WISHING WELL

Lionel makes a wish to become one of the senior managers at work. Unfortunately he didn't specify what sex he wanted to be.

This story is one of six stories in the compilation, A New You by Emma Finn, a book of transformation and body swap stories available on Amazon, iBooks, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords.

1

The well was ancient; easily as old as many of the oldest houses in Bycastle, the original village from which Nockton and its twin-town Barton spread.

It had been restored somewhat in recent years by the Friends of Nockton conservation group. Loose stones had been mortared more securely and a new peaked roof and been built over it. There was a crank handle, rope and bucket but they didn’t work. The crank wasn’t built to turn.

The wishing well overlooked the River Mead at the eastern end of Bycastle. Open fields had spread away from that point along the river bank in ancient times but now there lay the parking structures of Nockton centre, Tower Gates mall, the business park: Meadside, and the expansive towns of Nockton and Barton.

Though inaccessible, the well’s water was kept fresh not only by the river, but by the stream than ran close by and under the footbridge there on the riverside. The stream wound down through the conurbation, streaking through Hurley Park in the centre of town and originating from the crevices in the ravine up on the southern ridgeline of the long valley just beneath the edifice of Crackshaw, the town’s venerable estate.

I looked up to the ridgeline then followed the stream’s concealed trickle down through Nockton Heights and into Deerbarrow before it vanished underground for a while to cross the Ockham trading estate.

I sighed and turned back to the well, leaning on its edge and looked in, wishing that my problems could be solved as easily as dropping a coin down into it.

Wouldn’t that be great?

Perhaps then I'd be able to resolve the mess I’d made of my life.

It wasn’t all bad. I had my girlfriend, Jenny. We had our little ground floor flat in Ashfield; even if it was a bit too small for us and very damp. We loved each other and had been together four years until now, in our late twenties, people were starting to assume we would be thinking about marriage and kids soon.

Fat chance of that. We couldn’t afford a holiday; let alone a wedding or the accoutrements of babies.

That was where most of my problems lay; around my career.

I didn’t really have one.

I had grown up in Nockton and I hadn’t done brilliantly in my schoolwork. Despite pushes from my mum, I'd failed the entrance exams for Lockwood Grammar and ended up going into a steady decline at Nockton Marsh instead. She wanted me to do A Levels at the sixth form next door but I chose Barton Tech to rebel. Much good it did me. I barely scraped through on the Btech in Business Technology I did. A university degree was out of the question.

Fast forward ten years and I was already about as high as I was ever going to get at Wilton Danborough Business Consultancy or anywhere else. I wasn’t motivated to go back to my studies or driven enough to push myself through work experience alone. I felt underappreciated at work and semi-bullied by my micro-managing supervisor, Roland.

The worst part though, was seeing the contrast in my lifestyle to the consultants and senior managers in the firm. They had the flash cars and fancy houses, the expense accounts. What did I have?

Nothing.

Except for Jenny.

And I did appreciate her; I really did. It wasn’t always perfect between us but it was good enough. We made the most of what cash we had left after the bills had been paid, going out clubbing or on the razz. It wasn’t a terrible life, but I did wish it was better.

My lunchtime walks were one of the highlights of the day. I had various routes I loved but my favourite was along the Mead to Bycastle. I could just get far enough along for a glimpse of the old castle itself before I had to turn back. The hump-backed footbridge and well were my turning point but I loitered today instead of hurrying back.

I’d had an email from my supervisor before I left saying he wanted to see me after lunch and I was dreading it. He was bound to run me down about something.

I stared moodily down into the pit of the well, the twin circles, one within the other, of dark water and reflected sky.

I checked my watch. I was going to be late back. But I didn’t turn away. Instead I reached into my pocket and withdrew a fifty pence piece. It was more than I would normally ever have considered throwing away but I didn’t consider that deeply enough to put it back.

I rested it on my crooked first finger and focused past it again at the water twenty feet below. Then as I gave my thumb a flick and watched it tumble over and over, down and down toward the water’s surface, I gave a little cynical chuckle and murmured, “I wish I could be one of the senior managers at work.”

 

2

As near as damn it, the second my coin hit the water I felt an onrush of heartburn that made me immediately forget the silly wish I’d made. I gripped my stomach and winced, wishing I hadn’t wolfed down the sandwiches I'd eaten at my desk before my walk.

Scowling at my rotten luck, I started to hurry back, over the little hump-backed footbridge and along the river path at the back of the multi-storey car parks. There was a little gateway that cut into the outside dining areas at the back of the shopping centre then another one on the far side that led to Meadside Business Park.

Wilton Danborough had offices on the fifth, sixth and seventh floors of the Empire Building overlooking the river. The open plan office that I occupied was, not surprisingly in the centre of the building with only overhead fluorescents to provide any light.

I didn’t feel much better by the time I got round to the front of the building and I was a full five minutes late. Cursing my own dawdling, I finally turned out of the lift sweating and damp and ran right into my supervisor, Roland.

“Well what the hell time do you call this Lionel?” he snapped.

“Sorry. I lost track of the time.” I went to hurry past to my desk.

“Again? Well there’s a surprise.”

“Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Where do you think you’re going now?”

I hesitated. “To my desk?”

“We have a meeting? Have you forgotten that too?”

“No. Sorry. Er, where would you like to...?”

“My office.” He turned his back on me and marched toward it.

I started after him, rubbing the point where my chest met the top of my belly, wondering how my day could get any worse.

Roland was waiting with his arms folded and his face a mask of irritation when I got to his office. “Shut the door.”

I did so and took a seat.

“Did I ask you to sit?”

“Er, no. Sorry.” I got up.

“I’m kidding, Take a seat.”

“Oh.” I floundered, unsure of myself.

“Anytime you’re ready Lionel. I don't have all day.”

“Right. Sorry.”

He dressed me down for my tardiness at lunch and then started on about my low productivity compared to other workers.

The data he was looking at was run from a report that I knew had been run incorrectly but when I tried to point it out he sighed heavily and said, “What planet are you on Lionel?”

“Er... sorry? What?”

“Are you telling me I don’t know how to do my job?”

“Uh, no; not at all.”

“How do you think I feel when you tell me I don’t know how to run my reports? Hm?”

I cleared my throat. “Uh, well...”

“Maybe if you spent the time you seem to waste questioning me on doing your own job right then the data in the report wouldn’t show you out to be a bad worker.”

I winced again. My chest and stomach were turning over horribly.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

“I don't know why I waste my time on you.”

I sat uncomfortably, unsure what he wanted me to say and worried that whatever I said would spark off more hostility.

“Well go on then,” he said. “I told you to leave.”

“Er...” I frowned, sure he hadn’t.

“Just try to do a better job than you have been doing,” he said.

I left his office and leant against the wall outside, breathing heavily. I staggered several steps then leaned against the wall again. I needed to sit down but my desk was still a long way off. It might have been a heart attack. It didn’t feel like any indigestion I’d had before.

The next door along was a meeting room. I lurched to it and pushed inside then leaned against the desk, trying to catch my breath. I felt awful and the feeling was growing, spreading up my back.

I was in serious trouble. I needed an ambulance, now! But when I reached for the door again and tried to call for help, all that came out was a hoarse scratching; not even words.

I retched, a lump filling my oesophagus, then I retched again. I bent over, clutching my abdomen with both hands.

Then suddenly there was a blinding flicker flash of white light and I flew back upright and staggered backwards as what felt like a hurricane wind took hold of me, filling my clothes and my hair.

In the next instant it vanished – the wind and the light – and I realised that the pain was gone too. The awful constriction in my stomach and chest was gone. I felt absolutely fine. There was nothing wrong with me at all. I was panting to catch my breath but everything else was normal.

Then I looked down as I reached to feel my stomach and my eyes went round with alarm as shoulder-length blond hair swung into view at the sides of my face.

And then I saw my bare legs from the knees down, smooth and hairless, and the low-heeled women’s shoes I was wearing suddenly.

I blinked, and blinked again; looked to the closed door; the glass wall to the rest of the office.

I was wearing a skirt! A blue skirt and matching jacket! And my body was an entirely different shape to what it should have been!

My mouth fell gaping open.

I had breasts. My body was bulging in all the wrong places!

Whatever had happened a minute ago had changed me.

It had transformed me into a woman!

 

3

My rapid breathing started to subside but my system was flooded with the static charge of adrenaline.

I grasped at the different parts of me to see if it was real; raising my arms out; turning them over; twisting at the waist to look behind me; feeling at this new hair; touching my face and my chest; my stomach, thighs, legs and hands.

I had turned into a woman. Entirely and completely. And not a young slim woman. I couldn’t be sure without looking at my new face but from the clothes and the shape and the hands... I was middle aged!

This new body was very full-figured but not morbidly obese. My thighs and calves were rounded, my hips and stomach forming the approximate silhouette of a pear. I had pillowy breasts that gave a surprisingly immediate sensation when I dared to touch them. And my hands... They weren’t tiny but were undeniably feminine, the nails polished to a gleam; the fingers narrow.

My hair was long now, dropping to the base of my neck and curling in, a flick of it coming down diagonally to overlap my right eye.

As for my clothes...! I was wearing a blue woman’s business suit: skirt to the knee, a jacket with sleeves that only just passed the elbows; shoes that matched. Under the jacket was a white blouse with a wide enough neck to show a circle of smooth chest but no hint of cleavage.

Gone from my cheeks was any sign of stubble. The skin yielded to my touch in an entirely different way than it normally did.

The whole thing was flabbergasting.

How could it possibly have happened?

But of course, the second I asked that, the answer thunked so heavily into place that I knew with absolute certainty that it was true.

There was no room at all for scepticism. How could there be?

In a mundane world with only one bright point of the unreal, there was only one possible source.

The wishing well.

My wish.

My memory-mind leapt back to that moment: the fifty pence piece balanced on my finger; watching it begin to fall, spinning end on end all the way down until it splashed into the black liquid.

I had wished I was a senior manager at my firm.

And it hadn’t just fixed reality to change my job role, it had fixed me to suit it.

There was no blond female manager currently working here. It hadn’t changed me into a copy of someone else. But surely it had done the next best thing.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, laying my hand on my breast. “It came true. But I hadn’t meant it to be like this. I didn’t want to be a woman!”

And at that precise instant the meeting room door opened and two people I knew from around the office came in.

 

4

They were both senior managers; a man and a woman. They did no more than glance at me as they entered and started circling the oval meeting table. There was no strong reaction at all. The woman gave a slight smile and my mouth smiled back falteringly of its own accord.

“Are you sitting here Marjorie?” asked the man; Ken Blaine, Sales Manager, if I remembered correctly. I turned to face him and he was looking right at me.

My lips flapped a little as I looked down at the neat pile of papers and the iPad marking somebody’s place on the far side of the table. “Er... Yes?”

He gave a polite smile and sat in the next seat along. “Good. If the old man drones on we can write notes to one another.”

He and the lady chuckled and I gave a half smile. This was crazy, but they knew me. And he’d called me... Marjorie? I looked down my very feminine body again.

They were both getting settled; laying out their papers; but I just stood staring from one to the other of them then back down at myself.

Another woman came in behind me and started to sit as well. I knew her vaguely. She was the administration manager, Zoe Kellerman. “Oh hi Marjorie. How was your lunch? Did you get that dress you were after from Dorothy Perkins in the end?”

“Er, no,” I replied, marvelling at the mature woman’s voice that was coming from my lips; at the way these people were treating me; as though I really was one of them. “I... decided not to.”

“Oh. Shame. When does the sale end?”

“I uh... I don’t know.”

She started laying out her papers and more people filed into the room. They were all taking their seats but I remained where I was, unsure what I should do and entirely confused by the situation. I felt like running, screaming from the room but I also... sort of didn’t. It felt kind of normal.”

Then my pulse went up a notch as I heard the voice of the company president, Richard Wilton, talking and chuckling with the VP.

I gaped at them as they entered, continuing to joke, and took their seats round the now almost full table.

Mr. Wilton caught my eye. “Are you joining us Marjorie?”

I stared at the empty seat with the iPad and papers then back at him. Everyone was looking at me. “Er... Yes. Of course,” I said, and circled warily round to my seat, expecting at any moment for there to be some gigantic response or even another magical flash. But people were just sitting there getting ready for the meeting. No one was looking at me strangely. It seemed absurd to go along with all this but what else should I do? I was absolutely flummoxed by the whole thing.

Mr. Wilton’s PA came in to record the minutes then he started the meeting, starting with the minutes from the previous week.

I had always wanted to be important enough to be invited to this kind of review meeting, but my wish had come true in the most bizarrely unexpected way possible.

The president prompted the Accounts Manager to give his report on the upcoming budget and he went into the results of some recent analyses and his projections for the coming months. When that was done with, the focus moved to the next manager who went through his department’s output and issues. I shook my head in wonder, trying to accept that this was really happening to me.

Then as the focus travelled round the table I started to get the sinking feeling where it was going to end. I was at the end of that trail. They were going to want to hear my report and I didn’t even know what my job was!

By the time I realised what this meant and how exposed I was going to be, the creep of doom was already at the end of the table, starting to curve round toward me.

I looked through the papers in front of me desperately, trying to get some clue on what to say. There were a lot of figures and employee names. They looked like wages or job grades. Beneath that were a couple of employee files, one of which was my supervisor’s, Roland. It had his photo from the employee board in reception and his original application form; various other subsequent documents; his contract. A post-it note was affixed to the front marked with the word possible in steeply angled handwriting.

The creep of doom went on a notch. There were two people and then me to go: the man and woman who entered first after me.

I flipped open the iPad and swiped the screen to activate it then stared at the spreadsheet it was open on. More figures and names.

I shuffled in my seat, noticing my dangling hair again; the feminine hands; the breasts; the business suit. I couldn’t do this. How could I? I just had to get out of there!

The woman who had first called me Marjorie finished her round-up and the Sales Manager beside me started to go through some challenges his team had faced to bring in new business.

Should I get up? Say I didn’t feel well?

And then what? I was a woman! I was a middle aged woman!

The Sales Manager was starting to wind down. I could tell by his tone of voice. I started to panic, desperately looking back through the papers in front of me; then something startling happened.

I understood it. Suddenly.

I flicked the papers back and forth, looking between them.

Yes. Definitely. I knew exactly what they were and I understood their relevance. I went back to the iPad spreadsheet. It tied into what the papers were. I understood it! I understood it all!

“Marjorie?”

I froze. The president had said my new name. My woman’s name.

He was looking at me. The room was silent. They were all looking at me.

Mr. Wilton, the head of the entire company, smiled. “Do you have your report?”

“Uh...” I looked back down at the things in front of me. I understood them. I could do this. It was insane but I could really do it if I just got a hold of myself. “Yes,” I said. “My pleasure.” I got a quiver of fear and then a calm came over me that was counter to the absurd situation I was in. I knew what I was talking about and it was almost as if... It was like there were even memories, almost, to substantiate it; just beneath my perception but still able to provide support to what I needed to say. Then I started talking and this confident velvety voice came out of me and kept on coming, laced with feminine inflection.

“We’re doing well on our proposed cuts,” I said. “Total salary output is falling toward the projected targets. I anticipate being able to meet or even exceed our necessary cuts while continuing to maintain optimal service across the company. Most departments are approaching the new agreed levels though I need to speak with you about your department later Ned,” I said, addressing the manager of Consulting across the table.

He chuckled. “I wondered when you’d catch me.” He held his hands up. “Guilty as charged.” A laugh went round the table and I found myself smiling, then I turned back to Mr. Wilton.

“There have been a number of minor staffing issues,” I continued, “but nothing to concern you with. Although...” I glanced down at the file of my former supervisor and then felt surprise settle in once again as I realised the significance of it being here. “One of the middle managers, Roland Lake, has had yet another grievance filed against him. If we’re looking to make cuts in middle management then he’s a logical choice, though don’t quote me on that.”

There was another chuckle.

“Alright. Good,” said Wilton. “Thanks Marjorie. Keep up the good work.”

I smiled back at him, stunned by how well I'd done, but stunned also by how easily it had all come out.

When I thought about those issues now there was even more detail in my mind about them. I just knew about things. It was crazy!

Mr. Wilton went on talking, raising some ideas he had to improve communication across the firm and I found myself relaxing into my chair, looking round me with satisfaction.

I had never wanted to be a woman – not in a million years – but there was no denying how good it felt sitting here being one of the upper management for a change, respected and admired. And being a woman didn’t even feel that odd. It just felt comfortable.

This was the weirdest day of my life.

It really was.

 

5

As the meeting broke up and the people started to file out, I remained seated, trying to digest everything that had just happened. But as she reached the door, Zoe, the Administration Manager who had asked me about the dress, stopped and said, “We still on for lunch tomorrow?”

“Uh, sure,” I replied. What else could I say? I had no idea if I’d even still be a woman then. She smiled and left and moments later the room emptied and I was all alone again.

I gave my body another check over, still finding this transformation impossible to comprehend. The oddest thing about it was that although I recognised the different sensations I was getting from my shorter but wider body; my long hair and bare lower legs; it didn’t feel as odd as it should have. I didn’t feel pried into it or like an intruder. It was just... my body.

But I had to see it properly.

I got to my feet, but hesitated when I thought of the iPad and my papers. Should I take them? And where? Did I have my own office now? Where was it? How could I find out?

With no better ideas, I decided to leave my things there for now and went to the doorway.

Standing up and walking across to it brought back everything different about my body and clothes. I moved differently now. I was significantly fatter. That had an effect. And then there was the skirt and heels; the swish of my swinging hair, the slight quiver of my breasts.

“This is really messed up,” I muttered.

Opposite the meeting room door was a screen that blocked the view to the open plan office beyond. No one was directly in view but I felt very strange in this get-up; embarrassed. I wondered if—

A young woman came round the corner and started walking toward me. I recognised her immediately: Gail; the girl who had the desk next to mine. I’d worked with her for a year and a half. As Lionel.

I stood rock still as she came closer and closer, unable to take my eyes off her. When she saw me she averted her eyes instantly and walked a little straighter. As she came close she glanced up again and gave a very polite and guarded smile and then she was gone.

I watched after her in amazement. She had acted totally differently in front of this new me to how she normally would. It was remarkable! Expected I guessed; but remarkable still.

I had to find a mirror!

I left the meeting room doorway and walked to the end of the screen; glanced toward my desk. There was no chair in place. Boxes of files were being stored on and under it. There was no computer. Roland was nowhere to be seen.

I shook my head in wonder.

There were some toilets near the exit to the lift lobby. I started across to them self-consciously, noticing every differing sensation; my face colouring at being seen like this. But no one reacted strangely. Most people obviously tried to look busy when they saw me but a couple of braver ones said, “Good afternoon” as I passed. It was said deferentially and possibly even fearfully. It was odd to have such power over these people, but it was also kind of fantastic after all my years of feeling insignificant.

There were two toilets: male and female. I hesitated, unsure, but only for a moment. The choice was as obvious as the skirt I was wearing.

I pushed inside and went to the sink and gazed in wonder at the face looking back at me.

She... I looked like a woman in my mid-forties, plump and mature. And the blue skirt-suit and formal hairstyle very clearly identified me as a middle aged businesswoman. It was incredible. I couldn’t believe that was really me, but the reflected woman mimicked my every action.

I had a... nice face. It was the face of an older woman and one I wouldn’t have looked twice at as a sexual partner in my former body; but I had quite pretty features for my new age. Angled cheek bones. Big eyes. Nicely shaped lips.

It was odd to be carrying so much weight. I shrugged the jacket off my shoulders and let it fall to my elbows, showing the short sleeved blouse I had on underneath, then turned left and right to see my plump upper arms.

I put the jacket back on.

I was a middle-aged businesswoman. It was undeniable.

I glanced to check that the stalls were empty, then to myself in the reflection I said, “I’m Marjorie... Ferguson; the HR Manager at Wilton Danborough Business Consultancy.”

It was chilling.

But... Ferguson? That hadn’t been my surname before. Was that really it now? And how had I known that if it was? The same way I’d known all that stuff about the report I'd given?

I didn’t know why I was taking this so well. Where was the terror of identity death? Why wasn’t I going loony right now?

Unless it was because...

I nodded.

I had been resenting my position in the company for a couple of years now and suddenly I really was one of the senior managers. I never would have wished to be a woman but I had to admit my wish had come true.

And that made me... intrigued. It didn’t mean I was ecstatic that I was a forty-odd year old blond businesswoman... but I wasn’t quite ready to run screaming from this either. I wanted to... explore it a little more.

And so I took one more look at this plump older female looking back at me and went to look for my new office, a smile of conflicted anticipation curling my lip.

 

6

I decided that the easiest way to find my new office would be to wander around, looking like I was inspecting things while keeping an eye out for my new name on the door. There was only space for four to six offices on each floor, the rest being open plan, so I knew it wouldn’t take too long.

My level was the easiest as I already knew who owned the offices and there were none vacant. Still, I couldn’t resist taking a little turn about the floor.

I still had the odd juxtaposition of feeling extremely at ease in this new body with feeling the contrast starkly. But I was getting used to the fact that people saw me differently. I guessed it was like putting on a fancy dress costume as a cow or something. The minute you have it on you’re totally aware that people see you that way and this is quickly followed by a kind of delightful freedom of anonymity. You walk round the fancy dress party and nobody knows who you really are. That releases you to act how you want somewhat.

This new body of mine was exactly like that – except this costume came with the added bonus of being immediately recognisable as a person of seniority.

It might be freaking me out still that I’d been turned into a woman fifteen or twenty years older, possibly permanently, but it was also wickedly exciting.

At first I feared the abruptness of my masculine movements might give me away, but I moved with a serene understated femininity that creeped me out until I decided to let myself ride with it. I didn’t have the flounce of a sixteen year old flaunting her newfound girlishness, but my arms swung freely as I walked the floor.

Normally I would have been nodding to friends and co-workers or making jokes; saying “hi.” Not this time. The reception I was getting; the deference and discomfort; influenced the way I responded, as did the growing instincts; the changes my brain seemed to be undergoing. I found that my expression leaned toward aloof professional curiosity or sternness. That then fed into the guilty looks that came from the low level staff I passed.

The idea that my brain was changing made my mind wander for a minute; made me question the mechanism that had changed me.

Undoubtedly, my body was now that of a mature senior manageress. As part of that body was the brain, it pointed to several related hypotheticals.

My brain hadn’t been removed from my body and put into this one. It made sense that it had transformed into a mature woman’s brain. And if my clothes and possessions had changed too; if I had a job here now and a history; then likely this brain contained the knowledge of that new identity.

It made me wonder if my male spirit was still here inside this body but it was slowly getting used to its new container; attaching to the brain stem and settling in. That could be why I was slowly coming to an understanding of my new knowledge. My soul was acclimatising and soon it would connect completely. At that point, I might have complete access to the stored information in this new head of mine. Her memories and thought-shapes might become my own in their entirety.

But again this didn’t frighten me, curiously. It was all just a theory for a start; but this new form felt too natural to fear it. It was oddly contradictory, but why should I fear being a woman when I already was one?

I got to the end of the floor and walked back to the lifts and went up a flight.

I didn’t know anybody on that floor so I didn’t tarry as much, but I did continue to enjoy the new way I was perceived as well as my sudden autonomy. Nobody was checking up on me. No one was telling me off for not working. When I got to the offices on that floor I could see they were all occupied, but Ken Blaine came out of his as I approached and gave me a smile.

“I’m just off,” he said. “My wife’s a bit under the weather. She’s been looking very pale. I’m worried about her.”

“I hope she starts to feel like herself again soon,” I replied and circled back toward the lifts.

It was on the seventh floor that I found my office and it was fabulous.

It was on the corner and had views of Tower Gates on one side and the river on the other. I knew that old man Wilton had the end corner with river views on two sides, but this came very close to that. It had an astounding amount of room compared to my old desk on the fifth floor. It was great!

I sat on the cushioned chair, grinning to myself, delighted to have such a prestigious position at last after such a disastrous life to date. This brought back a shudder of uneasiness about my female form but I tried to suppress it. This was everything I'd ever wanted from my life: a proper position of authority; the respect and the pay check that went with it. With my education and lack of drive I could never have achieved what I had managed in one day with a careless wish.

On the wall were framed education certificates for my newfound MA in Management and Human Resources and numerous other professional accreditations. If I stayed this way then they really would become mine!

But the fire went out of my eyes as I considered that.

Because surely I couldn't stay like this. The very idea was preposterous.

What about Jenny? I’d barely given her any thought since this ride began, but what was she going to say when I turned up back at our flat looking almost as old as her mother? How could we continue together as a couple?

We couldn’t.

And surely I didn’t want to lose the better part of twenty years off my life. And become a woman. A fat, middle-aged woman.

Thinking about this new body got me standing up to get a better look again.

I slipped off the jacket and examined my chubby arms in the short sleeved blouse. I hung the jacket on a coat stand near a cupboard against the wall and noticed there was a carefully concealed full-length mirror in the alcove.

I looked at my overripe body, my smooth hairless legs; the low heels on my feet. I checked out my nails. I felt my pretty round face and my soft hair.

This was real. It was completely real. It wasn’t going to wear off. This was really who I was now.

I could maybe go back to the wishing well and hope it somehow worked again but pending an act of God, it seemed that I was going to remain this middle aged woman; Marjorie Ferguson.

The question now, was what was I going to do about it?

 

7

I sat back at the desk and made myself at home, then I noticed a young woman sitting close to the glass office door and saw the intercom on the desk. There was a button on it. I pushed that and the woman rushed in.

“Yes Marjorie?”

“Er... Ellen,” I said, the name coming to me as I searched for it. “Run downstairs to fifth floor meeting room A and bring up my notes and iPad please.”

“Alright. I’ll be right back.”

“And ask Roland Lake to come and see me while you’re down there.”

“Of course.” She nodded respectfully and withdrew.

I fired up the computer, smiling contentedly. This was going to be good.

Ellen returned with my things a few minutes before Roland showed his face which gave me time to run through his file. The details inside were familiar to me, though I’d never known them as Lionel. It was as if seeing things in the file jogged my memory and as I skim read it I recalled a remarkably clear picture of this man’s career at Wilton Danborough from an HR perspective. I didn’t yet remember actual scenes from a fictional life as Marjorie – though I suspected I might quite soon – but the direct knowledge that came with that continuity of background was all there as long as I looked for it.

He looked nervous when he knocked which made me smile. Seeing my smile that must have looked rather predatory to him seemed to rattle him even more.

I gestured for him to come in.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. Come in Roland.”

He shuffled inside looking the opposite of his normal swaggering, patronising self. I didn’t offer him a seat and he didn’t presume to take one, hovering nervously instead.

“As you know,” I said, “the company is going through a number of changes at the moment as we continue to divert our resources into the most profitable areas.”

“Yes. I have been working hard to—”

“It can be a challenge to strike the right balance when directing this change,” I continued. “Hence our consultation period where we asked the members of every team to feed into the process of change.”

I knew for a fact that every idea raised in that consultation period was dismissed by the upper management but I was on the other side of the fence now and the idea of letting suggestions from the ill-educated workforce direct company policy and profit was kind of ridiculous. Still, the directives of change-management did recommend giving staff the illusion of influence to maintain morale.

As I paused, Roland looked increasingly uncomfortable.

“Let me get to the point,” I said. “We are in the process of consolidating our middle management positions. Analysis shows that with a redistribution of team leaders we will be able to free up much needed funds to improve other areas. The executive lounge is in a deplorable state for a start. It hasn’t been refurbished for almost eighteen months now.”

“Er yes, I see,” said Roland.

“I have brought you up here today to talk to you about a very generous voluntary severance package we have been developing. I’d like you to consider it.”

“Voluntary... severance?”

“Yes. You will be compensated sufficiently to cover a couple of months’ breathing space on finding a new branch to your career and we can then move forward on improving conditions for the workers here.”

“Er...” He gave a strangled smile and then cleared his throat. “But it’s voluntary, right? You’re offering this to all the middle managers?”

“The offer will go out to the others in due course if necessary,” I said, “but you are the first person I’ve spoken to.”

“And if I... If I choose not to take it...”

“You’re free to remain in post if you wish, of course,” I replied. “However...”

I let the word hang for a moment. Roland was sweating. I let him.

“I’ve been reviewing your file,” I said, straightening it on my desk. “Due to the high number of complaints from members of your team, if you do choose to remain in post then we will most certainly be starting the grievance procedure. This may or may not rule in your favour but it is worth considering how much easier you will find it to get a new job if you leave here with your references good and on a voluntary basis. Being sacked for gross misconduct could easily dog your career for many a year.”

I smiled.

It was unbelievable, the flow that was coming from my lips and the clinical coldness of it was sending me reeling too. But on the other hand, this man had made my life hell ever since I met him and it was immensely gratifying to be able to mete out some juicy revenge.

“Well I’ll... I’ll give it some thought,” he said.

“You do that,” I replied. “But if I could have your decision by close of play Monday I'd be very grateful.”

 

8

After Roland left the office I sat looking down at the river, practically beaming.

It had felt incredible to do that to him after all the bullying; to have the power to do it. I felt astonishingly good. And the longer I stayed like this, the more comfortable I felt.

If I was right about my spirit theory then my soul was getting more and more used to this new shell of mine and I was continuing to assimilate the knowledge as well.

I went back to the computer. I was able to find my way around my data files and folders easily. I already sort of knew where things were. I glanced into my Outlook calendar and saw meetings from earlier that day and throughout the week. Marjorie Ferguson hadn’t existed in the company before that lunchtime – the position had been vacant – but now, that reality had been tweaked. Although I couldn’t picture these meetings I could still bring up the knowledge of what was discussed and what decisions were made.

This wasn’t a life I would have to sneak around in like a spy, trying to pretend as an imposter. I really was an HR Manager now and I knew that the intricacies of the female condition would not be a mystery to me either. Feminine hygiene; hair; make-up; the ongoing beauty routine: none of this held trepidation for me. It was all going to come as naturally as being a manager was.

I pushed back my chair and gripped my bare knees, lifting my lower legs so I could look down the length of them.

Surely I wasn’t considering really staying this way?

I didn’t want to be a woman. I didn’t want to be... forty six next birthday.

Did I?

What about the lost years? Death would be significantly closer.

But then, women did live longer than men. And I was forever eating junk food in my normal life. Maybe this was my route to more advanced years overall.

And I knew without doubt that I would never advance to this kind of position as Lionel. Never in a million years. I'd just get older and older in that same shitty job role, hitting the top of my grade and then festering until I died early of general and total despair.

It was almost too big to decide.

Instead, for now, I got to work, going through the emails that were in my new inbox and responding to them; delegating tasks to various members of the HR team whose names and roles now came to mind with little thought.

I got a call from Zoe Kellerman and met her for coffee in the executive lounge. We chatted about women’s fashion and make-up for half an hour as I sat with my legs crossed at the knee, completely comfortable. Knowledge of these things seemed second nature to me now and I found myself with strong opinions on what combinations worked and which didn’t.

Zoe was a lot of fun and I found it much easier to identify with her than I did with, say, my new PA, Ellen. Ellen was on an entirely different level. Her view of the world was so limited from being so close to the bottom of the pecking order.

I was thriving on this as I never had before. I’d never felt so happy or so confident.

After our chat I returned to my office and got to work, reviewing some new job descriptions that one of my minions had written for a couple of new posts downstairs on eighth. I tutted to myself as I made corrections in red at the poor grasp this person had of employment law.

When I looked at the clock it was six thirty and most of the floor was in darkness. It had been raining on and off through the day. It was only luck that I'd made it to the well and back without getting drenched at lunchtime.

Only luck...

With the rain clouds and the hour it was really starting to get dark.

I shut down the computer and then, with a moment’s thought decided to pack my briefcase with some files to go through over the weekend so I could hit the ground running on Monday morning.

That made me pause for thought and look into my pale reflection in the darkening floor-length windows, my chubby arms wrapped round my generous chest.

Being this woman from minute to minute was one thing. It was kind of mad and exciting all at the same time. I was just living this twisted version of my fondest dream. But to plan for a new day? A new week? That was something else.

What about my proper life? What about Jenny?

I pursed my lips, frowning, looking down the reflection to the legs and skirt again, up to the wide hips and swollen pear-shaped stomach, the round shoulders and blond hair, the troubled woman’s face.

Of course I couldn't stay this way.

Of course I couldn’t. It was ridiculous.

I had to go back to the wishing well and try to fix it; turn my life back to what it was meant to be.

Feeling melancholy and conflicted, I put the blue suit jacket on, straightened the three-quarter-length sleeves, then picked up the handbag I knew would contain my car keys and went to the door.

I paused there in the open doorframe and looked back.

I just couldn’t decide, however obvious the decision seemed to be.

Before I could offer any resistance I walked back to the desk and took up the briefcase full of files.

“Just in case,” I said to myself; then I left my office and headed for the lifts.

 

9

I decided to drive round to the well. It was getting late and Jenny was sure to be worrying.

And it was too far to walk in these heels. Not to mention the fact that this new body of mine wasn’t built for taking too much exercise. Leaving the building and walking outside made me acutely aware again of the femininity of my new shape and clothing: the click of my heels on the tarmac, the very slight waddle to my gait, the chill around my calves, the flutter of my hair in the breeze. My strength wasn’t what it was. Carrying the briefcase full of files was making my arm ache, but that, strangely, made me feel more content.

It was weird. And it was all uncharted territory.

The car park was mostly empty but when I got to my space I frowned to see it empty. My car was gone. I looked round for it until it occurred to me that my new persona might own a different car.

I rooted through my handbag until I found a thick electronic car key and pressed the button. Twin peeps came from somewhere behind and to my right. I turned and saw the last of the indicator flash. My new car was parked in one of the reserved slots close to the building. It was a sporty but feminine little convertible in red.

I smiled and shook my head ruefully. The surprises just kept on coming and this new life was feeling more seductive by the minute.

I dumped my briefcase and handbag on the passenger seat then let her rip. This wasn’t a cheap knock-off sports car. It had real power under the bonnet. I could never have afforded it in my former life.

I drove it out of the car park and joined the feeder road back down to the Banbury Way. I took the third exit from the roundabout artfully and speeded down the dual carriageway toward the next junction.

The town centre was lit up on either side, Tower Gates to the right, the pedestrianised areas to the left. I queued in the post-rush hour traffic and turned right when I got to the roundabout. Bycastle hadn’t changed much in centuries. The listed buildings had prevented much, if any modernisation. As a result it took me a while to snake through to the riverbank and even then I wasn’t right beside the well.

I parked on the street and took the path at the end of the road that led up onto the bank. Down to the left, the castle was a silhouette against the darkening sky. I was glad the rain had stopped again. I followed the path to the right, looking out for the wishing well and saw it as I rounded some bushes, stopping dead.

Now I was back here, the immediacy of my dreaded decision hit me hard; though I didn’t know if it would even work again. I couldn’t be... entirely sure it was the wishing well that changed me; though what else could have, I couldn’t imagine. Nockton didn’t have some secret force dolling out free wishes willy-nilly.

I shrugged. All I could do was try it again and see what came of it. It was the only fair thing to do by Jenny. She didn’t want to lose me, did she?

I walked slowly on this final approach, thinking back to the different pleasures of the afternoon; the look on Roland’s face when I told him what for; the respect I’d had as a senior manager, and perhaps most importantly... the feeling that in this life I hadn’t pissed my education down the toilet. I actually had a career that was going places; a role that really influenced things.

The interior of the well was total blackness now under the coming evening and the glowering clouds. I couldn’t see the difference between the old brick walls and the circle of water somewhere down below.

I pursed my lips again and then reluctantly opened my handbag and then my purse. It had been so natural to bring it with me. I hadn’t even noticed the automaticity.

There was a bright shiny fifty pence piece sitting waiting for me in there.

I took it out and held it up so that it glinted in the light from the town centre.

Would it really work? Was it true that all I had to do to strip myself of this new strangely perfect life was make a counter-wish and let it fall?

And what wish should I make?

To be Lionel Humber again? Boring old Lionel Humber? With nothing going for him but a pretty young girlfriend that he didn’t deserve?

I sighed heavily.

I didn’t mind going back to Jenny again, but returning to my old job filled me with dread, especially with the knowledge I now had regarding the likely wave of redundancies in that department. I couldn’t bear to be so low after being so much more important for a day.

I sighed again.

What if... I just stayed this way for a little bit longer? What could that hurt?

I considered that for a moment.

I liked the sound of it, very much.

Being a woman just felt so natural to me now. It would seem weird to go back to being a man. And I could make a decision at any time. A month in the future. A year!

I’d longed my whole life to be in this kind of position, and even twisted as it was, I still wanted it. I didn’t know why the fact of it didn’t repulse me. But it didn’t.

What if I just stayed this way for now... until I'd got that out of my system? The wishing well had stood here for centuries. It would still be there long after I was gone. There really was no hurry to make a decision and make that wish. It would be kind of stupid to rush back now that I had this unique opportunity.

I closed the fifty pence piece into my fist and nodded to myself.

Yes. That was it. The decision was made.

I popped it back in my purse and zipped that safely into my handbag.

I would remain as I was for a while longer. Just a while longer. Until I’d had enough. That was all.

I turned my mouth up at the corners, questioning my decision just once more.

No. This felt right. It was what I wanted.

I looked down at my woman’s body again: the blue skirt and jacket; the matching heels.

Then I tucked my handbag under my arm and started walking back toward my new sports car.

 

10

I worked my way back to the Banbury Way and crossed straight over it at the roundabout, joining the upper ring road. The road skirted round Breton Hill and then climbed up to pass over it at the foot of Chauncy and then plummeted back down to the back of Ockham trading estate. I passed it and got off at the next exit, driving through the streets of Ashfield.

A lot of the housing here was multiple occupancy, houses converted into flats. It was the only place south of Barton where Jenny and I could afford to live that still had a little garden. Breton was cheaper but it was too noisy.

As I approached our street I started to feel anxious.

How could I roll up looking like I did? What on Earth would she say when I told her I was her boyfriend in the most convincing drag the world had ever seen?

Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe I should stay clear; send her an email saying I had to go away for a week or two.

Or, more likely; what if she didn’t even know me anymore? My former identity seemed to have been erased from existence at work. That was the most likely situation at home too.

I pulled up at the front and peered up at the windows. The lights were out.

I pursed my lips and then got out.

There was a FOR LET sign in the front garden. On a little square at the top of it were the words, GROUND FLOOR FLAT.

My shoulders sagged a little. My home was gone. Jenny was gone – presumably off living the life she would have led if she had never met me.

She was probably happier as a result. I should let well enough alone.

I sighed. Maybe that was how it was meant to be. I had always felt out of my league with her. She was just so beautiful. She could have been a model easily.

I got back in the car. Then I sat there trying to decide what to do.

In the end I had the idea of rooting through my new womanly handbag. If I had a job in this new life then surely I had a place to live as well.

I searched through the contents until I found a folded up envelope containing a utility bill – kept, I guessed, to prove identity for some reason or other. I opened it out and raised my eyebrows when I saw the address. Nunnery Lane, Wilder’s Pool, Nockton. Not bad. Not bad at all.

I started the engine and pulled off.

It was back around the ring road, the way I’d come; back up over the hill and down the other side. Wilder’s Pool was one of the nicest areas of Nockton. Not all of it, but most was made up of big family homes with fair sized gardens. It was a pleasant suburb for the reasonably well to do. I got off at the Redbush roundabout and drove through the suburbs until I got to the fancier houses of Wilder’s Pool. It wasn’t a road name I was familiar with – I’d rarely if ever been down that way – so I drove round slowly, keeping my eyes peeled.

My mind was chuntering along, trying to predict what I'd find. For all I knew I had a husband and a family in this new life. Realising that made me check my hand and I noticed for the first time the pair of rings on the third finger of my left hand. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t spotted them before.

But the reality of that hit me hard.

A husband? Really?

Becoming a woman myself was one thing; taking on such a lucrative and powerful post at work. But sharing my life with a man? That was something that left me cold.

My train of thought was disrupted when I spotted a road sign with the right name.

I indicated and turned in, scooted along until I saw the right number and parked.

Now I was here my nerves jangled noisily.

Anything could be waiting for me in there.

The house was very big and well-tended. It had a large front garden, off-road parking and a garage. There was a wide dormer window in the attic room and plenty of space inside to look at it.

It really was everything I'd always wanted for my life.

And yes, I had never intended for it to be like this; but there was an itch in me to see this through. To find out what it would be like to go in there and check it out. Even to see this husband and try living with him.

I held my breath and climbed out of the car.

The lights were on in the house. It looked so welcoming. I couldn’t wait to see inside.

I opened the gate and walked up the path; hesitated at the door. I would have a key after all, wouldn’t I? I hunted for it in my bag then lifted it with a shaking hand and inserted it in the lock. It turned easily and the door sprang open.

I stepped nervously into the spacious hall. It was all wood panelling and tasteful decor. It was like paradise.

No one was in sight. I couldn’t hear anything.

“Hello?” I said, my voice faint and tremulous. I cleared my throat and said it again, louder this time. “Hello?”

Somewhere in the back of the house I heard something.

“Is anyone in?” I called.

I heard footsteps coming. My heart leapt to my throat.

Then a man came into view wearing a suit and tie. He had a moustache, a rapidly balding head and enough lines on his face to put him in his late forties at least, especially considering his pot belly.

He stared at me for a second and I stared back at him.

Was this really the man I was going to have to live with? Sleep with? Maybe have sex with? And how did I feel about that?

Then in his gravelly voice he said something that stopped my heart.

“Lionel? Is that you?”

I gaped at him, unsure I was hearing right. How could he know who I really was?

And then the penny dropped and I mouthed in wonder, “Jenny?”

“I knew it!” cried the man. “I bloody well knew it!”

“Jenny? Is that really you?”

Really the beautiful slender girl with the long legs and beautiful breasts?

“You did this to me somehow, didn’t you?” he snarled.

“What?”

“Don’t lie to me. I can see it in your face!”

“But Jenny? Is that really you?”

“Yes it’s me!” shouted the balding businessman. “I turned into this, this afternoon! And you had something to do with it, didn’t you?”

“Jenny... Wait. Just wait and listen to me,” I stammered. I didn’t know what to think.

“I know you did it!” he cried. “Somehow!” He grabbed the front of my jacket, pulling me forward and thrust his face into mine. “Now bloody well turn us back!”

If you liked this then read the complete compilation of stories in A New You on Amazon.

There are also two further episodes to Wishing Well available in A New You volumes two and three.

You can also follow my serialised transformation stories every other day on http://transformation-stories.blogspot.co.uk/