me again.

I would have to watch myself. If everything went according to plan, I would see Steven three more times. The first would be tonight for dinner at my place. There should be no problems there. We had to finish preparing for the hearing. Then, there would be the hearing itself. Even if I were mad about him, nothing could happen there. The most dangerous time would be Saturday at dinner. Part of me was sorry I had agreed to do it. If we won, we would each be celebrating a different victory. Steven would be celebrating the salvation of his reputation and his career, and I would be celebrating an imminent return to manhood.

I finished up the last of my paperwork about four. I had planned to get out of the office a little early to get changed and fix dinner, so I was right on schedule.

“No problem,” Dori said when I told her I was leaving. “I’ll see you first thing Monday.”

Oops, I thought. No, she wouldn’t. I would be in court. “Dori, I have an early meeting with the Judge, so I may be a little late.” Like forever, I realized.

“No problem,” she said. “Your first appointment isn’t until ten on Monday. I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Yeah,” I said, hefting my briefcase and heading for the door. “I’ll see you then.” I had to fight a terrible urge to go back and hug her. She had become more than a secretary; she had become a friend. I would miss her. She would be the standard by which I would rate all other secretaries in the future, and I was sure none would ever match up. I was a lucky attorney to have had her for the week.

As I drove home, I began to reflect on the life I would soon (hopefully) be giving up. It really wasn’t a bad life. I had made three very good friends. Dori was a marvel. I hoped she got her problems with her daughter resolved. Then there was Cindy. She, like me, had been a man, and yet she had accepted her new role with apparent relish. I didn’t think I could be as accepting of the sex change as she had been. I only hoped I didn’t have the opportunity to find out.

Then there was Steven. There was something about him I just couldn’t put out of my mind. He was masculine, yet at the same time vulnerable. He was a dedicated teacher, an intellectual if you will. I could easily see how some of his female students could have become infatuated with him. I recalled the scene in an Indiana Jones film where one of the girls in his class wrote ‘I love you’ on her eyelids, to Harrison Ford’s alarm. I could see a girl doing that for Steven.

Yet I couldn’t see Steven and Brad Monroe being friends. Brad was too driven, too ensnared in the need to win all the time, no matter what the consequences. He would chew Steven up and spit him out. He would... Why was I thinking about Brad as if he was another person again? I was Brad, and I liked Steven. In fact, if I got stuck in Ovid for the rest of my life, I might even learn to... to...

No! I couldn’t think about that. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t... natural? I just couldn’t think about that. Not now. There was still too much to do. I had to stay clearheaded for the hearing. There was a good reason why American Bar Association ethics demanded the attorney-client relationship be a professional one. No attorney could be depended upon to do her best when romantically entangled with the client. Her? Oh, God.

I started dinner as soon as I got home. I had planned something simple, just baked chicken with yogurt, lime and salsa. It was easy to make. With some asparagus on the side and a salad, it made a tasty, attractive and fairly healthy meal. In my recent bachelor days, I had actually become a decent cook when I had to be. I had to do something to balance out the unhealthy meals eaten out in restaurants.

I slipped out of my suit and opted for pants. I found a pair of black pants, low-cut boots, and a rust-colored sweater, all of which I thought would not be too sexy. I was wrong, though. The boots were almost elfin in appearance, the pants were formfitting, showing off my legs and ass, and the sweater was tight enough that it did nothing to disguise my breasts. Oh well, it was too late to change. Besides, I thought I looked pretty good.

Steven arrived at exactly six thirty. He was dressed in a brown tweed jacket, tan slacks, and a beige turtleneck. I guessed that he must have nothing but tweed jackets and turtlenecks in his wardrobe. He was the archetypal college instructor.

He looked at me appreciatively. “I like your hair that way. It really looks fantastic.”

“Why, thank you,” I said with a big smile.

“Nice place,” he commented, looking around.

“Thanks,” I replied, suddenly realizing that I hadn’t vacuumed or dusted. Thank god I wasn’t the kind of person who left junk scattered everywhere. Even at that, Steven was a better housekeeper.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” I told him. “Can you make the drinks? Diet Coke is in the cupboard over the dishwasher.”

“Sure.” He pulled two cans out of the pack, then noticed the library book I had laid on the counter. He picked it up and said, “Shakespeare’s play, eh? Going after my job?”

“Hardly,” I laughed. “Someone suggested I read one of his plays, The Merchant of Venice. Is it any good?”

“It’s not one of his best,” he told me. “But of course, I prefer his tragedies to his comedies. It’s hard to get the humor to translate to our era. To a lot of people, that play is anti-Semitic.”

“Do you think it is?”

He shook his head. “Not really. It’s just that Shylock, one of the main characters, is Jewish, and he’s more or less the villain of the play.”

It didn’t sound like anything that would have an effect on my situation. I wondered why the Judge had suggested I read it. “Does it have anything to do with the law or justice?”

“Sure,” he said opening the book. “Here it is. It starts with ‘The quality of mercy is not strained’.”

“I’ve heard that somewhere before,” I interjected.

“It’s a famous passage. See, here it is.”

I looked at where he was pointing and was drawn at once to a line which read, ‘And earthly power doth then show likest God’s when mercy seasons justice.’

I looked up at Steven. “I’m not sure what it means.”

Steven shrugged, “Like anything else in Shakespeare, it’s subject to a myriad of interpretations. I guess the simplest interpretation would be that justice alone isn’t always the answer. If all you seek is justice, many men can provide that, but to temper justice with mercy takes a god-like insight.”

I wasn’t sure what the Judge was getting at, but I had a suspicion. It was as if he were telling me that what he had done to me wasn’t just in the name of some twisted justice that as a mere mortal, I would find hard to understand. He was telling me that he was also being merciful in his role as not just a judge, but as a god. I had yet to understand how giving me breasts and a vagina was an example of mercy.

Steven and I had a pleasant dinner. We talked about Shakespeare some more. I had never taken the time to read the Bard, but Steven piqued my interest. I made a mental note to attend a couple of his plays and get a better feel for him. My total immersion in law through the years had kept me from enjoying the arts. I vowed to change that when I got back to my old life.

Steven finished dinner with a satisfied sigh. “That was terrific. You’ve got to give me the recipe.”

“It’s pretty simple,” I told him. “Just bake the chicken, add a little yogurt and lime juice, and top with salsa. I suppose you could make your own salsa, but mine comes right out of the jar.”

“In any case, it was great.” He looked at me with an appreciation that made me a little uncomfortable.

“Well, we need to get down to business,” I announced. I wanted to keep the evening completely professional. “I think we’re all ready for tomorrow. I just want to go over a couple of points.”

“Fine.”

“Ms. Walker is going to claim that you were alone with her in your office. You’ve admitted as much.”

“But the door was open,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but no one saw that,” I countered.

His shoulders slumped. “So it’s my word against hers.”

“Not necessarily,” I told him. “I have a strategy I think will work. I just want to make sure you have all the details straight in your mind. Remember, the committee will have the College’s attorney in that meeting as well to make sure everything is kosher. If he spots any inconsistencies in your testimony, it won’t go well. Now, let’s go over all the details.”

We spent the next two hours practicing. I drilled him with every question I could think of. Most of the questions would never be asked in the hearing, but he had to be ready for everything. I had done this many times before, so I was in my element. For Steven, though, it was a new and gruelling experience.

It was ten o’clock when I finally said, “Okay, I think we’re ready.”

“Thank god,” Steven said, stretching as he stood. “I think I may sleep in the hearing tomorrow.”

“I doubt that,” I replied, “but you’ll sure want to after this is all over.”

He smiled at that. “I can’t. I have to take a beautiful woman to dinner tomorrow night.”

I felt myself blushing. I really didn’t know what else to do in response, so I returned his smile with a faint one of my own. I didn’t want to tell him that his dinner date with me might well be the last public appearance of Susan Henderson. After all, that was what I really wanted, wasn’t it? But I would miss Steven.

“Just get a good night’s sleep tonight,” I advised him. “You need to be sharp tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll pick you up an hour before the hearing.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can just meet you there.”

“Nope, my mind is made up.”

I finally agreed and hustled him out the door before anything could happen between us. I was becoming increasingly aware that Steven was very attracted to me. That wasn’t really what concerned me. I was aware that I was reasonably attractive. What concerned me was that I was beginning to feel an attraction as well. I hadn’t planned on it. In fact, I had done everything I could to prevent it, but there were different hormones flowing through my body, and my new plumbing was becoming aroused. If I didn’t win tomorrow, I suspected it would not be long before I could no longer fight back these growing feelings. It would be my last chance.

Saturday morning seemed to come the minute after I had put my head on the pillow. I groaned as I got out of bed. This was it. La Momenta de Verdad, as the bullfighters say: the Moment of Truth. The hearing was at ten, so most likely, by one o’clock, I would have either saved Steven’s career and my own identity, or I would be Susan Henderson for the rest of my life, and poor Steven would be disgraced and possibly subject to further punishment in court. I had to be at my best.

The occasion called for my most serious look. I chose a navy blue suit with a skirt that came down almost to my knees. The blouse was simple and white–the white of purity and truth. The jewelry was simple and understated, as was the makeup. The shoes had only a small heel to show I was all business. I examined myself in the mirror as I slipped on my glasses. Ally McBeal, eat your heart out.

As promised, Steven was at my door promptly at nine. When I opened the door, I saw he was carrying a large paper sack. “Coffee and bagels,” he explained. “It might be a long time until lunch. Sorry it’s not Starbucks, but we don’t have any of those in Ovid yet.”

“This will do fine,” I laughed, in spite of the serious mood I was trying to maintain. “I’ll get some orange juice and cream cheese and we’ll feast.”

We were in a confident mood as we arrived at the hearing room. There was nothing special about the room. It was just a seminar room in one of the classroom buildings. We appeared to be the only people in the building. It was fifteen minutes until ten, and no one had arrived from the committee. That gave me the opportunity to arrange the seating the way I wanted it. I had Steven sit next to me half way down the table. That way, the committee would be forced to sit opposite us, but not so far away as they would if we were seated at one end. It gave more the appearance of a conference rather than of a trial. It also forced them to look Steven and me directly in the eye. As I said, I was in my element. I was the predator, not the prey.

The committee members entered the room at five before ten. The fact that they entered as a group meant that they had already had a meeting to decide how to proceed. The Judge, I already knew, so I looked in his direction first. On cue, he offered his hand with a formal, “Ms. Henderson.”

I took it, replying equally formally, “Good morning, Your Honor.”

“I would like to introduce you to our Chairman, Eric Vulman,” he said, turning to the tall beefy man at his side. Eric Vulman looked out of place in his suit. He would have been more at home in a work shirt with tongs and a hammer in his hands as he worked a sword or horseshoe into its proper shape. He was, as the texts had speculated, not a handsome man, but he had the appearance of an honest, hardworking businessman perhaps fifty years old. It was hard to imagine that he was a god.

He stepped forward, limping slightly as he offered his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Ms. Henderson. The Judge has told me a lot about you.”

I was sure he had. I just smiled rather than comment and took his hand. His handshake was firm but not uncomfortable, and it nearly swallowed my much smaller one.

“And this,” the Judge continued, “is Elizabeth Vest, the President of Capta College.”

“Call me Betty,” she said with a sincere smile as she extended her hand. “Only the Judge ever calls me Elizabeth.”

Betty Vest didn’t look like a college president. She looked more like Betty Crocker. She had a pleasant, even attractive face and a matronly figure. She appeared to be no more than forty with just a touch of gray surrounded by fairly short brown hair. I was pleased to note that I had dressed well for the occasion, for she was wearing an outfit that appeared to be almost the twin of my own. There was a friendly twinkle in her eyes that made you feel that she was genuinely glad to meet you.

I took her hand. As I did, she placed her other hand over mine. “Please call me Susan,” was all I managed to say.

“And this,” the Judge said, motioning to an older man, perhaps sixty, “is Henry Wilcox, the attorney for the College.”

Henry Wilcox looked like the typical distinguished attorney. He had gray hair which was beginning to recede, a small moustache, a trim body, and wore the male equivalent of my own outfit. He was also a shade. I wondered if I was the only human attorney in Ovid. I took his hand as well, but neither of us spoke, as if the first to speak would somehow give away too much information to the other. We did look each other directly in the eye, though, and it was my impression that he was not confident with the actions which might have to be taken in the meeting.

When we were seated as I had planned, Eric Vulman, who was seated directly across from me, called the hearing to order. “We are here to examine a very serious charge levied by two Capta students. Ah, here they are now.”

Judy Walker and Audrey Bertram had slipped quietly into the room and seated themselves at one end of the table. Good, that was just where I wanted them.

Eric placed an unusually small pair of glasses over his nose and began, “The charges are that Steven Jager did on Monday last make overtures of a sexual nature to Judith Walker, a student in his Freshman English class. This is not a formal court of law, but rather a deliberative body tasked with determining Mr. Jager’s fitness to continue in the employment of this institution.”

These were formal words. Good. That meant the hearing was going to follow a formal pattern. Proof would be required. I was most certainly in my element now. My greatest fear was that the meeting would be informal where hearsay and speculation often run rampant.

“If it acceptable to the Committee,” I began, “I would like to suggest that before this hearing continues, that any witnesses be asked to leave the room until their testimony is officially required.”

“And why is that, Ms. Henderson?” the Chairman asked. I could hear the other members of the Committee shuffling uncomfortably in their seats. This was not the way they had planned things.

“I would reserve my reasons until there are no witnesses in the room,” I replied.

The members of the Committee looked at each other, then at the attorney. He gave a small but perceptible nod.

“Very well, Ms. Henderson,” the Chairman agreed. “We will ask the witnesses to leave until we have had a chance to discuss your reasoning.”

The two girls with questioning looks stepped out of the room, ushered by the attorney. When they were gone and the attorney had returned, I began, “The accusations made by the two witnesses can neither be substantiated nor disproven since there were no witnesses to the actual exchange. However, the accusation has been backed up by Ms. Bertram who, although she did not by her own admission see any misconduct, has been a confidant of Ms. Walker and has stated that Mr. Jager had shown sexual interest. We intend to show that Ms. Walker’s story is nothing more than a fantasy which cannot be substantiated in any way.”

The Judge and the attorney conferred for a moment. Then, the attorney whispered something to Betty and Eric. When they had finished, Eric said, “Very well. We will conduct this hearing in the fashion you have suggested so as to be completely fair to your client.”

The Committee began the hearing by asking Steven to tell his side of the story. All I had to do was sit back and take notes. The questions they asked were much more gentle than the ones I had asked him the previous evening, so he was well coached. He appeared confident but thoughtful, as if he was sure he had done nothing wrong, but was willing to cooperate in every way to make certain that nothing he had done was improper. Eric Vulman and Betty Vest asked all of the questions. The Judge remained uncharacteristically silent, simply observing and taking occasional notes. I hope I looked calmer than I felt. There were a couple of lines of questioning I had hoped the Committee would not pursue. To my relief, they did not. When the Committee had finished asking its questions, the chairman turned to the attorney and said, “Bring in Ms. Walker.”

Judy Walker had done an excellent job of preparing herself for her appearance. She had worn very light makeup and had her hair pinned back to give herself a very vulnerable girlish look. Her cream cable knit sweater and tan ankle length skirt gave her a very chaste, demure look. She appeared as she wanted to appear, as an innocent victim.

“Ms. Walker,” the Chairman began once she was seated, “you have levelled a very serious charge against Mr. Jager. We would like to hear in your own words what happened last Monday.”

“Well,” she began in a very soft voice, looking down at her lap, “I stayed after class Monday to ask Mr. Jager a question about Milton. That’s what we’re studying now. He asked me to come back to his office with him. I did. I never suspected he would do what he did.”

“And what was that?” the Chairman asked.

Judy looked very serious. “He exposed himself to me and told me to... to suck on it. I... I didn’t know what to do. He was blocking the door. I managed to push my way past him and ran out into the hall. I ran back to my dorm and told Audrey. She said I should tell Ms. Vest about it. I didn’t want to get him in trouble, though. Then Audrey talked me into it, so I went in the next morning and told her what had happened.” She looked around like a frightened deer in the forest. “I... I guess that’s all.”

Either Steven had lied to me or this girl deserved an Oscar. My money was on the latter. This was not the same girl who had refused to talk to me a few days earlier. That girl was strong and forceful. This girl was nothing like that. This was an innocent little flower, about to be plucked by the evil beast.

I waited for a nod from the Chairman, then began, “Ms. Walker, you say Mr. Jager asked you to come to his office. Why was that?”

She shrugged. “To answer my question, I guess.”

“Did he always take you to his office to answer questions?”

“I... no. I mean, sometimes he did.”

I scowled at her. “Which is it–no or sometimes?”

She thought for a minute. “Sometimes.”

“Isn’t it true that this was the first time he asked you to come to his office?”

“Well, yes, I guess it was.”

“Do you know why he asked you to come to his office?”

“I do now,” she said ominously.

Oh, good. Steven couldn’t remember if he had told her why he wanted her to go back to his office or not, and I had coached him to say nothing about it. The Committee had failed to ask him that as well. “Then you didn’t know that he was meeting a colleague for lunch right after class, a colleague who was going to meet him at his office?”

“Uh, no.”

“How often did you stay after class to ask questions?” I asked, changing the line of questioning to throw her off balance.

“I don’t know.” She was beginning to fidget now. “Maybe once a week.”

“And the questions were always answered in the classroom?”

“Yes.” A defiant ‘yes’ at that.

“Then don’t you think it is a little odd that the one day he takes you back to expose himself to you is the one day he’s expecting someone in his office at any moment?”

There was no response for a moment. Then she said angrily, “I don’t know. I just know he pulled out his c... his penis and told me to suck on it.”

She just shot her demure little girl act in the ass. I smiled and said, “Thank you, Ms. Walker. I’d like to see Ms. Bertram now.”

Judy Walker was escorted out. She had an angry scowl on her face. Things hadn’t gone as she had planned. Now, she had to alert Audrey to be careful. I wasn’t going to give her that opportunity.

“Please send her in at once,” I requested. Henry Wilcox smiled knowingly. This wasn’t his fight. He was only there to see that the College wasn’t embarrassed. He was now my ally. Shade or not, I suspected he was an astute attorney, and he realized momentum was now on my side. At the moment, it appeared to him that doing what I had asked was the best course of action. He brought Audrey Bertram back immediately.

Audrey looked worse for wear. I had given her reasons to doubt the little plot Judy had hatched with her. Judy had been hammering her for the last few days, I was certain. Now, she had seen Judy shaken, so she had no way of knowing what had been said. Thank god this wasn’t an actual trial, or I could never have gotten away with what I was doing.

“Ms. Bertram,” I began, not giving the Committee a chance to question her. I had become a de facto member of the Committee and no one was challenging me. I was asking the questions for them. “Ms. Bertram, we have just heard testimony from Ms. Walker regarding alleged sexual misconduct on the part of Mr. Jager. Would you please tell us what you know about the incident?”

This was the moment of truth for certain. If she substantiated Judy’s story, I had a long day ahead of me no matter what. I had to hope that she was sufficiently shaken to try to weasel out of any culpability. I wasn’t disappointed.

“Well,” she began meekly, “I really wasn’t there.”

“You weren’t there,” I repeated, “but you talked to her about the incident.”

“Yes.”

“And she told you that Mr. Jager had asked her back to his office because he was expecting a luncheon appointment?”

“Ye- no. What luncheon appointment?”

“Then you weren’t aware that someone was about to visit Mr. Jager’s office, someone he had been expecting?”

“No,” she said softly.

“Someone who would have caught them in the middle of the act Ms. Walker claims she was asked to perform?”

It didn’t take much. Audrey was practically at the breaking point when she came in the room. “She said I wouldn’t have to do this!” she said with a loud sob.

“Do what?” I demanded.

“Do this–testify. She said all I would have to do was tell Dr. Vest and that would be it,” she cried, practically incoherent. “It was all her idea. She said she would take care of all of it. I just wanted to help her. She’s my best friend, and now... and now...” That was all she could say. She broke down in tears.

No one else in the room spoke. I had been through confrontations like this many times before, and I knew we had won.

The members of the Committee looked at each other. They each nodded, and the Chairman spoke. “Mr. Jager, the Committee appears to owe you an apology. Please accept that apology, and rest assured that the persons responsible for the accusation will not escape lightly.”

Steven looked at the members of the Committee with obvious relief. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I’m just happy the truth prevailed, but I really don’t want to see Judy or Audrey here punished. I think they just need help. They’re both good girls at heart, and as someone recently quoted to me, mercy should always season justice.”

“A noble thought,” the Judge commented with a sidelong glance at me. I couldn’t tell, but I think he was actually smiling.

Outside the classroom, Steven suddenly surprised me with a loving hug.

“Be careful,” I warned him lightly, “or you may have another sexual harassment suit on your hands.”

He let go and looked a little concerned until he saw my smile. “Do you want to go to lunch?”

“Thanks, Steven, but no. I have some personal business to take care of this afternoon. Besides, you’re taking me out for a big dinner tonight as I recall. If I eat now, I won’t be hungry tonight. In fact, to work up an appetite, I think I’ll walk home. It’s only a couple of blocks.”

He grinned. “Come to think of it, if I ate now, I wouldn’t be hungry either. I’ll pick you up at six?”

“Six would be great,” I replied.

The Committee filed out, led by Henry Wilcox. Each pleasantly said good-bye to me and walked on, except for the Judge who remained behind. “You did a marvellous job in there,” he said, “but what would you have done if you hadn’t uncovered his lunch appointment?”

I smiled. “There was no lunch appointment.”

“What?”

“There was no lunch appointment. Steven never said there was. I just wanted to do something to shake our Ms. Walker up a little. Phony stories like hers always fall apart when you tweak them.”

“You could never have gotten away with a stunt like that in my court,” the Judge said seriously.

“You’re right,” I agreed, “but as you pointed out, this wasn’t a courtroom.”

He actually laughed. “Very good, Ms. Henderson. Or I suppose I should call you Mr. Monroe since that is who you will be on Monday.”

My heart jumped. “You’re going to change me back?”

“Nothing could stop me now,” he replied. “I always stand by my agreements. Be in court at nine on Monday. By ten, you’ll be on your way home. You won’t even remember Ovid even existed!”

“Thank you,” I managed to say as he turned away. I had done it! I was going to be Brad Monroe again. I had won.

Then why did I feel so empty?

The walk home was pleasant. The cold air had moved on, and it was a pleasant late Fall day in Ovid, sunny and about fifty. I walked slowly back to my apartment, taking in the cool crisp air and enjoying life. I had been Susan Henderson for only five days, but it had actually started to feel normal. I would actually miss some things about being a woman. There was a light feeling to being so much smaller than I was as a man. It made walking home, even in heels, seem almost like walking on air. I would actually miss some of the sensations I felt walking home, the feel of long hair swirled by the breeze, the airy but not unpleasant feeling beneath my skirt, even the rhythmic sway of my breasts and hips as I walked. Yes, I would actually miss those sensations.

The apartment seemed empty when I walked in, as if I wasn’t really there anymore. I wondered if it would have a new resident on Monday, or if someone else would be Susan Henderson. Maybe another lawyer would come speeding through over the weekend and become the new Susan Henderson. Part of me hoped that wouldn’t happen.

I puttered around the apartment, cleaning up, doing laundry. I knew I didn’t have to, but I had to do something. My work was almost done here. I didn’t want to just sit and count the hours with... what? Anticipation? No, not really that. I couldn’t quite put my finger on the emotions I was feeling. To take my mind off such thoughts, I picked up the Cosmo again. I don’t even remember what I read; I just looked at the words until it was time to get ready for dinner.

I suppose it was because I expected my dinner date with Steven to be my last night in a skirt and heels that I decided to go all out. Although I hadn’t wanted to stay a woman, it was a unique experience. This would be my one and only opportunity to go out on a formal date as a woman, and I wanted to make it a memorable evening.

I started by taking a leisurely bath. That was a decadent habit I planned to continue when I got my old body back. Of course, I would probably have to give up the scented bubble bath, but at least I would enjoy the feel of warm waters caressing my body rather than the harsh sting of a shower. I shaved my legs and under my arms. I had to admit, it was a more sensual experience than shaving one’s face.

Dressing took no time at all. I had been dressing in skirts and heels for nearly a week now, so it was becoming second nature to me. I wondered if starting Monday, I would have trouble tying a tie again. The thought of doing that made my neck hurt. I dressed in the laciest black lingerie I could find in my dresser. I had also found a dark shade of hose–not pantyhose–that would go well with my new dress and shoes, so for the first and probably only time, I slipped on a garter belt. The Dress fit like a proverbial glove. Although my breasts were at best average in size, the dress pushed them in and up to form ample cleavage. The hemline was wickedly short, showing off my legs encased in the smoky nylons. The shoes were only three-inch heels. I had worn a pair that high earlier in the week, but this heel was much narrower and caused my steps to be a little shorter.

Makeup and hair had become easier as well. I can’t say they had become second nature, but with careful attention, I did a more than passable job. I added just a little extra eye shadow on a whim and was pleased with the results. I slipped my glasses into my purse. I might not be able to see that well without them tonight, but I would look great. I spritzed on a little scent, and I was nearly finished.

Jewelry was the final step. I had minimized my wearing of jewelry during the week. As a man, I normally wore only a watch, so I had little interest in or knowledge about jewelry. As Susan, though, it was different. I actually liked the finished look jewelry gave to this body. I found two gold bracelets, a beautiful gold necklace and matching earrings which were accented by tiny diamonds. I suspected they were a gift from my shadowy parents since I doubted if Susan made enough to afford them. They looked great when I put them on. I was just finished attaching the last earring when the doorbell rang.

When I opened the door, I watched in amusement as Steven’s jaw dropped. “Wow! You are absolutely fantastic.”

I grinned. “Why, thank you, sir.” He didn’t look so bad himself. The tweedy look was gone. He was wearing a dark blue pinstripe suit, oxford cloth blue shirt, and a tie which looked as if it had cost him a week’s salary. I may have been the lawyer, but tonight, he looked more like a lawyer than I did.

“Oh,” he remarked, pulling a bouquet of roses from behind his back. “I almost forgot these. But now that I’ve seen you, the roses don’t look so great.”

I flushed at the compliment. “I think they’re very pretty, and very thoughtful of you, too. I’ll put them in water right now.”

I took the flowers to the kitchen, wondering quietly what was happening to me. I guessed that having the pressure of the hearing and the need to satisfy the terms of my probation fulfilled, I was actually relaxing in Susan’s body. I was able to enjoy the feeling of being an attractive young woman in the company of an attractive young man. It felt more satisfying than... than anything else in recent memory.

Winston’s proved to be a modest steakhouse on the edge of town. It was on a small wooded hill and actually enjoyed a view of Ovid spread out in the valley below. Inside was a small town version of a four star restaurant, complete with carpet, drapes, classical music and table linen. It appeared cozy and relaxing. I was momentarily startled as the maitre’d pulled my chair back for me, but I recovered quickly and took my seat with a smile.

“What do you think of the place?” Steven asked when we were both seated.

“It’s very nice,” I replied. And it was. I liked the simplicity of the restaurant. I had grown tired of the posh Dallas restaurants with their unhealthy food, snooty waiters, and ridiculous prices. Winston’s seemed a little more... well, real. That was an odd description, I thought, since nothing in Ovid was real in the normal sense of the word.

“They even have sparkling grape juice,” Steven told me as a waiter brought a silver bucket to our table. He grinned, “I called ahead and told them to have it ready.”

I sometimes missed the pleasures of a celebratory glass of champagne, so this was a delightful surprise for me. The waiter poured us each a glass of the sparkling juice.

“To you,” Steven said raising his glass.

“To me?”

“Yes. Raise your glass.”

I did so, carefully holding it as Steven’s glass clinked against mine.

“To Ovid’s most beautiful attorney,” Steven said with mock solemnity. Then, more seriously, “Without you, I’d have nothing to celebrate tonight.”

Why was I feeling so pleased? I felt a contentment I hadn’t felt since the early days of my marriage with Brenda. I had to put on the brakes, I realized. Something was happening between Steven and me that could go no further. I hadn’t forgotten the last condition of my parole: no sex. I was actually starting to become curious as to what it would be like with Steven.

Fortunately, the waiter interrupted the scene with the pronouncement of the evening specials. His interruption stifled the mood for a little while. We managed to order dinner, and the talk turned to Steven’s career as we ate.

“I would like to make full professor,” Steven told me. “I’ll be up for Associate Professor as soon as I’m tenured. I think I’ll have a good chance of getting it right after tenure.”

“That would be terrific,” I said between mouthfuls of the most exquisitely tender steak I had ever eaten. “Do you already have your doctorate?”

“All I need is my thesis,” he replied. “Capta has an arrangement with the University of Oklahoma in Norman. It isn’t exactly an Ivy League degree, but it’s all I’ll ever need at Capta.”

“So you’re going to stay at Capta?”

He grinned. “I don’t think I have a choice. I don’t think anybody ever leaves Ovid.”

“I suppose not,” I conceded. I hadn’t really thought about that. I wondered if the locals could leave. Maybe after I got back to Dallas, I could call Steven and... No, that wouldn’t work. I’d be a different person, and I certainly didn’t plan to continue any sort of relationship with him. I wasn’t gay. Besides, the Judge said I wouldn’t even remember Ovid.

I wouldn’t remember Ovid. A shudder went down my back. I realized I didn’t want to forget Ovid. I wanted to remember my time here.

“Did you hear me?”

“What?” I said, breaking out of my reverie.

“I asked you what you wanted to do with your career here in Ovid?”

I was going to have to tell Steven that I had less than two days left in Ovid, but I didn’t know how. For the moment, I replied, “Oh, I guess I’ll just continue to practice law.”

“I suspect it isn’t as interesting a practice as the one you left behind,” he ventured.

“Not by half,” I agreed.

We talked about many other things. We talked politics (what attorney does not like to talk about politics?), sports, the state of higher education in America, and a myriad of other topics. I hadn’t had so much fun just talking to someone in years.

When we had finished dessert and coffee, we looked around and realized we were practically the only people left in the room. Nearly everyone else had left without our even noticing it. It was nearly ten. In Dallas, there would have been a substantial crowd of late diners, eating after attending a play or concert, but Ovid was a Midwestern farm town, and people went to bed early, even on Saturday night.

“Do you want another cup of coffee?”

“I think I’m going to float away if I do,” I laughed. “Maybe we should call it a night.”

“All right,” Steven agreed reluctantly, signalling for our check.

As he drove me home, I began to feel what Cinderella must have felt as the clock began to strike midnight. The ball was over. My womanhood was almost a thing of the past. I found I didn’t want the night to end, not yet. “Steven,” I ventured, “would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

“I’d love to,” he replied softly.

When I had made the coffee and poured each of us a cup, we sat facing each other at my kitchen table, just as we had at Winston’s. But the mood had changed. I was feeling wistful. It was almost time to say good-bye to Steven forever. Steven was quiet as well. He just sipped his coffee and looked at me, as if trying to decide what to say.

“Susan,” he began at last, “I’ve never told you about my previous life. As you know, our past lives are rather private things here in Ovid, but I’d like you to know mine.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I told him. “I don’t think I care who you were before. I just like the way you are now.”

“Susan, I’m in love with you,” he blurted out.

“No, Steven, I...”

“No, I’ve got to get this out,” he said, almost in pain. “I know you’ve been here only a short time, and I don’t know who you were before, but we’re all here for the rest of our lives, and I want to spend my life with you.”

He leaned forward, taking another sip of coffee, as if it could somehow give him the strength to continue. “It was just before Christmas last year,” he began. “I had made a first-class mess of my life. I had no career, no family, and a drinking problem that landed me in the Ovid jail for driving while impaired.”

I was starting to feel a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I could almost tell what would come next. I seemed to sense it. Woman’s intuition?

“I was a woman then,” Steven continued, and with a shrug added, “I was actually married to a lawyer at one time–a very famous lawyer in fact. You may have heard of him. His name...”

“Brenda?” I asked softly, my heart about to break through my breasts.

“What? How could you...?” His eyes were suddenly as wide as I was sure mine had become. “Brad?”

I put my head in my hands. Someone once said that man plans and the gods laugh. The gods, or at least one god in particular had to be laughing now. No wonder I had felt such a strong attraction to Steven. I suddenly felt Steven’s larger hand on mine. “Brad... Susan? Are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t believe it. It’s just too bizarre.”

“But it’s not!” Steven countered, holding both of my hands in his. “It’s wonderful. Oh, Br–Susan, I never wanted to leave you. I always loved you, but I had to go.”

“I know,” I agreed. “I was destroying you. I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t stop myself. My career meant everything to me.”

“That’s what makes this such a wonderful opportunity,” Steven said brightly. “We both have the careers we want here in Ovid, and now we can have each other.”

“Steven,” I whispered, pulling my hands away from his, “I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t. I’m not ready for this. I’m not Susan–not really.”

“Yes, you are, and I love you.”

I was fighting to hold back tears and failing. I knew if I cried, he would enfold me in his arms, and I knew where that might lead. I was in shock to the point of practically being in pain. I needed to think. I couldn’t let this conversation continue. “Steven, please go now.”

“But, Susan...”

“No! Please go!” I said more forcefully. “I need some time. I need to think.”

There was a worry of concern on his handsome face now. He realized this discussion could go no further. “Susan, I’ll call you in the morning.”

“All right,” I agreed. Anything to get him out. As soon as I heard the door close behind him, I broke out into a flood of tears.

Reluctantly, I got out of my clothes. It was probably the last time I would wear anything like them, I thought sadly. I put on a pair of flannel pajamas. No sense in wearing anything very feminine. I hadn’t found the nerve to tell Steven the truth, but I could tell it to myself. In less than thirty-six hours, I would be male again. I would have completely forgotten Ovid and Susan and even Steven. I had won. Then why did I cry myself to sleep?

I awoke to the sound of a telephone ringing. As always, I was awake instantly. I looked at the clock by my bed as the phone continued to ring insistently. It was nearly ten. I knew who was calling. It had to be Steven, but I didn’t want to talk to him. Not now, at least.

At last, the ringing stopped and the answering machine turned on. “Susan, this is Steven. I need to talk to you. I know this is a difficult time for you... for both of us really. We can work it out, though. I love you, Susan. I... I need you. Please give me a call.”

There were tears forming in my eyes again as I heard the message. What could I tell him? Gee, Steven, I’m very sorry, but tomorrow I’m going to be a man again, so I don’t think it would really work out... I had once sworn that if I ever had the chance to get Brenda back, I would take it, but Steven was Steven, not Brenda. It wasn’t the same, was it? Was it?

Reluctantly, I got out of bed. A hot bath and a cup of coffee were what I needed. Then, I would figure out what to tell Steven. I drew a bath and stripped off my pajamas. Standing there naked in front of the tub, I looked up into the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. It was the first time I had really inspected myself nude in the mirror. It was as if I had been avoiding doing so before. I had tried somehow to deny what had happened to me. Now, though, in the waning hours of my womanhood, I was determined to come to grips with whom I had become.

I didn’t know why I had chosen that moment, or maybe I really did. With a sigh, I moved a hand to one of my breasts, gently stroking at the nipple. A little shudder passed through my body. I moved my other hand down to my crotch, brushing against the soft mass of pubic hair to the very lips of my vagina. I felt a twitching sensation and gentle stroked around the area, feeling warmth begin to grow.

Carefully, I stepped into the tub and slid down into the warm water. An involuntary sigh of pleasure escaped me. I continued to touch myself, my eyes closed, pretending it was a man. Then, with a sigh of disappointment, I stopped. I knew what I had been doing. There was still a way to remain in Ovid with Steven if I chose it. All I had to do was have sex with him before I saw the Judge. Then, I would have failed to satisfy the terms of my probation. But that would require a greater sacrifice from me than I was ready to make. As much as I wanted to stay with the person Brenda had become, I was still not able to think about having sex with her–him.

But did I really want to stay in Ovid? Yes and no. If the Judge would turn me into Brad and Steven into Brenda, I would be willing to stay on the dark side of the moon. But that wouldn’t work. Even if the Judge agreed, Brad Monroe would go crazy in Ovid. Brenda would probably be all right, but Brad would demand more legal challenges than Ovid would provide. And I doubted that the Judge would be willing to provide a few local murders to satisfy Brad’s drive. No, if I stayed, it would have to be as Susan Henderson. Was I willing to do that? I still wasn’t sure.

I got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. It was really the first time all week I had dressed to go out in such a unisex fashion. I guess I had worried that the Judge would think such attire violated my pledge to act like a woman at all times. It probably wouldn’t have, but I had taken no chances. Now, though, here I was, throwing caution to the winds. Yeah, right. With a sigh, I pulled off the sweatshirt and replaced it with a cream-colored sweater.

I did put on a little makeup, though. I didn’t want to appear in public as Susan looking unattractive. That was certainly a real change for me. A week ago, I wouldn’t have cared.

I made some coffee and ate a bowl of cereal, really not tasting any of it at all. I was too busy trying to decide how to proceed. It was nearly noon and I didn’t have much time. I decided my first move would be to see Cindy. She knew the Judge better than anyone else. If anyone knew what the Judge might be willing to do, it was Cindy.

I stepped out into a bright late fall Ovid day. The sun was low on the horizon, but doing the best it could to provide some warmth as it shone through the leafless trees. I had on a leather jacket, and it was sufficient to ward off the chilly air. I got in my Civic and started the engine. That was my one regret. I was really going to miss my Lexus if I stayed in Ovid.

I had no trouble finding Cindy’s house. In the first place, Ovid wasn’t a very big town, and in the second, it was laid out on a typical Midwestern grid without any high hills or other obstructions, so getting around was a breeze. Cindy’s house was a modest two-story in a typically American middle class neighborhood. I almost expected to see the Beaver running out of the door yelling, “Come on, Wally, or we’re going to be late!”

The Beav didn’t answer the door, though. Instead, a very pretty six-year-old girl did. She was wearing a medium-blue dress with white leggings and little black Mary Janes. She looked up at me with big blue eyes but said nothing.

“Michelle, honey,” I heard Cindy’s voice from the back of the house, “I’ll get the door.”

Cindy stepped into the entryway. “Michelle! I’ve told you before, I’ll answer the door.”

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” the little girl replied, chagrined.

“Okay, honey, go get changed.”

Cindy was wearing a dark blue dress with a red and yellow flowered print and heels.

“I didn’t catch you on the way out, did I?” I asked, embarrassed now that I hadn’t called ahead.

“Oh, no,” Cindy laughed. “We just got back from church and hadn’t had a chance to change yet. Come on in the kitchen. I just started a pot of coffee.”

“I hope you don’t mind me just dropping in like this,” I said, smelling the freshly-brewed coffee. I had already had two cups, but it smelled too good to pass up. Like many people who give up alcohol, I now drank too much coffee. “I just needed to talk to someone.” Before I knew it had happened, I had slumped down into one of the kitchen chairs and was softly crying.

Cindy came up behind me and put her arm around me. “Oh, Susan,” she began, sympathy in her voice, “I guess this means you lost yesterday. I’m so sorry. Being a woman isn’t that bad, though.”

I shook my head and managed to get out between the sobs, “I lost, but not the way you think.”

The coffee calmed me down. I managed to get control of myself in a few minutes. Soon the only sound in the house was the giggles of two children playing. Cindy told me her husband was at the supermarket he managed, so there was no one to disturb us. We looked like two old chums just enjoying a relaxing cup of coffee together. I managed to tell her what had happened, only breaking down once during my narrative.

“So,” she summed up for me, “the net of it is you want to remain here as Susan.”

“Yes,” I sighed, really realizing it completely for the first time. “It’s the only way I can stay with Brenda, or Steven now.”

She shook her head and chuckled, “Here you are, the only person I’ve ever seen beat the Judge at his own game and you want to throw the match. But they say a woman is entitled to change her mind.”

“Do you think he would allow me to stay if I asked him?” I asked. “I mean, I don’t have to accept his offer, do I?”

“You already agreed to the terms,” Cindy answered. “Have you ever read stories about prisoners who become so comfortable in prison that they never want to leave? The system doesn’t allow for that. Once they’ve met the conditions of their sentence, they’re back out on the street. That’s why some of them commit crimes again, so they can be put back in jail where they’re comfortable.”

“So maybe I could get caught speeding again,” I ventured, not really believing it.

Cindy shook her head. “It wouldn’t work. When you get changed back, you won’t even remember you were ever in Ovid.”

No, I was sure I wouldn’t remember, but I was willing to bet there would be an emptiness in my soul that I could never quite identify. Brenda would be lost to me forever, but I would never know why. I might be the most successful attorney on the face of the Earth, but buried deeply within me would be that sense of loss. How did the old saying in the Bible go? Something about what profits a man to gain the world yet lose his immortal soul? Was that what would happen to me?

Cindy leaned over her coffee and looked straight into my eyes. “Susan, you know what you need to do to stay here, don’t you? I don’t think I really have to spell it out for you.”

I looked down. “I don’t know if I can, Cindy. I mean, I know I have the plumbing for it, but the thought of making love to a man just doesn’t seem right.”

“Do you want to make love to me?”

I jumped, startled. “No! Of course not! I mean, we’re both... And I’m not...”

“Not gay?”

“I’m not, no,” I agreed, flustered.

“Then if it seems gay to make love to a woman and it doesn’t feel right to make love to a man, that doesn’t leave you with too many choices. I don’t think the Judge included a nunnery when he created Ovid.”

I slumped in my chair and took a long drink of coffee, not even flinching when it practically burned my tongue.

“So if I want to stay here...”

“You have to violate your parole and you have to reconcile yourself to being a woman one hundred percent of the time. That includes in bed with the person you love.”

“What... what’s it like?” I ventured.

Cindy leaned back with a dreamy expression. “When it’s done right, it can be fantastic. You two have an advantage Jerry and I didn’t have. You both remember who you were, and you’ve both had experience from the other sexual perspective. I envy you. I mean, Jerry is great, but to have a partner who knows exactly what will do the most for you would be unbelievable.”

“Then you think I should do it?”

“That’s your decision, Susan.”

I rose to my feet. “I don’t know, Cindy. I don’t know if I’ll have the courage to go through with it or not, but I’m going to try.”

She got up and gave me a sisterly kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be rooting for you.”

I drove around town for a little while, just trying to adjust to Ovid. Could I spend the rest of my life here and be happy as a small town lawyer and as a woman? If I did nothing and returned to my old life, I would be wealthy, respected, even feared by my opponents. In Ovid, wealth was out of the question. Even once I had built up my practice, the most I could hope for would be modestly comfortable. Fear? In a town run by the gods, it was hard to imagine anyone being very afraid of me. As for respect, yes, I could have respect, but not as much as I would have had if I had been male. Female attorneys were seldom awarded the respect freely given to their male counterparts.

On the other hand, if I returned to my old life, I would come home every evening to an empty house. There was no one for me in the outside world; I was sure of that now that I had rediscovered the one love of my life. Brenda and Brad had been a single being ripped apart by ambition. Susan and Steven could be different. I was sure of that.

The twisted knot in my stomach disappeared. The dark cloud that threatened to obscure the brightness of the late fall day cleared from my mind. I knew at last what I had to do. I had made up my mind.

Steven must have been beside himself. There had been three more messages on my answering machine when I had returned home, each more desperate than the last. I had answered none of them. What I had to say had to be said in person and said quickly before I lost my nerve.

I was standing at the door of his house. I had gone home to change clothes, so here I was now, wearing what I hoped was a sexy outfit under my trench coat. All that showed of it now was dark nylons and the highest black heels I could find. I hoped Steven came to the door quickly, I thought as I knocked. The November sun was going down and I wasn’t wearing the warmest outfit in the world.

The door opened, and Steven looked at me with surprise and joy. “Susan! My God, I’m happy to see you. Come in, let me take your coat.”

“I’ll keep my coat on for now,” I said, entering the house and standing directly in front of him after he had closed the door. “There’s something I need to tell you first.”

“All right,” he said cautiously, obviously not sure where I was going with this.

I had made many summations to juries in my career, but condensing what had happened to me during the last week in Ovid into a few concise sentences was not easy. “Steven, your hearing was part of a test the Judge agreed to with me. If I got you off the hook, I could be returned to my old life. If I didn’t, I would be Susan for the rest of my life.”

Realization was dawning on his face. His confusion was turning to disappointment. “Then you’re free to leave–to go back to being Brad Monroe.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “I can go back.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock I’m to appear before the Judge. If I’ve successfully met all the terms of my probation, I’ll be changed back.”

He looked at me suspiciously. “Have you met all of the terms?”

“So far,” I replied coyly. “The only one I haven’t completed is the Judge’s prohibition on sexual relations.”

Before Steven could reply, I opened my coat. After what had happened to him over the last few days, it was hard to imagine him being shocked, but he was. His mouth dropped open as he stared at me. I was wearing nothing but a black lace teddy I had found at home. Susan was meant to be a healthy girl, and one of her drawers had contained several outfits that would have fit the occasion, but I had decided the black teddy was the best. It pushed my flesh in the sexiest of ways, causing my breasts to be larger and fuller. It came to such a small vee at my crotch that I had had to trim my pubic hair just to make it look right. The garter belt was the same one I had worn Saturday night, but now it was in plain sight, my dark stockings clinging seductively to my thighs.

“Susan,” he began, almost unable to speak, “are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” I breathed as I stepped into his arms.

I was snuggling in his arms, watching as the darkness turned into faint morning light. We were still naked. It had been the most incredible night of my life, male or female. I thought as I lay there about the Cosmo article on ten ways to please your man in bed. I think I had used all of them, and maybe added a couple which weren’t in the article. Steven had been very very responsive. I had smiled, realizing for the first time as a woman how easy it was to arouse a man. The trick, though, was making the most of that arousal. We had.

The first time, Steven had entered me gently, waiting until I was so wet that I thought my entire body was turning to liquid. It was a strange feeling, to be entered rather than being the one doing the entering, but it was a satisfying feeling. He had filled me in a way that made me feel complete, as if my body were a puzzle and his penis was the last piece. When he began to thrust carefully but decisively, I thought I was going to explode. There was a wave of emotion and pleasure spreading like tendrils of ivy though my entire body. But instead of the explosive concentrated climax I had enjoyed as a male, my orgasm was more all-encompassing, wrapping my entire being into a blanket of pleasure.

We slept for a while, then began again, slower the second time leading to an even more thrilling conclusion. Then we slept again.

It was completely dark when we began again. By now, we were both relaxed in our new roles. Since I had once been male, I knew what to do to heighten his pleasure. Since he had once been female, he was able to do the same for me. Together we were one being, laughing and enjoying the feel of each other’s bodies.

Steven was frustrated the third time. He couldn’t quite get it going. I told him it was no problem, and on impulse, shifted until my face was over his crotch. Before he could protest, I had taken him in my mouth, slowly bringing it to life once more. Before he could ejaculate, his face was between my legs, returning the favor. It was a new experience for us both, and while enjoyable, not as satisfying as more conventional sex, but we both agreed we would do it again sometime.

We managed one more, only an hour or so before daylight. We were both tired from interrupted sleep and our strenuous activities, and we were both just a little sore, but we couldn’t resist the temptation.

Now, it was nearly dawn. I had to get up, go home, and get dressed for court. Then, if things went well, I would be off for my office to begin my first day of my new life unshackled by the fetters of my old existence. I gently slid out of Steven’s arms. He mumbled and suddenly awakened.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s morning,” I told him. “I have to go home and get dressed for court.”

“Here,” he said, getting up himself. “Let me find you something to wear.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

He looked at my naked body. “Oh, yes I do. You can’t wear what you were wearing last night. I think we ripped it to shreds. I have a jogging suit. We can adjust it long enough for me to drive you home. After you get changed, I’ll take you to court.”

I shook my head. “No, Steven, I need to do this myself. I don’t want you there this morning. I don’t even think he’ll allow you in the courtroom.”

“Then I’ll wait outside.”

I went over to him and kissed him gently. “I have to do this alone.”

“I love you,” he said after a moment of silence.

“And I love you,” I replied, meaning it more than anything else I had ever said in my life.

I got to the courtroom a few minutes before nine and slipped into the back row. Another case was underway. The Defendant appeared to be a trucker. He was a large muscular man respectfully holding a cap emblazoned with the word Peterbuilt on the front. He did not look very happy. The Judge was murmuring the unfamiliar words again as the trucker stiffened into a near trance. Then, it was over. Officer Mercer led him, dazed, from the courtroom.

Cindy had slid in beside me. “When he comes out of the trance out at the Midway Truck Stop, he won’t be thinking about molesting any young teenage girls who are hitchhiking anymore,” she whispered.

“Why not?” I whispered back.

“He won’t have anything to molest them with anymore.”

Given the Judge’s sense of justice, I was surprised there were any men in Ovid. I also wondered why some people seemed to change while they were in front of the Judge and others, like the trucker and me, changed later. I suspected I might never know.

“Ms. Henderson!” the Judge boomed, causing me to jump. I got to my feet and approached the bench. It actually felt good this morning to be in a skirt and heels. I thought I looked great. I just hoped I had the opportunity to leave the courtroom dressed the same way.

“Yes, Your Honor?” I said formally.

“You are appearing before me today to be returned to your previous life. Let’s do it right now and get you on your way.”

Oh my God! He was going to do it without checking to see if I had met the terms of the probation. I had to do something at once or I would be Brad Monroe again.

“Uh, Your Honor?”

“Yes, Ms. Henderson? Or should I say Mr. Monroe?”

I was hoping there were no perspiration stains on my suit. This was not going the way I had planned. “Your Honor, as an officer of the court, it is my duty to inform you of a violation of my parole.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

I was silent. He was a god. Couldn’t he just use his powers to see what I had done? Apparently, he could, for a stern look crossed his face. “Yes, Ms. Henderson. There has been a severe breach of parole. Do you have anything to say in defense of this violation?”

“No, Your Honor,” I replied, trying to look as contrite as possible.

“Then I have no choice but to revoke your parole and re-impose sentence. You shall remain Susan Henderson for the rest of your life.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” I said respectfully. It was all I could do to restrain myself from rushing up to the Judge and kissing him.

“Next case!” the Judge intoned with a rap of his gavel. I turned to see Officer Mercer bringing in a young punk wearing a motorcycle jacket, his hair shaved into a Mohawk, but I wasn’t thinking about the punk. All I could think about was Steven. I could hardly wait to see him!

“Oh, Ms. Henderson?” the Judge said suddenly.

I turned. “Yes, Your Honor?”

“It has come to my attention that some of the cases before this court are more complex than others. There may be from time to time a need for a Public Defender to ensure the rights of some of the accused. If you’re interested, the court will authorize a standard fee of one-hundred and twenty-five dollars an hour for this work. Are you interested?”

In my old life, my paralegal was billed out at that rate. I was billed at several times that. But that was in my old life. I smiled and replied, “Yes, Your Honor, I’m very interested.”

“Good. Get with Ms. Patton later today. She will have the agreements.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

The click of my heels was the sound of a victory march to me. I had done it! I was going to be Susan Henderson for the rest of my life. It was hard to imagine that only a few short days ago, I would have considered that fate a disaster. Now, I could only think of how happy I was. There were tears in my eyes as the courtroom door closed behind me, but they were tears of joy. Then, I saw a figure standing by the building exit. Steve! I smiled at him. He smiled back. Hand in hand, we walked together into the beautiful Ovid morning.

It was like waking up from a dream. Then I saw Dina looking at me from across the table. There were tears in her big brown eyes. “Que bonita!” she said to me.

“What?”

“Oh, Cindy, I said how beautiful.” She wiped away the tears. “Truly, they were made for each other.”

“Or remade for each other,” I quipped. Then, looking around, “What happened anyway? I feel like I was in a trance.”

“Oh, that’s how it works,” she laughed. “You and I lived the story through the powers the Judge gave you.”

“You mean I’ve been sitting here staring out into space for... how long?”

Dina shrugged. “Only about ten seconds. Don’t worry, nobody noticed anything. So what happened after that? Don’t worry, you don’t have to go back into a trance. Have you seen Susan since then?”

“I see her almost every day,” I told her. “Since she’s a lawyer, she’s in and out of my office all the time.”

Dina leaned forward, a devilish grin on her face. “Does she suspect anything?”

I giggled, “Not a thing! She has no idea it was all a setup on the part of the Judge. He’s been trying to figure out a way to lure Brad here ever since he changed Brenda into Steven. He finally got close enough to him when he sold him the Lexus. Brad never knew it was the Judge in disguise who sold him his car and suggested he take it on a road trip.”

“The Judge has been a master of disguise for centuries,” Dina added. “It’s good to see he hasn’t lost his touch.”

“We got to him just in time,” I said more seriously. “With all the strain Brad had been under over the last three years, he would have died from a coronary before another week passed. Of course, Susan didn’t know that. If she had chosen to return to her old life, Brad would be dead by now.”

“I’ll bet there was one hell of a ripple in reality when Brad Monroe ceased to exist,” Dina speculated while taking a drink of wine.

I nodded in agreement. “I think it was actually harder for the Judge to keep Brenda’s existence viable until Brad could be coaxed here. Normally, she would have ceased to exist as soon as she was changed into Steven. But you’re right. The ripple effect when Brad Monroe winked out of existence was incredible. No less than twelve murderers who had gotten off the hook when Brad defended them were convicted and imprisoned in the new reality. Unfortunately, OJ still got off, but Brad had only consulted on that one, so maybe his impact wasn’t that great there.”

“So I assume Susan and Steven are still an item?”

“Yes,” I replied, “and that reminds me of something.” I dug into my purse and produced a white envelope which I gave to Dina.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a wedding invitation. Susan and Steven are getting married a week from tomorrow. You can even be in the wedding party.”

She was grinning from ear to ear. “But she doesn’t even know me.”

“I know,” I agreed, “but then again, she really hasn’t met a lot of people in Ovid. She asked me to be her Matron of Honor, and Dori will be one of the Bridesmaids. You’ll be the other one.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she laughed. “Another drink?”

I shook my head. “No, one is enough for me. I think I’ll go see Jerry and see if I can get him out of there a little early.”

“Porque, hermana?”

I smiled back at Dina. “Susan’s story has given me a couple of new ideas for later tonight.”

Dina was still laughing as the door closed behind me.

The End