Santa’s Helper (Sexy!) With Boots : 1 / 6
An Altered Fates Story
By Iolanthe Portmanteaux
Jack Redhaven pulled into the parking lot of the only motel in Martaglio, California, and stepped out of his car into the July swelter. He checked in and carried his bags to his room. Thankfully, the air conditioning was already on, and doing a good job at fighting the heat. Jack was tired and stiff from the long drive. He would have loved to take a shower, change his clothes, and find someplace to eat, but there were still a couple of hours before sunset. Jack couldn’t let the sun go down if there was work he could be doing: Jack wanted to get a jump on his new project. He was anxious to see the lay of the land.
Jack is a liquidator. He goes into failed businesses, foreclosures, estates, and he sells everything. Everything that can be sold, Jack sells. Even things that can’t be sold, Jack sells. Things that no one else could even give away, Jack sells. And Jack loves his work. He loves digging into what any normal person would call a pile of trash and uncovering hidden treasures. When anyone else would say, “Haul it to a landfill,” Jack would say, “I know someone who is looking for that.”
It wasn’t about money. Sure, he loves the paycheck, and often the paycheck is very good, but what Jack really loves is making the connections: connecting the objects that one person neglected, abandoned, or left behind, to another person, who wants or needs exactly those items.
This time, the project was an old theater. Built in the last century, the Martaglio Theater was a stop on the burlesque circuit. When the days of burlesque ended, the theater hosted plays, concerts, and films. The building changed owners, management, and orientation at least a dozen times. As a business, it repeatedly died and came back to life. Unfortunately, it was time for the final curtain: there would be no more resurrections for the Martaglio Theater. The building was scheduled for demolition.
The problem with keeping the theater alive was that the town of Martaglio was too small and too far out of the way. There weren’t enough dollars in town or enough traffic from outside to keep the doors open. It had already passed a decade of disuse, and in that time it grew a carpet of dust, a canopy of cobwebs, and the stale air of neglect.
Jack was ready for all that: he was dressed to get dirty, in an old pair of jeans, an oversized t-shirt, and a pair of scruffy workboots. He took a set of keys from his briefcase and a manila envelope that contained the sale documents and power of attorney, in case he needed to demonstrate his authority.
This would be Jack’s first theater liquidation, and he was excited. He expected nostalgia, magic, fun -- remnants of the theater’s former glory -- and hopefully he’d find hidden secrets. Isn’t that what the theater is all about?
A good portion of that feeling -- the anticipatory magic -- dissipated when Jack caught his first sight of the building. The tall, dull red-and-white stone facade was not particularly beautiful. Jack knew the building was historic, but clearly it wasn’t historic for aesthetic reasons: it was only historic because it was old. It was built for size, not for beauty.
He parked in the lot behind the building and let himself in by the stage door. He quickly got the overview: 1000 seats, projection room, offices, concession stand… Jack was disenchanted. He’d been hoping for magic, but this theater was as prosaic as a old factory. He heaved a disappointed sigh, and ventured a quick look into the basement. Often, Jack would find one-of-a-kind treasures in attics and basements. Not this time! The theater’s basement turned out to be an enormous open space crammed with stage scenery that seemed more slapdash than artistic. There were ancient cans of paint, disorderly piles of building materials, various bits of machinery, and all sorts of… all sorts of… Well, there was only one word for it. For first time, even Jack had to admit: the place was full of junk.
He walked onto the stage and swept the beam from his powerful flashlight around the place. This was where all the beauty was: where the audience sat. He’d get a good look tomorrow, take some photos. This part, at least, he’d enjoy.
Behind the stage, Jack found a narrow corridor, carpeted with a thick layer of dust. The hallway was about ten feet wide, but a good share of the width was taken up by metal shelves. The shelves were filled with boxes, and the boxes, too, were covered with dust.
Luckily, all of the boxes were labelled, and -- as Jack soon confirmed -- the boxes were labelled correctly! When he pulled down a box marked SWORDS, it was full of cheap stage-prop swords. The ROMAN HELMETS box contained plastic Roman helmets. Everything was as advertised. He found smelly old wigs, judges’ robes that reeked with dried, ancient sweat, old shoes in every size, hats, fake handguns, plates and cutlery, baby toys… and then, on a shelf by itself, a box marked “zulo.” Unlike the writing on the other boxes, this word was all lowercase. Curious, he pulled the box down, carefully tipping it so the dust fell to the floor and didn’t spill all over him. The box was surprisingly light. In fact, the only thing inside was a necklace case. A beautiful, expensive-looking necklace case, covered in soft, light-brown leather. Now that’s got to be worth a couple of bucks, Jack told himself, regardless of whatever’s in it. He held it in his hand. It was nice find. At most it was worth $30, though he doubted he could get that much. Still, it was nice to find something real after looking through so many flimsy stage properties.
He popped open the case, and sighed again, disappointed. The lovely necklace case held nothing but a cheap, strange looking medallion. A medallion on a chain. Something a little girl might buy at a garage sale, Jack told himself in disgust. Everything in this place is just crap and fake. He decided to take the necklace case with him, and leave the cheap necklace behind. So he slid the cardboard box back on the shelf, lifted the medallion from the case, and tried to shove the medallion into the cardboard box. But he didn’t have enough hands to juggle the necklace box, his flashlight, and the medallion, and not wanting to set anything on the dusty shelves, he gave up and dropped the chain around his neck, laughing at himself as he did so.
The necklace case was too big to fit in his pocket, so he continued down the hallway with his light in one hand and the case in the other. I might as well head back to the motel now, he told himself, I’ve got the lay of the land and a good jump on tomorrow. At the same time, he was in no particular hurry, so he continued reading the labels on the boxes. Nothing piqued his curiosity until he saw a carton on a high shelf: a box marked SANTA’S HELPER (SEXY!) WITH BOOTS.
Feeling as guilty as if he’d discovered a pile of old Playboy magazines, Jack actually blushed and glanced up and down the hallway, as if to make sure no one could see. Then he looked around for a chair to help him reach, but there was no chair. There was a piece of metal, though, a broken piece from the shelving uprights. Jack moved a box on a lower shelf to make a clean space for his light and the necklace case. He stood on tip-toe and used the metal strut to try for a catch-hold on the box. But he couldn’t nab it. He jumped and tried to spear the box, but only succeeded in pushing it back, farther away from him. He tried to climb, but the shelves bent under his weight. Frustrated, angry, and feeling more than a little stupid, he was about to give up and go back to his hotel when he spotted a wire coat-hanger, with which -- after a good deal of work, cursing, and failed experiments -- he managed to hook the box’s front corner, and scarcely believing his luck, he was able to tug the box forward until it fell.
The box’s lid struck Jack on the top of his head, spilling dust and cobwebs down the back of his shirt. One of the boots hit him full in the face, and -- since he foolishly had his mouth wide open -- he got a good taste of the sole. He spat, and closed his mouth as a pair of red panties landed on his face. The last item to slide from the box was a brightly colored red, white, and green outfit, that cascaded down the front of Jack’s body.
It was one of those slutty Halloween costumes, the type that’s sexy this or sexy that. Sexy policewoman, sexy nurse, sexy maid, sexy devil. What they all had in common was a short skirt to show lots of leg, a low neckline to show lots of cleavage, and tight panties to show lots of... well, lots of those brightly-colored panties.
When the shiny fabric of the skimpy skirt and bodice touched the medallion, Jack felt an electric tingle through his body. It shot through every limb, including his penis, which jolted to attention for a startling instant. Then the tingle was gone. Jack attributed the sensation to his own embarrassment: he felt more than a little guilty, as though his interest in the sexy outfit was somehow wrong or dirty. He knew in his head that it wasn’t, but that didn't stop him from feeling like a teenage boy caught looking at porn.
Strangely, after a few moments, things began to change. As Jack gathered the costume back into its box, he noticed that the shelves were slowly and inexplicably sliding up the wall. Or at least that’s what he thought at first. Then, Jack’s shirt began to feel looser. His shoes, which fit him perfectly, now seemed like boats, they were so large. Jack looked down at himself, puzzled, wondering What on earth is happening to my clothes?
As the changes continued, Jack realized that it wasn’t his clothes that were changing -- it was his body. And of course the shelves weren’t moving up the wall: Jack was getting shorter. As he watched, the hair disappeared off the backs of his hands, and his arms, hands, and fingers grew more slender and delicate. While his shoulders grew narrower, his chest filled out, and his hips began to change from a rectangular block to a rounder, fuller shape. He had to undo his pants to accommodate his new hips. He felt his face and head: his head was smaller, and his hair was now long, dark, and soft. His face, too, was different: narrower. His nose and chin were quite a bit smaller.
Jack was confused and filled with fear. What was happening to him? Whatever had happened was still happening. He patted his new, ample breasts and hips, felt his narrow waist. He cried out loud, “What is happening to me? Is this real?” and when he did, his voice had changed. It was musical and high: a woman’s voice. What in blue hell was going on?
Jack remembered seeing a bathroom at the far end of the hall, so he grabbed his flashlight and headed in that direction. As soon as he took two steps, his shoes fell off. The laces were tied, he could see they were tied, but the shoes just fell right off! He slid his feet back in, but the damn things were too absurdly big. At the same time, his t-shirt had stretched to its limit. His breasts pulled the neck all out of shape. He’d undone his belt. His pants were wide open and unzipped, but his new hips easily held them up. His pant legs were way too long, though. Jack hauled up those too-long pant legs and clomped loudly and clumsily toward the bathroom in his oversized shoes. He was acutely aware of the sway of his heavy breasts and the tick-tock pendulum of his full, round derriere.
As he entered the bathroom, he hit the light switch without thinking. But there was light; there was no power. It was ages since anyone had paid the utility bills. He’d have to take care of that tomorrow. That and the water. His flashlight was bright and strong, but still, it was only a flashlight. With the limited light and the small medicine-cabinet mirror, he examined himself. But it wasn’t “himself” in that mirror -- it was a woman, a woman he’d never seen before. She had dark brown hair like Jack, and dark brown eyes like Jack. She could certainly pass for Jack’s sister if he had one, but whoever she was, she wasn’t Jack. He rubbed his free hand over his face, and the woman in the mirror did the same. His face was smooth: his razor stubble had disappeared. He stuck out his tongue and held up his middle finger, and the woman in the mirror made the same gestures. He let out a panicked wail, and so did she.
He turned the light to better see his chest, and found two full, round breasts hanging there. His narrow rib cage and smaller shoulders made the breasts seem even larger. He hefted them with his free hand, and the name Jane Mansfield came to mind. “Crap!” he breathed aloud. And yes, his hips were wider, and yes, his derriere was rounder and fuller, but no, there was nothing hanging between his legs. His cock was gone, and in its place he found a smooth mound with a frightening opening. He groaned in confused fear and pulled his hand away. Have I lost my mind? Could this be a weird sort of theater trick? A prank? Did I accidentally ingest a hallucinogenic drug? Am I really just lying on the floor in the hallway, imagining this? Or asleep in my hotel room, deep in a vivid nightmare? The movie Inception suddenly came to mind: a film that takes place in the world of dreams. Jack struggled to remember: what was it that the movie characters did when they needed to be sure they were awake, and not caught up in an intense subconscious world. In the film, waking up seemed to involve avalanches, floods, explosions, and hotels falling to pieces, but in spite of being in a theater, Jack didn’t have any of those items on hand.
“Oh, my God!” he cried aloud, over and over, and the frightened female voice he heard made him cry out again and again. At last, his back against the dirty wall, he slid down to the floor, but it was so disgustingly filthy that he leaped back to his feet in a single motion.
“Okay,” he said several times. “Okay, Okay,” and then “I need a plan, a plan. What I need right now is a plan.”
The first thing, of course, was clothing. He thought about the items in the boxes on the shelves, but his skin crawled at the thought of wearing any of them. Those clothes -- all of them -- were disgustingly dirty when they were stored in their boxes decades ago. The smell alone disqualified them from use. The only clean item he’d seen was the costume, the Santa’s Helper (Sexy!) costume, which was new, and appeared to have never been worn. He looked again in the mirror. Okay, the first thing, before clothes, was to get cleaned up a bit. He pulled off his t-shirt and used it to brush away the dust and cobwebs from his skin and hair. His hair? Her hair. Her hair. It was nice hair, by the way, falling just past her shoulders. She tried the faucet: there was a little water left in the pipes; with that she wiped the smudges from her face and arms.
The second thing, then, was clothes. She now realized (to her chagrin) that she might have gotten away with wearing Jack’s t-shirt as a daring, too-short dress, but now with its smudges and stains, it looked as though he'd cleaned the floor with it. She thought for a moment. None of Jack’s clothes would help, but she had noticed a second-hand store on the highway just before the town. Maybe it would be open in the morning. Maybe it was still open now.
But how did this happen? Her thoughts screamed at her, and she fought to calm herself. I’ll figure that part out tomorrow, she promised herself, and that promise helped to quiet the panicked woman she’d become.
Again: clothes. It became absurdly, unavoidably clear that at the moment, her only choice of outfit was the Santa’s Helper (Sexy!) costume, With Boots. Naturally, they weren’t real boots. They looked like boots, and they did cover her feet and legs up to her knees, but they were made from a flimsy plastic that threatened to come apart if she walked very far. Luckily, the costume itself was more robust and well-made, and that was a huge relief. Jack feared for a moment that the Santa’s Helper (Sexy!) costume was an outfit for strippers. The only thing worse than a Sexy Santa’s Helper costume would be a Tear-Away Santa’s Helper costume. Luckily, this one was meant to stay in one piece. She struggled for a minute with the lace-up ties on the back of the bodice, and finally gave up. After all, she only needed to get to the second-hand store, and this costume covered enough of her nakedness to let her do that. The panties, which she put on last, were surprisingly soft, and they fit her bottom perfectly. The feel of the smooth material gliding over her new and improved derriere gave her such an electric thrill that she slid them off and on again three times.
She stepped into the hallway and spotted a full-length mirror that she’d earlier passed without noticing, and gave herself a good looking-over. She didn’t look bad. Her hair was a little wild and needed brushing, but the boots were the only flaw, as far as clothes went. She remembered a box of women’s boots she’d seen on the metal shelves, and was able to swap out the flimsy costume boots for a pair of worn but serviceable black ankle boots.
She gave herself one last look in the mirror. Here it is the middle of summer, and I’m dressed for Christmas, she observed ruefully. Oh well. At the second-hand shop I don’t need to explain myself. I just need to buy some clothes.
Armed with Jack’s keys, wallet, and papers, she headed for the stage door exit. On the way down the hall she grabbed a cloth tote bag and stuffed her belongings into it.
When she opened the door, she saw that the world had changed while she was in the basement: the sun had set, and the street lights were coming up. Martaglio seemed a different town in the fading light of evening. The temperature had dropped a little; not a lot, but enough to feel the difference.
Taking her first few steps outside proved to be quite an experience. She’d already felt the sway of her breasts and hips, but now she was actually walking, not just taking steps. The strange tilt that the boots’ heels gave to her body, threw her balance off a bit, so she found herself walking more carefully and slowly. She took shorter steps. The most surprising difference was the air: there came a slight breeze, and every inch of her naked legs could feel it. A slightly stronger breeze followed, that softly rippled her skirt and penetrated the thin red panties underneath. I’m overexposed, she thought, I’m practically naked here. My butt’s in plain view, and my breasts are served up on a platter for everyone to see.
She stepped off the curb and discovered that the parking lot was more of an incline than she remembered. It required a little concentration to walk downhill in heels, but it was fine as long as she was careful. Then came the second great shock of the day: Where is my car? She fearfully scanned the parking lot. She was sure this was the same parking lot. This was exactly where she’d parked her car a few hours ago. When she entered, her car was the only one in the lot. Now the lot was completely empty.
Oh, no. There was a sign on a post. A sign Jack missed seeing when he parked earlier. It wasn’t entirely his fault: if you were standing in the parking lot, a tree branch hid the sign from view. Now, coming from the theater, Jack saw it plainly, and what it said was this: NO PARKING BETWEEN DUSK AND DAWN. And in smaller letters below: VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED AT OWNER’S EXPENSE.
Okay, time for a new plan. The first and most important thing was still clothes. To get clothes, she needed to get to the second-hand store. But would it be open at this hour? She consulted her phone, found the store, checked its hours, and hallelujah, it was still open. In fact, it was open late: Mondays and Thursdays, open until ten, and today was Monday. But how to get there? The obvious answer was: a cab. Or an Uber. Or a Lyft.
She looked again at her phone, when suddenly a car pulled into the parking lot: it was, of all things, a yellow taxi cab, and it was heading directly towards her! This is like a demented fairy tale, she told herself. It became even more like a demented fairy tale when the rear door opened, and a woman got out. She was curvy. She had shiny blonde hair. But the truly remarkable thing was that she, too, was dressed like Santa’s Helper (Sexy!), but all in red, with white fur trim along the neckline and the skirt’s hem. Her costume was not as elaborate as Jack’s, but it certainly was sexy. The woman’s legs and shoulders were bare, and her outfit showed a very generous amount of cleavage. The skirt was extremely short, like Jack’s -- in fact, the woman’s shiny white panties were plainly visible as she stepped from the cab. Like Jack, she wore black ankle boots on her feet.
Jack could hardly speak. Was this another man who’d been transformed? Where had she come from? Why was she here? What were the odds that two women would end up in this parking lot on a hot summer evening dressed as Santa’s Sexy Helpers? Jack’s mouth worked silently as the questions struggled to emerge. The woman smiled at Jack. As she shut the cab’s door, she called out, “Oh, thank God! I thought I’d be the only one here!”
“Uh--” Jack croaked, bewildered. The situation was so totally confusing that he didn’t know how to grapple with it, let alone speak.
While Jack struggled to find his words, the cab turned and headed for the exit.
“No!” Jack cried, helplessly.
The other woman blinked, puzzled and confused.
