STRANGERS ON A TRAIN

By Bimbo Alison

A bored but romantic-at-heart witch enjoys a cross-country train trip. On her journey she touching many lives aboard the train and tries to make them better, while working around many of the rules and regulations of the magic community.

Hope you enjoy!

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My given name is … well, my given name you couldn’t pronounce. There is a part of it which sounds like “Amy” so I’ve normally gone by that for the last, say, 250 years. Actually, that’s not true. I had to stomach some dreadful Victorian names for a few hundred years, so “Amy” has really only been in use for the last 70-80. You lose track.

You see, I’m a witch. There, I said it. The few people who have found out make SUCH a big deal out of it. But to me, it’s just normal me. There are a lot of us out there.

Don’t get all worked up. We’re nothing like you see on TV or the movies. There aren’t good witches and evil witches. It’s not like that. It’s like, are there good waitresses and evil waitresses? No. Well….I’ve met a few who seemed somewhat evil. But that is a tough job.

I digress. For the most part, being a witch is just boring. There’s not a lot new going on that I haven’t seen many times before. So most witches travel around a lot. Every so often, we decide to try something different. I’ve been married a few times. Let me see… I think 15 times. Give or take. It can be fun. But I was married until about 10 years ago, and want to take another 50 or so year break. You see, when we marry, we let ourselves age so even our spouses don’t know. And getting old can be a drag.

So I’m seeing the USA for a little while. In fact, I’m on my way from Toccoa, Georgia to New York City. No, I’m not flying on a broom. Nor even in an airplane. I’m on a train.

I guess if I had only 70 or 80 years to live, I’d be in a rush too. But since I don’t have to worry about that, I love the train. I remember the early years of train travel. It was somewhat romantic, so for me, it still holds that allure.

At least that’s what I tell myself. Of course, we’re two hours into the trip, with about 15 more to go, and now I’m thinking maybe I should have flown. Now, could I just speed up the train and make it get there in like 20 minutes? Short answer — no. I mean, I could make it go fast… but what about other trains on the tracks? Or other scheduled stops? See, magic is not as easy at it seems. Lots of things to consider.

Still that doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun on this train. Why not, right? Might as well kill the time. Anyone remember that movie “Strangers on a Train”? Great Hitchcock movie. Must have been early 1950’s. Those years blend together. I was actually an extra in that, in a scene boarding the train. Actually… I think I was at least four extras, as I recall. A friend of mine was working in films on set construction. Helped to be a witch in those days, before these computers! Anyway, I was visiting her and they were doing some scenes at an actual train station, and she needed a few more extras. So I was a young girl, and older man, and two average looking women. Fun memories.

But I digress again. What is interesting me now is this young man sitting alone in a sleeping cabin. I am not nearly as intuitive as some of my friends, but I can sense he’s a good person. So might as well do a good deed for the day.

I knock on the door and he opens it immediately, greeting me with a “May I help you ma’am?” Nice manners. Although my current body is supposed to only be 30, so I’m not thrilled with the “ma’am” thing. Remind me to de-age before we arrive.

I tell him that I was just looking for a quiet place to read, and does he mind if I join him. He doesn’t of course. I catch his eyes checking out my body ever so briefly. Nothing wrong with that. If I didn’t have a few hundred years of experience as a woman, I wouldn’t have noticed it either.

I started with some small talk. Twenty-two years old, fresh out of college, heading to New York for his first real job. Ah, how wonderful. I can tell, though, that he’s a bit soft. The big city is going to be a bit too much for him, I’m afraid. Needs a boost of confidence. Hmmm. I have an idea.

I ask him to tell me about what kind of woman he likes. At first he is very polite. Smart, nice, likes to laugh… all the usual bullshit that men say. So I know there’s a little con artist in him. Good. With a flick of my finger, the water he is sipping has become tasteless vodka. And I increase his thirst level. Within a few moments, I get the real answers. He was always attracted to the tall athletic girls in college. The bright ones, the popular ones. Pretty and wealthy… all the things he could never attain.

As he spoke, I made subtle changes… first, I added about four inches to my frame, moving me up to 5-10. Hadn’t been this tall in a while. It’s nice. I made by boobs a bit fuller and rounder, as my age came down towards his. Perhaps around 20, I thought. Long blond hair followed, professionally made up face, smart, but sexy business clothes.

I could see his arousal growing, and I gradually pulled back his inebriation. But I made sure to do it slowly. He hadn’t noticed the changes to my body, he thought this was the person he let into the car, but I wanted to make sure his confidence didn’t suffer.

He was charming. I mean, seriously. I knew it was his “act” but it wasn’t bad. Of course, a real 20-year old would have no interest in this. Especially in Manhattan. Too cynical. But I laughed at his jokes, touched his knee when he made a good point, and gave him a little hug “for good luck” when he told me about his job.

I could see the confidence rise in him. Yes, I could see another “rise” in him too, but I wasn’t focused on it. But I did see it as a compliment. After about 30 minutes, I told him I had to go, but also that he was wonderful company. I leaned over and gave him a nice kiss. Nothing crazy, but some tongue and a nice clear look down my shirt. As he sat back with a big smile on his face, I told him I wished that I lived in New York, and that any girl in the city would be crazy not to fall for someone like his.

As I shut the door behind me, I knew he’d have a little more wiggle in his waggle as he ventured into the big city. Girls love a guy with confidence.

The next car I almost skipped. Two good ‘ol boy rednecks from Georgia. I didn’t take much magic to see what they thought of women, nor of what they’d done to some of then. A few years back, I wouldn’t have thought twice about just turning them both into big boobed little airheads, and letting them see what that was like. But the 2002 Witches Council Report found some surprising information in a survey which changed things. First, lots of guys end up being INTO this, and then we didn’t punish them at all. And second, almost 90% of the big boobed bimbos in the world are now former men who someone of magic has turned into this for some punishment reason. Turns out, we’re propagating the stereotype ourselves. It kind of blew us away.

But I still can’t let this go without doing something.

First off, my appearance. I hate doing this, but I close my eyes and focus, and when I open them I’m a walking wet dream. These must be at least D-cups on this little blond body. Short cut off jean shorts, and a thin stretchy top. I’d laugh if I wouldn’t get annoyed with these boobs bouncing around everywhere.

I don’t even have to knock before they’re up opening the door. George and Larry they tell me, as they sit me across from them. I could offer either one $100 to guess my eye color and they wouldn’t have a clue. Turns out that Larry’s father died and left him some money, and he and George were taking the train into NYC to see all the sites before coming back to open a gas station.

“The sites” they call it, but I can hear in their mind that they’re looking for a week of total sexual deviance. And then they’ll return and inflict that attitude on two girls like the one I’m playing right now. Well no they won’t, not on my watch.

Larry seems the nicer of the two, so I pick him. Maybe it’s the death in his family, or just the practical aspect of the fact that he’s now without family and this is easier. Slowly he starts to change, his body becoming a nearly exact duplicate of mine. I make the boobs smaller, no need to give the poor girl back issues, and make the clothing a bit more appropriate. A nice sweater, and some butt hugging jeans.

Poor George over there barely notices, and as the finishing touch I put wedding rings on both of their fingers, as they close their eyes and fall backward, asleep.

I stand up, and change back into my normal form… lean over the two of them.

“You George, and you Le-Ann, are on your honeymoon. Going to New York City for a week. In your bag you’ll find two tickets to Wicked, as well as your confirmation number for a room at the downtown Marriott.

You’ll have a wonderful week, and then return home for George to open up his gas station. Le-Ann, you want a family, and will be a very attentive wife to George. As for you, George, Le-Ann here is the love of your life, and you will treat her like a princess. If you two behave, you should have a wonderful life together. A nice family, a good business, and many years of happiness.”

I lean back and watch their eyes roll around in their heads. The new Le-Ann? I think she’ll enjoy this. And hopefully I’ve just taken two jerks and made a productive couple out of them. But still.

I sigh. I know I’ve got to leave a failsafe, just in case. I lean over to Le-Ann and whisper:

“Le-Ann, dear. George should be a wonderful husband. But if he is not, if he treats you poorly, you will go to your local library and sign out “the Joy of Cooking”. Attached to page 26 will be simple incantation. You will read it aloud when George is sleeping, and it will allow you to make one suggestion that he will take as his own idea. Tell him to sell the business.

A week later, after he has sold, you will turn to page 30, and read the incantation there. It will turn George into your younger, submissive sister. Your children will call her Auntie, and remember their father as a good man who was killed in an accident. And Aunt Georgie will go to work for the gas station he had sold as George, as well as working a second job in town to provide you the money you need to live. You’ll be provided for, I promise you that.”

I pull out a little notebook and jot down that I have to put another spell on yet another copy of the “Joy of Cooking.” I’ve been using the same book for like 30 years. It just helps to remember. But now I’ve got to Google the location of their local library and remember to hex the book. Sometimes I used to forget, so that’s the reason for the notebook. And no, its not some magical enchanted leather covered thing. It’s a small spiral bound lined pages notebook from CVS. I think it costs $0.79, if you’re interested.

Anyway, as I leave George and Le-Ann, I hope very much they will be happy together, but I can’t help seeing the image of George selling his ass on the street in their little Georgia town. The sisterhood will get kind of pissed at me if that happens, but hey, I gave them the choice of a happy life. That’s the best I can do.

What struck me next was a feeling of overwhelming goodness, and sadness As I knocked on the compartment door I passed next, a very debonair older man opened it up and invited me in. I had a pang of regret that I hadn’t kept the big boobs I’d shown to George and Larry, but what can you do.

Michael Maloy was a neurosurgeon from a big New York City hospital. He was a modest man, but just little probes of his memory revealed that he’d won many honors and was considered one of the best in the business. At 48 years of age he was a strikingly handsome man. He told me that he’d flown to Atlanta for the funeral of his uncle, and still feeling a bit blue just decided to take the train back and try to regain his spirits.

I could tell it would be difficult. His wife had died of a long illness 10 years ago. They had no children, and he lost both his parents before he graduated med school. In fact, his uncle who had died had been pretty much all he had left in terms of a family connection.

What amazes me in this man is that he put all his energy into his work. And I can tell from his stories that he enjoys helping people, but he also deals with more stress than most humans I’ve come in contact with. Still, he has led a rewarding life. A life of value.

We had a lovely chat. Remember when I said I’ve seen it all before? This, I hadn’t seen. This man, this wonderful man, was unique. And what made him so unique was that I couldn’t think of something nice I could do for him. He serves a valuable role in society, so putting him in a less stressful situation does more harm than good. To be honest, the idea of marrying him springs to mind, briefly. But I’m not ready for that, and don’t think I’d make much of a wife for the next 30-40 years. Need some “me” time.

He’s got money, he does have friends… I’m stumped. We make plans to meet for dinner later in the club car, and I hope I can find some way to make it up to him.

The universe always provides, so the saying goes. And after poking at a plate of overcooked penne for a few minutes, I first saw Lori. She was working the club car, but dealing with tables behind Michael’s back, so he couldn’t see her. Probably just as well. As polite and genteel as he is, I doubt any straight man alive would be able to carry on much of a conversation while looking at her. Was she a great beauty? You’re talking to someone who met Cleopatra (slut) and Marilyn Monroe (very sweet). So no, Lori was no great beauty. Fact is, she was rather plain looking. Nice clean features, relatively slender. Clearly she did some sort of exercise routine. But nothing most people would notice.

Of course, she had just about the largest pair of natural breasts I’d ever seen. And believe me, that is saying something. Jayne Mansfield had some very big boobs, I recall that. And I’d met a few others. I’d even tried on a few really big pairs from time to time… just to see what it was like. But Lori’s, these were a whole different story.

Her mind was easy to probe. That is a very sad thing. An inactive mind, a mind not hoping and dreaming and planning, is very clear and readable. Think about trying to view some writing on the bottom of a calm swimming pool. You can read it as if looking through a sheet of glass. But if there are waves and splashing about, you can’t read anything.

Lori Greene was 21 years old, and was born and raised in a small town in Mississippi. She had six brothers and two sisters, and was child number five in the chain of nine. She had been a good high school student, but her parents could not afford college for her. She knew this was a likely outcome, but yet still worked as hard as she could in high school… just in case.

She was a dreamer back then. She dreampt of leaving her small town. Of making something of herself. Of being “someone.” It wasn’t wealth, it wasn’t fame. Although I could tell that those things had crossed her mind. But it was more being someone who mattered. When she would read about historical figures in high school, she wondered what it must be like to be someone who others wrote about. Who others thought were important.

It is sad to say that I can tell she grew up in a loving environment, but that she did not appreciate it. She was so focused on her future, she never enjoyed her present. She tried working for a few years in her hometown to save money for college, but a year ago she realized that she wasn’t doing much more than treading water.

So she decided if she couldn’t learn about the world, she might try to see at little bit more than just her hometown. She was interesting in being a flight attendant. At one point, she drove to Jackson Municipal Airport to see if she could talk to a few flight attendants. She met a couple of very nice ones who told her, that her high school degree was enough to get her foot in the door, but it was her other “assets” which would preclude her from working in the friendly skies.

“There’s just not enough room up there for you, honey,” I can hear her being told. “You just wouldn’t be able to move around comfortably.” The fact that I can hear that voice so loudly in her head tells me it was a very important, and very crushing, moment in her life. Poor thing.

Her friends at home were no help. Boys and girls alike, they’d tell her to move to Jackson at work at the Hooters there. A couple of her more lewd friends even mentioned exotic dancing. Lori, at that time, was still determined to see the world. That’s when she took the job at Amtrak. Her size might have been an issue with this job too, but the hiring coordinator was clearly taken with her, and hired her to work a club car. At first, Lori worked as much as she could. She liked the view out the train windows, even if she never really got to spend any time in the destinations.

But working in the club car also made her a sitting target for men to gawk at her. Not a day went by when she couldn’t hear the laughs or see the amazed stares of men as her chest jiggled and wobbled with the movement of the train. And it wasn’t like she could go hide somewhere. She had a place to be, and a job to do. So she stood there, like an object.

In the last month, I can tell, things changed. To look in her eyes now, you can see nothing. Like she’s not here. She doesn’t even look out the windows anymore, nor really speaks to the passengers. She just does her job, and goes home. I can tell, too, that lately she’s been thinking about going to work at Hooters, or maybe even posing for photos on the internet. If guys are going to stare anyway, she may as well get paid.

It seems that money is the last thing she can hold onto from her dreams. Money, and whatever kind of “fame” would come from using her boobs as a career choice.

I’ve only been half listening to what Michael has been saying, but it couldn’t be helped. And when he reaches an awkward moment when he apparently asked me a question that I was supposed to answer (don’t you hate that?) I had to act. A quick spell and the train hits a very bumpy patch. Not enough to cause damage, but enough for the conductor to come on and ask every to sit down while they get through it.

I beckon Lori to join us.

“Sit here, hon,” I say. “We don’t mind.”

Lori shrugs, and quickly joins us. I can tell the moment she sits down that she feels great relief. Turbulence cannot be fun with those girls on her chest.

“My name is Amy,” I say, holding out a hand, “and this is my friend Michael. Nice to meet you.”

Lori shakes my hand, and nods at Michael, purposely avoiding eye contact. “Lori” she says, leaning back in the booth to get her boobs off the table. Michael might be half dead from stress and exhaustion, but the part that is not dead cannot help but stare a bit at Lori. Still, I am proud of how he breaks it off as quickly as possible and tries to begin some pleasant conversation.

“Lori,” Michael says, “Tell me, how long have you…”

I’m dying to freeze time for a few minutes. I want some time to think. But freezing time is a whole different bag of peanuts. I freeze time here, and all other magical beings just sit around, pissed off. “Who the hell is freezing time now?” I’d be thinking in their shoes. Plus, there’s paperwork afterwards. I hate paperwork.

“…been working on a train? It must be exciting?”

Lori shrugs and gives a polite nod.

Before the weather gets discussed, I just blurt it out.

“I’m a witch,” I said. “I witch. You know? A witch.”

They both look at me, trying to figure out what the joke is.

“No joke, it’s for real. I can do magic. I’ve lived for a long time.. blah blah blah blah blah. Same old story as every other witch.”

“Every OTHER witch, Amy?” Michael says, smiling. “What are you talking about?”

“If you’re a witch, show us,” says Lori. The tone of her voice is what I expected. She sounds like she’s as skeptical as Michael, but I can tell there’s a little part of her that hopes magic is real. That maybe magic is all she has left as hope. She’s not wrong.

“Fine, each of you, think of a number. Go ahead,” I say.

“A number from what to what?” Michael says. “You know? From one to 100? What?”

“I don’t care, just think of a number. Ok, good?”

Before they can speak, I continue. “7,643 for Michael, and 3 for the very basic Lori,” I whisper.

“Satisfied?”

Lori leans forward, now not interested in the fact that her boobs have now pressed against the table, causing them to bobble.”

“Wait,” she said. “That’s magic? That’s all magic is? Card tricks?

That one hits me in a way she doesn’t even know. Hundreds of years ago, witches did most shows of magic with cards. It was just the “in” thing to do. Tarot cards were really popular.

But then one witch, thinking it was funny, taught this human how to do a few little slight of hand tricks with tarot cards. Just to show off to some other witches, you know? I mean, he GUESSED I was a witch, I didn’t tell him. PLUS, just because he then showed his friends and then all mortals were doing these card tricks, and all of a sudden us witches couldn’t use cards to show our powers anymore, does NOT mean that all of that was my fault, you know? PLUS….

I shrugged. I could see them staring at me while I said nothing while I had that little Euripides play going on in my head.

“You both trust me, and believe me. I’m a witch.” I don’t like magic as force. But this is just a time saver.

The nodded, and then grew quiet. Almost scared. I’ve seen this before, many times.

“Nothing to be scared of, you two. I only tell you because I think I could help you. Both of you. But you must have an open mind. Are you minds open?”

They both nod, but I’m not sure if they’re telling the truth. Mostly because they aren’t sure.

“I’m just going to say it, instead of beating around the bush. I think that you, Lori, would be much happier as Michael. I think you Michael, would be much happier as Lori. And I can make that happen.”

They both start shaking their heads, protesting about how they’d never want that, I have them all wrong… all the things people say when they’re afraid someone will judge them for a choice they might make. I could easily force them to agree, but that is something I would never do.

“Michael. Lori is a lovely girl. She has a big, warm family back in Mississippi, and her whole life ahead of her. You’d be away from the most stressful job any person could have, and embraced by a family — a feeling you’ve missed for so long. So yes, you’d be changing sexes, big deal. Trust me.

And you Lori, yes you’d become a man. And you’d be 26 years older. But you’d be one of the most famous and successful neurosurgeons in the world. In the world. You’d be helping so many people, and be one of the leading people in your field. In short, you’d have everything you’ve ever wanted.”

I let them soak it in for a moment. And just as both we ready to pepper me with questions, I continued.

“Yes, yes, I know you have questions. Lori, you didn’t go to med school, you don’t know how to be a neurosurgeon. Well, in Michael’s body, those skills and memories would be yours. Michael, you would have memories of college and med school, but they’d fade after time. And while Lori is a sweet girl, she only has a high school education. That would become your capacity Michael. But there’s nothing wrong with that, is there?

As for how it would work, and when? It would happen right now. Or as soon as you both wanted it. And then you would sit here for a few hours, telling each other about your lives, and then you’d go your separate, very happy ways. So, what do you think?”

Michael looked at me. I could see he was still so scared that this was a joke. Afraid to say “yes” and then have me tell him it was a prank. Damn that Ashton Kutcher. I’ll have to make it to Hollywood sometime soon and Punk his skinny little butt.

Lori though, looked me straight in the eyes for the first time and said, simply, “Yes.”

I could hear hope welling up inside her. It was wonderful. But Michael still wasn’t speaking.

“You’re worried about what, Michael? You’re worried about your friends? They’ll be Lori’s friends now. As will your patients. She will have your skills and abilities. Believe me, I wouldn’t do something if I thought it was going to hurt people.”

All of a sudden, though, I realized that wasn’t it at all. I smiled.

“Michael, Lori’s family loves Lori. And they’ll love you. And you don’t have to feel guilty about anything. You’ve given enough, and Lori wants this. Don’t you?”

His head down, he whispered “Yes, I do.”

“Great!” I shouted. A little too loud, actually. Startling a few passengers. To make it up, I make the turbulence (which I’d forgotten about) stop. Everyone seemed much happier.

“Ok, you two… are you ready.?”

“Amy,” Michael said. “If we have problems… or questions… how do we, you know, get in touch with you?”

Oh shoot, I’d almost forgotten. What a rookie mistake. What am I, 300 years old?

I look around and spy a cheap plastic hook against the wall, holding open the curtain. As I start to unscrew it with my fingers, I turn to Lori. “Lori, hon, I assume you’ve got replacements for these things?”

“Boxes and boxes of them,” she said. Good, I’m not big into property damage. I unscrew the little hook and put it on the table between them.

“Here’s the deal, when you both touch this, the change will occur. And in your mind… you’ll believe this little thing somehow caused the change. Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. We’re talking about you switching lives, and the part about the curtain hanger is the part that makes you think I’m crazy? Seriously, though, after a few minutes, you won’t even remember meeting me. Sorry, but them’s the rules.”

They both frown, but it has to be done. I don’t want them tied to me, nor looking for magic to continue to solve their problems.

“If you’re ready… go ahead.”

Lori eagerly touches it first. Michael reaches towards it hesitantly, and then looks up at me and smiles slightly. When his fingers touch it, the change is instantaneous. Anyone watching wouldn’t see more than two people blinking at the same time.

“Oh my lord,” says Michael, now in Lori’s body. “This is so strange. I feel like I’m having a heart attack.”

“Lori,” I say (with emphasis), “you know how someone says a heart attack feels like having a huge weight on your chest. Well… well…. Look at yourself!”

Lori, now in Michael’s body, lets out a small laugh.

“Now you two, I’m going to go. But you’re going to stay here, at this table, for the next two hours and talk. In fact, I’ve made it so your feet cannot move for the next two hours. Tell each other everything you need to know about your old lives, and I wish you both nothing but the best.”

I lean over and kiss each one of them on the forehead. They probably think it’s me being motherly, but it’s just some old magic. Both their minds are now interconnected. What the old Lori tells the new Lori, will forever leave the old Lori’s mind. And vice versa. As I told them, there’ll still be remnants of their old lives, but after a few hours, they’ll be ready.

I can see the new Lori having a bit of trouble processing things. That’s a natural adjustment. She went from one of the smartest men on the planets to a girl with low to average intellect. But there’s nothing wrong with that either. Just some adjustment time.

As I get up to walk away, I can tell they’ve all but forgotten about me. I can see the information flowing both ways, and see that it is working.

I feel pretty proud of myself, until I see his middle aged guy with a comb over storming down between the seats. I realize its Lori’s shift manager, and he’s not too pleased that she’s not doing her job. Forgot about that part.

Problem is, I react too quickly. Bob Jordan becomes Bitsy Jordin in a flash. Hey, knee jerk reaction, what can I say?. But not a big deal. Bitsy is now working the club car for the next two hours. She’ll do a nice job too. And when Lori and Michael are done, Bitsy turns back into Bob and just remembers the whole thing as a long, weird dream.

I don’t think I’ll get any flack for that.

I spend the next two hours sitting at the bar, ordering the craziest drinks I can think of so that Bitsy has to scramble all about. I’m enjoying myself. I think also that this “dream” might force Bob to be a lot nicer to whomever replaces Lori.

The future is a funny thing, I think, as I sip on a Sloe Gin Fizz. I am very tied into to the new Michael’s mind right now, and the new Lori’s too… and I from that, and some natural precognitive abilities, I begin to see a picture of the rest of their lives.

The new Michael will get back to New York and attack his job with a vengeance. His friends will marvel over how his attitude seems so much more upbeat than it had in years. Being a close friend means sometimes rationalizing behavior, and old Michael’s friends had kind of forgiven him his moods because of the death of his wife, his job, and so forth. But seeing the “new” attitude, they remember just how even more amazing a person he could be.

The new Michael will continue to be one of the best neurosurgeons in the East for another 10 years, but eventually will find his time spent more and more on issues of research. He will never remarry (no time), but will continue to have a circle of close personal friends. And when, at the age of 75, he is the leader of the research team which finally comes up with a cure for Alzheimer’s disease, it will be a discovery lauded world wide.

Michael’s last years on earth will be spent continuing his research, lecturing, and enjoying the number of people he has helped. When he starts to see that his life’s work is taught in Medical school, and mentioned in history books as well, there are glimpses of the old Lori inside him that realize that all of her hopes and dreams came true.

And the new Lori? She returns to Mississippi and moves in with her family for four years. She has some difficulty adjusting to her new gender, and her new body, but she is thrilled to be part of a large and loving family. She cares for her younger siblings to take pressure off her parents, and works at a restaurant as well. After two years, she saved enough money to enroll in a local community college, where she receives her associate’s degree in English in only four years.

The new Lori isn’t enamored with the old Lori’s friends, but still does socialize with them a bit. She eventual adjusts to her body being an object to be coveted by men. But while the old Lori might have used that for profit, or in a profession that would have caused her and her family some shame, the same thoughts never cross the new Lori’s mind.

She gets a job as an assistant editor of a weekly newspaper, and eventually meets a very nice, slightly older man who runs a local business. It had been six years since her transformation, and when the new Lori finally has sex for the first time … she finds it mind blowing. And while she waited until she and Andrew, her fiancée, were engaged, the first time opened in the new Lori and well of sexual desire that she had not expected. It was probably the moment that SHE first truly accepted her womanhood. Andrew was considered the luckiest man in town. No one knew the half of it. Lori would satisfy his every carnal desire. They had sex at least twice a night, and many mornings she woke him up with oral sex. She loved pleasing her husband, and he treated her like a princess.

Lori would leave the newspaper after two years as she and Andrew began a family. They would have three children, two boys and a girl, and Lori would be a wonderful mother. Education became the most important thing to her. Despite her own limitations, she would be active in all her children’s school activities, serving as chair of the local PTA for 11 years. She championed new after school care programs, reading contests, and helped raise money for a new library.

She would eventually be given a great honor, having a little league baseball field in town named after her. She and Andrew would have a wonderful life together, full of passion, family, and friends. And when their children were grown, they would spend their later years traveling the world together. She too would lead an important life. Just as the old Lori had wished for.

I was feeling pretty good. I had old Bitsy scrambling around to make me a Blue Iguana… which come to think of it might be the name of a movie and not a drink. And as Lori and Michael arose from the booth to begin their new lives, and Bitsy turned back into a VERY confused Bob, I sat by the window and watched the countryside pass me by.

Train travel was just as romantic as I had remembered it.