Synopsis:

A civil servant leads a quiet life, until life learns to make some noise all on its own.

Story:

Foreword: This is my second stab at posting my first work of fiction written for public consumption. Like many of you out there I've done some writing: for grades, for work and for my own sanity; but I've never been paid for it (directly) - and I'm not likely to - but you may know that by now already. I only ask that if you have something NOT nice to say... you say it all in a big fat stinker of a review. I may not post another word of fiction, but maybe I'll learn a thing or two. Here are a few ways I've failed the mother tongue in the past.... I'm a recovering commaholic. I like ending sentences with a preposition - something I have an unexplainable affinity for. I always manage to find a complicated manner in which to illustrate relatively simple concepts. I've been known to be a connoisseur of the passive voice. I mix verb tenses with reckless abandon. And finally, I'm constantly beginning awkward sentences with the word "and."

If you still find yourself willing to continue reading, give me this one more chance to change your mind. My relatively expensive education has virtually no practical application in today's world. Therefore, almost everything referenced in this modest story suffers from a layman's frame of reference; and at best, five minutes of Google research. In short, all mistakes are mine, and mine alone. I wear them as a perverse and ill-advised badge of honor.

Having finished with my version of the hard sell, you are now free to read my story.

Jack be nimble?
By: Myself

He was at work enjoying a minute of loafing when he first decided to quit biting his nails.

Jack was a low ambition kind of guy, doing the kind of work low ambition and average skills will fetch. It was honest work for average pay - but not terribly exciting. That's partly why Jack was staring out his office window that day, thinking about his spate of illness over the last few months. Like many people with slightly above average intelligence and an overly developed sense of curiosity, Jack was thinking about how he could avoid such infirmities in the future. Like many avid readers with active imaginations and a nasty case of hypochondria, Jack read WAY too many articles on WebMD. One article had been prescient, if not a little obvious. It had linked higher rates of flu to nail biting and infrequent hand washing.

He had long blamed himself for his relatively poor health. After all, you didn't have to be a hypochondriac to know it wasn't good for you to stick your fingers in your mouth. A nasty bout of flu was the last straw for this incongruous habit. He was finally going to act like a proper worrywart and kick the habit.

"But how?" he wondered.

Every journey begins with a first step, and for Jack that was filing off the rough edges. Jack figured that biting began with picking, and picking began with a rough edge begging to be picked. What nails he had may have been misshaped and abused - but soon they were smooth.

A few harrowing weeks later, filing had just about replaced picking and biting as Jack's primary habit. On the first no-picking week, Jack had to consciously close his fists when his fingers were idle to avoid unconscious picking. It was driving him crazy - until the obsession with a nail file caught up. In the following weeks his new obsession didn't just grow - it spread. Nail filing begat cuticle maintenance, which begat surface smoothing and buffing. In private moments he gazed at his fingers, splayed in a decidedly un-masculine fashion, admiring their appearance.

But our story didn't end there, and neither did Jack.

On some level he noticed he was getting moodier, but it was obscured by the appearance that he was loosing weight - in his hands. It would have been easy for Jack to dismiss if he didn't think his nails looked a little narrower in their bed. "I think it's all in your head Jack," his wife Stacy replied one morning when his anxiety momentarily got the better of him. "Think about the alternative... the bone structure of your hands is getting narrower? I seriously doubt it."

It's a real pity she didn't have a better-developed sense of irony.

When Jack was able to pry his eyes away from his hands, he came to notice other differences - starting with subtle changes in the face looking back at him in the mirror; shortly followed by a barely perceptible shrinking of his joints. Recalling his wife's words in the bathroom he convinced himself he was seeing symptoms that weren't there. Since no one at work seemed to notice, and his wife didn't notice, maybe it was all in his head.

Eventually someone finally spoke up. It wasn't the physical changes that Jack's wife noticed. It was his behavior that caught her eye.

"Jack, do you know we haven't had sex in six weeks?" she asked one evening, after the kids had gone to bed.

"You know, I guess I didn't. Why do you ask? Have you wanted to?"

"Jack. Six weeks. Do you have to ask? Of course I've wanted to."

"So why not say something sooner? Hell - why not do something sooner? Why do I always have to make the first move?"

"I don't know. You seemed so tired. Maybe I thought you wouldn't be in the mood. Have you... you know... been in the mood?" she asked.

"I might have been, if I'd been given some reason to be."

"Jack, listen to yourself. You don't sound like the Jack I celebrated my last birthday with... and there's your behavior lately. What's with the clinging all of a sudden? We spend all evening practically attached at the shoulder, so I think you might be up to something... even though you seem tired... then nothing. We go to sleep. Its not that I don't like the attention... but affection without sex just isn't you Jack. Not for six weeks. What's wrong?"

Jack didn't have an answer; but perhaps more worrisome (had his wife been able to read his mind) - Jack wasn't worried. Given Jack's history, he should have been well on his way to a full-blown nervous breakdown. Instead, the only thing troubling Jack at that moment was his misplaced nail file.

---

It was four months after Jack gave up biting his nails when Stacy first noticed a physical change.

"Jack, weren't you asking me about your fingers a while back? Something about them looking smaller?"

"Ah... yeah. Why?"

"Have you noticed anything else?" she asked.

"I ahh... well... are you trying to say something? You haven't noticed anything have you?"

"I don't think I would have said anything if you hadn't mentioned your fingers, because it seems so odd to say - but your knees seem smaller."

"My knees?"

"Well, yeah. Do you remember when we started dating and I asked you about your knees? I think I might have said your legs looked like you played soccer as a kid because of your thin legs and knobby knees."

"What does playing soccer have to do with having knobby knees?" he asked.

"You know, I think you said the same thing back then" she replied.

"I guess some questions are timeless, so?"

"It's just that I always thought you had big knees... and it just struck me that you don't."

"I don't, you mean, anymore?"

"Well... yeah. So what do you think?" she asked.

"I don't know what to think. Have you noticed anything else?"

''Well, you remember when I asked you about sex?'' Jack nodded and Stacy continued, ''well I've noticed you've found a new friend in that file you appropriated from my drawer. You seem to be more concerned with your appearance as a whole. Then... how do I put this? I don't think you look at other women as much.''

At this, Jack flushed, becoming embarrassed and defensive all at once.

''I don't mean to criticize you Jack; I always figured it was a guy thing to have the occasional wandering eye. It never bothered me that much. You never were a flirt, and you've never done anything else to make me question my trust in you - especially since your eyes always did more than "wander" in my direction. I'm not sure I've even been fully aware of it before this moment. Oh Jack, I feel like I'm just babbling; but when I think about your lack of interest in sex... Jack what's happening?''

Jack and Stacy sat up half the night, speculating what this might have meant. They tried Google. They tried online health sites. Nothing they found quelled their concerns. They really didn't expect to find anything anyway. After giving up on the computer, they settled into an intimate conversation about nothing in particular... nestled comfortably in bed. As they spoke, the pauses between spoken words slowly grew longer, until eventually they both fell asleep.

---

Jack was always a good driver. He had a clean record: no speeding tickets and no accidents. His friends in college used to kid him that he drove like an old woman. However, it only takes a moment to make all of that completely irrelevant.

"Sir, can you hear me? Sir?"

"Huh?"

"Sir, you have been in an accident. Can you tell me where it hurts?"

"Huh?"

"Sir, can you...."

---

"There's not much to report at this point maam. The good news is there doesn't appear to be any permanent damage. He'll probably just have a nasty headache from the concussion to remind him to drive more carefully."

"And the bad news?" Stacy asked.

"Well, I don't know if it's bad news, per say... but it bears checking out later with your husband's primary care physician. When we got the chance to weigh him we noticed he'd lost some weight. He was here nine months ago with an ankle sprain, and we show he's lost 35 pounds since then. It's not unheard of for someone to lose that much weight, but when l asked your husband about any changes in diet, appetite, or lifestyle he said there were none. There was also something about his reaction that was worrisome - as if the subject was causing some distress, but he was holding back. Working in the ER you get a feel for when someone isn't telling you the whole story. Talk to him about it. He should talk to his doctor about it. If it were ten or fifteen pounds we were talking about - well, I guess we wouldn't be talking. You know what I mean?"

---

Jack really didn't want to talk to Stacy about it at first, but since they were both a little worried bout the weight loss, Jack did agree to see his doctor. As little as he expected from his doctor, Jack was still disappointed that he had no ready theories he was willing to share... until after some blood tests.

"... Hi, this is Lisa with Labs Inc. I'm calling because it seems we lost the sample we took from you two weeks ago. Can you come back in for another blood draw?"

"I guess. Is there any day or time I should come in?" Jack asked.

"Oh no. Any time should be fine."

"You realize I don't have the script from my doctor anymore - I gave it to you all last time. Do I need to go back to my doctor for a new set of orders?"

"Oh no. You should be fine. We have your doctor's instructions entered on our system from the first time."

"Do you mind if I ask what took so long?" Jack asked.

"How do you mean?"

"I usually have my results back in a week, but it's been two and you're just now figuring out my blood was lost?"

"Well, we didn't know yours was lost until just recently. We didn't know until we finished the work-up on what we thought was your sample. We knew we mixed up somewhere when it became obvious your results showed you to be a perfectly healthy woman.

"Sir? Are you still there?"

---

"No Stacy, I'm not kidding. That's what she said."

"Well shit. Shit-shit-SHIT! What the HELL is that supposed to mean. Fingers - joints - behavior - your blood. Don't even tell me if you're sprouting breasts. I'm not interested in saving money on clothes by sharing. I..."

"Stacy, please calm down."

"I don't WANT to calm down."

"Stacy. Remember. It's not like we didn't know something weird was up. I've been through at least three sizes of pants this year. And let's not forget: this is happening to me! I'm the one that has to face everyone at work; that has to face the changing face in the mirror. You aren't helping."

"I'm sorry Jack, but have you thought about this at all?"

"Stacy, all I do anymore is think about this. Ever since the car accident, when that ER doctor spoke to us about my weight, I haven't been able to concentrate at work and I haven't been sleeping much at night. I need to be able to think about this LESS, not more. I need... AHH! I NEED you to leave me ALONE."

''You didn't seem that worried to me..."

"Before my little ER visit I WASN'T!"

Jack didn't go back for another draw. The lab, having no interest other than not being further embarrassed, didn't bring it up. His doctor, with a whole slew of HMO patients, never followed up with Jack or the lab.

"Jack? I'm sorry."

"I know. I understand this is happening to you too... so to speak," Jack reassured.

"What's next?" she asked.

"I have no idea."

---

Sometimes people keep doing what they normally do, even in a crisis, because they don't know what else to do. That's exactly what Jack and Stacy did. As you might expect, carrying on as if everything were normal was a bigger problem for Jack, especially when his changes continued. At work he stopped using the stairs when he felt parts of his body bouncing. He stopped tucking in his shirt when his pants became an awkward fit at the top. He started biting his nails again to try to make them look less delicate. He stopped doing anything that might call more attention to himself. He stopped speaking at meetings. He started eating lunch in his office.

Despite his efforts his coworkers took notice - ironically (at first) - because of his efforts. He was never outgoing, but they noticed when he withdrew completely. Perhaps because he was never outgoing he didn't have anyone at work he was particularly close to, and therefore had no one to confront him over his behavioral changes. He was as productive as ever, so not even his boss said anything... to his face... not even when people began to whisper that he might be taking hormones.

At home they tried to ignore the changes too. However, Jack and Stacy were talking as much as ever - just not about Jack. Although they had not had sex (or engaged in sexual behavior) physical intimacy reassured each of them in a way words never could. They still cuddled in each other's arms at night, in front of the TV, and after the kids went to bed. They still fell asleep in each other's arms. It wasn't until their precocious 8-year-old daughter brought it up that either of them talked seriously about his changes again.

"Dad, why do you have a big butt like mom now?"

Jack was horrified. He stood there motionless in front of his daughter. While she may have lacked tact, she was observant.

"Dad, what's wrong?" she asked, worried that she may have crossed a line she didn't know was there.

"Um..." Jack mumbled as stress, uncertainty, and emotion all came to bear. Jack gently bit down on his quivering lower lip as a tear rolled down his cheek.

"Dad, what's wrong?" she repeated.

Suddenly overwhelmed with self-consciousness, Jack turned away and sought refuge behind the locked door of his bedroom. Safely behind the door, Jack began to cry in earnest.

"Chrissy, what's wrong? What happened?" Stacy asked their daughter. A hushed conversation ensued, one that would have been out of earshot for Jack - even if he had wanted to listen. After a few minutes there was a knock on the door.

"Jack, what's wrong? Can I come in?"

"Chrissy said I had a big butt."

"Jack, please let me in. I think we need to talk about something. We've needed to for a while now. Come on Jack, open up."

Jack did open up, both the door and emotionally. After Jack calmed down they surveyed the changes together. Jack's rear was indeed larger, but this had been apparent when he began to feel more comfortable in Stacy's shorts. His hips were wider and there was a layer of fat on his outer thighs that didn't seem to be there before. His scrotum had all but disappeared and there was evidence that the rest of his genitalia would be following suit.

"Jack! You know what this looks like. With all the talking we do, why don't you ever want to talk about this?"

"It's not exactly something that comes up naturally in day-to-day conversation Stacy. 'Hi dear. How was your day? Guess what? My balls have almost completely disappeared!"'

"Yeah, but..."

"And speaking of changes, I thought some of my changes were pretty self evident. They embarrass me enough without talking about them every day."

"Has anyone noticed at work?" Stacy asked.

"Oh, that's been the absolute worst. Yes... oh yes, they've noticed. I was never a popular guy, but I wasn't a pariah either. Rooms go horribly quiet when I walk in. I must be all anyone talks about anymore. It's just awful."

"Have you thought about leaving? You know... finding another job?"

"I don't know. I know this isn't the greatest job, but it's almost impossible to get fired, and that's a real bonus right now. How many employers would have kept me around this long? Nope, as bad as I feel being the object of amusement, I'll probably stay. Besides, we need the money. And another thing... how would I get this other job? I'm not looking much like a 'Jack' these days. I'm bound to get to a point soon when my driver's license is just about useless as I.D."

"Have you thought any more about going back to the doctor?"

"Only that I don't want to. What are they going to say about this? Actually, as long as my coworkers keep to themselves, letting them assume I'm on hormones is perfect. I do everything else online... so as long as they keep letting me work, I think I'm good."

"I don't think we can just do nothing Jack."

"But what's the alternative? Have you considered that a doctor might not believe that I'm me anymore?"

"Jack!?"

"No, seriously, think about it. From the day my blood test came back I figured I might have trouble proving who I am. Our doctor doesn't know us that well. He's got too many patients. And even if he did agree to see me, what's the chance I'd be able to use our health insurance to pay for it. They're always looking for a reason not to pay. Heck... who's to say they wouldn't try to seek to prosecute me for insurance fraud?"

"But you're you..."

"But if there is ever any reason to doubt it, how do I prove it? I may still look mostly like me, but if a quick look at my blood says otherwise, my guess is they will pretty much ignore my face in favor of science. Who knows what my DNA might reveal. It may still be similar... or exactly the same, but if the more obvious identifiers of gender like appearance and physiology suggest I'm not a man, who's going to suspect or believe the truth... enough to try a more involved test... especially since my circumstances are so fantastic."

"Uh huh... you know Jack; you seem to have calmed down awfully quickly. You were the one needing to be consoled not to long ago. Do you think that's odd?"

"Nah. I think it just feels better to be talking about it. What about you? What do you think about all of this?"

"I don't want to lose my husband. No, no, no. I know you haven't gone anywhere, but I still feel kind of lonely. Does that make any sense?"

"Come here."

Jack opened his arms in a welcoming gesture. Stacy leaned into her husband for a long, needy embrace. For the first time in months, Jack began to feel aroused. It wasn't quite the same - the smell of her hair in his nose and the crush of her breasts against his chest did not cause a stirring in his pants. Instead, it was her warm, trusting embrace that gave his heart pause. It was purely accident that his hand found bare skin, but once there it felt compelled to explore. She seemed so warm and soft in his hands. He pulled his head back to gaze upon her face. When her head pulled back in reply their eyes met. For a moment their eyes searched each other, looking - hoping for consent. In unspoken, mutual, and yearning consent they came together in a simple kiss. Hesitantly at first, Stacy's hands began to explore her changed husband. Their kisses and explorations were not urgent, but no less loving or tender than ever before. They were slow, almost careful, but tender, loving, and wholly accepting. Unspeaking, they moved to the bed and explored each other in ways and to an extent they had not achieved in ten years of marriage. While you may not have used the word "sex" to describe their coming together, you most certainly would have used the word "love."

---

This is where the original story ended. In the ten months since it was posted it on another site I've done a bit of tinkering (literally here and there - I may be the only person that still finds it handy to take a lot of notes with a stylus on a Palm powered PDA). I've also fooled around with a possible second installment, which may eventually be posted... courage permitting.

Notes:

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